Chapter 18 - Rafael
Night comes, and I feel restless in my bones. Three AM, and sleep feels like a distant memory. The safehouse creaks in the winter wind. Through the wall, I can feel Thalia's anxiety like a physical ache—the bond thrums with her pain, her confusion, her anger. Every instinct screams to go to her, but I stay in my chair by the window, phone pressed to my ear, listening to it ring.
Camila picks up on the fourth ring. "This better be good, big brother. It's—wait, what time is it there?"
"I got mated," I say without preamble. The words feel strange in my mouth, like stones, I can't quite spit out. “I’m a married man.”
Silence stretches across the line, across the miles between Minnesota and whatever corner of Asia she's exploring now. Then: "You what ?"
"Yesterday morning. To Thalia."
"Thalia?" Camila’s voice rises sharply. "The weapons specialist? The one you've been suspicious of for weeks? The one who—" She breaks off, and I hear her take a deep breath. "Start from the beginning. Now."
I press my forehead against the cold window glass. Snow falls in thick curtains outside, obscuring the forest beyond our perimeter. "I can't tell you everything."
"Rafael." My sister's voice carries a warning. "What did you do?"
"What I had to."
"That's not an answer." Papers rustle in the background. There’s the distant clicking of a keyboard—knowing Camila, she's probably already looking up flights. "Are you in trouble? Did something happen with the pack? Is she—"
"Cam, stop." I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "I can't explain it right now. I just... needed to tell someone. I needed to say it and not have to keep up appearances.”
Her silence speaks volumes. Finally, softly: "Are you okay?"
The question nearly breaks me. "No."
"I'm booking a flight."
"Don't." The word comes out sharper than intended. "Please. Not yet. I need time to figure this out. And if you’re here, it only gets more complicated.”
"Figure what out? Rafael, you're scaring me."
"I know." Snow ghosts past the window, each flake catching moonlight like a fallen star. "I'm scaring myself."
Camila's quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle in a way that reminds me painfully of my stepmother, her biological Mom. Now long dead, too. "Do you love her?"
"Yes." The admission feels like bleeding. "God help me, I do."
"Then why does this feel like you're telling me about a funeral instead of a wedding?"
Because it is a funeral, in a way—the death of whatever trust Thalia and I might have built, the death of any chance at real happiness between us. But I can't tell Camila that. Can't tell her about Maia's desperate call, about the trap I've built around the woman I love to keep her safe.
"I have to go," I say instead.
"Rafael—"
"I'll call you soon. I promise."
"At least tell me if she's worth it," Camila says quietly. "Whatever this is, whatever you're not telling me—is she worth it?"
I think of Thalia's face during the ceremony, of her barely concealed terror. Of how she looked at me that night in the kitchen before everything went wrong, like I was something worth trusting. Worth loving.
"I’ll call you soon," I say, and hang up before Camila can respond.
The snow continues to fall, erasing the world beyond our windows. Down the hall, Thalia tosses in her sleep, the bond-carrying echoes of her doubtless terrible dreams. I press my hand against the cold glass and watch my breath fog the pane, fighting the urge to go to her, to explain everything.
But I’m too ashamed. Too fearful I might hurt her even more.
***
Dawn brings no relief from the tension. The safehouse feels smaller with each passing hour, our forced proximity a constant ache. Thalia and I dance around each other like wary animals, timing our movements to avoid meeting in hallways or sharing spaces. When we do cross paths, the bond flares painfully between us, raw with unspoken words.
I catch glimpses of her throughout the morning—a flash of dark curls disappearing around a corner, the echo of her footsteps on the stairs, her coffee mug in the sink still warm from her touch. She's taken to working in her room instead of the shared spaces, and the sound of her cleaning her weapons drifts down the hall, methodical and relentless.
Every time I think about approaching her, about trying to bridge this impossible gap, I remember Maia's voice on the phone: If they suspect she arranged it…
I think about Thalia’s rage, too. Her betrayal. Her hatred—because it’s true, she must hate me now.
So I keep my distance, hating myself more with each moment that passes.
By afternoon, restlessness drives me to the small gym we've set up in the basement. The rhythmic impact of fists against the heavy bag doesn't quite drown out the constant awareness of her presence upstairs, but it helps. Sweat soaks my shirt as I work through combinations, trying to lose myself in the familiar patterns.
I don't hear her come down, but suddenly, she's there in the doorway, watching me with those dark eyes that see too much. The bond pulses between us, carrying fragments of her emotions—anger, confusion, and underneath it all, a bone-deep hurt that makes my chest ache.
"Aris called," she says, her voice carefully neutral. "We have a mission."
I stop the bag's swing, not looking at her. "What kind?"
"Surveillance. The Weber pack out west is holding a town hall tonight about recent territory disputes. We're meant to pose as a couple interested in moving to Weber and gather intel. They’re a big pack. We’ll blend right in.”
Of course. Our first mission as a mated pair. The universe has a cruel sense of humor.
"When do we leave?"
"An hour." She hesitates, then adds, "We'll need to be convincing. As a couple."
Now I do look at her, and immediately wish I hadn't. Thalia’s wearing the soft grey sweater she favors for covert work, her hair pulled back in a way that emphasizes the elegant line of her neck. She looks softened, slightly wounded. Like burnished metal.
"I know how to play a role," I say, more harshly than intended.
Something flashes in her eyes. "Clearly."
She turns to leave but pauses at the door. "One more thing. Your sister called the pack center asking about you. She seemed worried. Olivia told me."
Before I can respond, she's gone, leaving me alone with the swaying punch bag and the bitter taste of regret in my mouth.
The drive to Weber takes just under an hour, and the snow falls steadily the whole way. Thalia stares out the passenger window, the silence between us heavy with things we can't say. Every few miles, the bond ripples with her anxiety, her dread of having to pretend at happiness.
I want to reach for her hand. Want to tell her everything. Want to beg her forgiveness for this impossible situation.
Instead, I grip the steering wheel tighter and keep driving.
The Weber pack's territory sprawls across several wealthy suburbs, their pack center a converted mansion set back from the main road. As we approach the gates, Thalia shifts closer to me, playing her part. Her hand finds mine, and the contact sends electricity up my arm.
"Names?" the guard asks, checking his tablet.
"James and Sarah Harring," I say smoothly, using our cover identities. "We’re moving to the riverside estate next month. Up from California."
He nods, waving us through. Thalia's hand stays in mine, warm despite the winter chill. It feels like holding a live wire.
The town hall is already crowded when we enter, shifters from all over the territory gathering to discuss recent border incursions. We find seats near the back, close enough to observe but far enough to make a quick exit if needed. Thalia presses against my side, playing the role of devoted mate perfectly.
Too perfectly. Her scent fills my nose, bringing back memories of that night in the kitchen—her skin under my hands, her breath against my neck, the way she said my name like a prayer. The bond hums between us, and I catch echoes of similar thoughts from her before she slams her mental walls up.
The meeting drones on—territory disputes, security concerns, political maneuvering. I take mental notes mechanically, recording device turned on in the inner pocket of my jacket, but most of my attention is on Thalia. On the way, she tenses every time someone mentions outside threats. On how her fingers tighten unconsciously on mine when the Alpha discusses strengthening their borders, or the help of their allies out east. We both know what that means.
Finally, after what feels like years, the meeting ends. We file out with the crowd, maintaining our cover, but as we near the exit, Thalia hesitates.
"Wait," she murmurs. “I want to—”
I grab her arm, perhaps too roughly. "We're leaving. Now."
Her eyes flash. "Let go of me."
"Not until you start following my lead," I growl, almost too loud in the emptying hallway. "I won't let you jeopardize this mission because you're feeling rebellious."
"Rebellious?" Thalia yanks her arm free, fury rolling off her in waves. "Is that what you think this is? You think I'm, what, ‘acting out’?”
"Keep your voice down—"
"Or what?” Thalia lowers her voice, but she leans close, hissing in my ear: “You'll punish me? Lock me up? Force another choice on me?"
The hallway has emptied around us, and now, we’re alone. The words hit like physical blows. I step closer, backing her against the wall, torn between rage and desperate need to protect her. "You have no idea—"
"No idea what?" Her eyes search mine, bright with unshed tears. "What possible justification do you have for any of this?"
The truth burns in my throat: I'm trying to save you. I'm trying to save your best friend. I'm trying to fix everything without getting either of you killed.
But I can't say it. Can't risk it. So, instead, I step back, letting my expression harden into the mask she's come to expect.
"We're leaving," I say coldly. "Now."
The drive back passes in arctic silence. As soon as we reach the safehouse, Thalia disappears upstairs. The sound of her door locking echoes through the quiet house like a gunshot.
I stand in the dark kitchen for a long time, staring out at the falling snow, feeling her pain and anger pulse through our bond like a second heartbeat. Somewhere in Illinois, Maia sits in her concrete cell, waiting for news. And here I am, trapped between them, trying to protect them both and hurting everyone in the process.
Some protector I turned out to be.