Chapter 2
That evening, Alaric kept his dinner promise.
Rooftop restaurant. Manhattan skyline glittering below. A private table draped in white linen and candlelight.
He held my chair. Ordered my favorite wine. Reached across the table to lace his fingers through mine.
"Five years today," he murmured. "Since I marked you."
I touched the silver scar on my collarbone—the mating bite. It used to pulse warm when he was near. Now it felt like scar tissue. Dead.
"Time flies," I said.
His thumb stroked my knuckles. "I know this year's been hard. The pack pressure... my mother..."
"It's fine."
"It's not." His golden eyes softened—practiced sincerity, polished like a stage performance. "You're my Luna. Nothing changes that. I don't care what they say about your wolf."
His mind wasn't as guarded as he believed.
Here's the thing about being "defective"—while my wolf refused to surface, something else had stirred. Two nights ago. A crackling hum in my skull, like a radio tuning in.
Then I heard it. Thoughts. Not mine.
At first I thought I was losing my mind.
Then Alaric walked in from his late-night "border patrol," and his mind screamed louder than his mouth:
*"Need to shower before she smells Vanessa on me."*
That was how I learned. Not from a lipstick stain. Not from a late-night text. From his own unfiltered thoughts, beamed directly into my skull.
Now, sitting across the candlelit table, his thoughts murmured beneath his loving words:
*"Keep her happy tonight. Vanessa's waiting at the pack lodge after midnight. Just get through dinner."*
I smiled and sipped my wine.
"What if something did change?" I asked lightly.
He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"If you had to choose. Between me and... something else. Someone else."
His jaw tightened—barely perceptible. Then that easy grin returned.
"There's no choice to make. You're my fated mate, Nora. The bond doesn't lie."
*"She can't know. As long as she doesn't know, I can manage both."*
I held his gaze. Let the silence stretch.
Then I softened my expression. Played the grateful wife.
"You're right. I'm being silly."
Relief flooded his features. He raised his glass.
"To five more years."
"To us," I echoed.
Our glasses clinked.
The crystal rang—clear and hollow as his vows.
After dinner, he drove us home. His phone buzzed three times in his pocket. He didn't check it in front of me.
At the penthouse door, he kissed me—slow, deliberate.
"I have one more pack call. You go ahead to bed."
"Okay."
He vanished into his office. Lock clicked.
I stood in the dark hallway and listened—not with ears.
His thoughts roared:
*"Vanessa's upset. Says she won't wait anymore. Need to calm her down. Maybe thirty minutes. Nora sleeps heavy."*
I went to bed. Closed my eyes.
At 1:00 AM, the front door opened and shut. His car purred to life.
At 4:00 AM, he slid back under the covers. Cold skin against mine.
"Love you," he whispered into my hair.
I said nothing.
Two days left.
---
Rooftop restaurant. Manhattan skyline glittering below. A private table draped in white linen and candlelight.
He held my chair. Ordered my favorite wine. Reached across the table to lace his fingers through mine.
"Five years today," he murmured. "Since I marked you."
I touched the silver scar on my collarbone—the mating bite. It used to pulse warm when he was near. Now it felt like scar tissue. Dead.
"Time flies," I said.
His thumb stroked my knuckles. "I know this year's been hard. The pack pressure... my mother..."
"It's fine."
"It's not." His golden eyes softened—practiced sincerity, polished like a stage performance. "You're my Luna. Nothing changes that. I don't care what they say about your wolf."
His mind wasn't as guarded as he believed.
Here's the thing about being "defective"—while my wolf refused to surface, something else had stirred. Two nights ago. A crackling hum in my skull, like a radio tuning in.
Then I heard it. Thoughts. Not mine.
At first I thought I was losing my mind.
Then Alaric walked in from his late-night "border patrol," and his mind screamed louder than his mouth:
*"Need to shower before she smells Vanessa on me."*
That was how I learned. Not from a lipstick stain. Not from a late-night text. From his own unfiltered thoughts, beamed directly into my skull.
Now, sitting across the candlelit table, his thoughts murmured beneath his loving words:
*"Keep her happy tonight. Vanessa's waiting at the pack lodge after midnight. Just get through dinner."*
I smiled and sipped my wine.
"What if something did change?" I asked lightly.
He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"If you had to choose. Between me and... something else. Someone else."
His jaw tightened—barely perceptible. Then that easy grin returned.
"There's no choice to make. You're my fated mate, Nora. The bond doesn't lie."
*"She can't know. As long as she doesn't know, I can manage both."*
I held his gaze. Let the silence stretch.
Then I softened my expression. Played the grateful wife.
"You're right. I'm being silly."
Relief flooded his features. He raised his glass.
"To five more years."
"To us," I echoed.
Our glasses clinked.
The crystal rang—clear and hollow as his vows.
After dinner, he drove us home. His phone buzzed three times in his pocket. He didn't check it in front of me.
At the penthouse door, he kissed me—slow, deliberate.
"I have one more pack call. You go ahead to bed."
"Okay."
He vanished into his office. Lock clicked.
I stood in the dark hallway and listened—not with ears.
His thoughts roared:
*"Vanessa's upset. Says she won't wait anymore. Need to calm her down. Maybe thirty minutes. Nora sleeps heavy."*
I went to bed. Closed my eyes.
At 1:00 AM, the front door opened and shut. His car purred to life.
At 4:00 AM, he slid back under the covers. Cold skin against mine.
"Love you," he whispered into my hair.
I said nothing.
Two days left.
---