Chapter 13 - Sera
I jerk my hand back like I’ve been burned.
But the mate bond doesn’t fade when I break contact. If anything, it gets stronger. It pulses through my veins with a scorching heat that makes my knees weak with an undeniable want that makes my wolf demand things I’m not ready for.
My heart pounds so hard I can hear it echoing in my ears. Every nerve ending in my body feels alive. The brief touch of skin on skin has ignited something that now refuses to be extinguished.
“I need coffee,” I choke out. “Excuse me.”
I flee the study before Reeyan can reply. Before I do something stupid like reach for him again just to feel that connection roar back to life. Before I climb into his lap and find out if his mouth tastes as good as I imagined last night.
The kitchen is cool and quiet, a refuge from the overwhelming presence of him in that small space. I lean against the counter and try to catch my breath, try to wrestle my wolf back into submission, and remember who I’m supposed to be.
Llewelyn women don’t lose control like this. We’re taught from childhood to maintain composure, to rise above base emotions, and to value logic and reason over feeling and desire. We’re supposed to be the ice queens of the valley. Unshakeable. Unreachable. Untouchable.
Except that’s the curse talking. Three hundred years of magical conditioning telling me that wanting someone is wrong. That need for connection makes me weak. That giving in to physical desire is shameful and proves I’m not strong enough to handle my own emotions.
I press my palms flat against the counter and focus on my breathing.
In through my nose, out through my mouth.
The meditation technique my mother taught me when I was twelve and struggling to control my first real emotions.
She sat with me in our small kitchen back home and walked me through it with such patience. Such care.
My mother. Who struggled under the same curse.
Who probably wanted to express love more freely but couldn’t push through the binding wrapped around her heart.
She taught me techniques for emotional suppression not because she valued distance but because the curse made her believe that was the only way to survive.
The thought makes something twist painfully inside me.
The kettle sits on the stove where I left it yesterday. I fill it with water and turn on the heat, grateful for something mundane to focus on besides the way my entire body still throbs from that brief contact with Reeyan.
My wolf paces restlessly inside me. She’s been fully recovered from the suppressor for days now, and she’s done being patient.
Done pretending she doesn’t know exactly what she wants and who she wants it from.
She has no interest in listening to the curse’s whispers about maintaining distance and protecting independence.
Mate, she whispers insistently. Ours. Claim him. Stop fighting this.
I push her down with an aggressive huff. “Not helping.”
“Talking to yourself now?”
I spin around. Reeyan is in the doorway with his hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to appear casual and failing miserably. Those green eyes watch every move I make, missing nothing. I can see the question in them. The concern. The same want I’m trying so hard to suppress.
“My wolf is being difficult.”
“Mine too.” He takes a step into the kitchen but maintains distance between us. Like he’s afraid of what might happen if we get too close again. “Are you okay?”
The concern in his voice does something to the walls I’ve been trying to rebuild. Cracks them right down the middle until I can’t hold the words back anymore.
I turn back to the stove because looking at him makes this harder. “No. I’m not okay. Everything I believed about myself is a lie. Everything that makes me Llewelyn—the reserve, the control, the emotional distance—it’s all curse conditioning. Not cultural strength. Not who I really am underneath.”
“Sera—”
“And I’m terrified.” The confession tumbles out, taking advantage of the momentum. “Terrified of what breaking the curse might mean for my identity. For my relationship with my pack. For who I’ll become when I’m not following three hundred years of magical programming.”
I squeeze the edge of the counter harder until my knuckles go white from the pressure.
“What if I break the curse and I’m completely different? What if the reserved, controlled woman my pack knows just disappears? What if my aunt looks at me and doesn’t recognize who I’ve become? What if Caelan thinks I’ve betrayed everything we were taught to value?”
The kettle starts to whistle. I turn off the heat, but don’t move to pour the water. Just stand there with my hands holding the counter hard enough to hurt.
“I don’t know how to be anything other than what I was raised to be.
” My voice cracks despite my efforts to stay composed.
“Don’t know how to trust these feelings when I can’t tell what’s real and what’s the curse weakening its hold.
I don’t know if I want you this much because of the mate bond or because I’m finally able to feel what was always there. ”
Footsteps shuffle behind me, and then he’s close enough that I can feel his body heat pressing against my back. Close enough that his scent wraps around me like a physical thing.
“I’m terrified too,” he quietly admits.
That surprises me enough to turn around. He’s right there, maybe half a foot away, and the look on his face makes my stomach flip. This isn’t the confident historian who always seems to have answers. This is someone just as lost as I am.
“Of what?”
“Failing to protect you. Having my research not be enough to break the curse safely. Watching you go through pain I can’t prevent because the magic is too old and too deeply embedded.
Losing you before I’ve even really had you.
Having you realize that what you feel is just the mate bond forcing connection where none would naturally exist.”
“You think the mate bond is forcing this?”
He shrugs and replies, “I don’t know what to think anymore.
You think you’re the only one questioning everything?
I’ve spent my entire adult life maintaining distance from people.
Keeping everyone at arm’s length where they can’t hurt me.
Focusing on books and patterns and dead people’s mistakes because that’s safe. Predictable. Controllable.”
“And then I showed up.”
“And then you showed up.” His laugh sounds self-deprecating as he shakes his head.
“Fighting for your life on that desert road. Refusing to break even when they cut you off from your wolf. Looking at me like I’m something more than just a historian who lives in his books and avoids real human connection. ”
“You are more than that.”
“Am I? Because most days, I’m not sure.” He takes another step closer, and now there’s barely any space between us.
“I’m terrified that everything I feel for you is just the mate bond doing what it’s supposed to do.
Making us believe we’re perfect for each other when really we’re just strangers thrown together by supernatural forces neither of us controls. ”
The honesty in his words strips away my own defenses. This isn’t just about me struggling with the curse’s influence. This is about two people who’ve spent their lives avoiding vulnerability, suddenly forced to confront feelings neither of us knows how to handle.
“You think we’re strangers?” I search his face, looking for the truth beneath the fear.
“After everything we’ve shared this week?
You saved my life, and I trusted you with the vision.
We’ve been researching together and facing my aunt together, and learning about the curse together for the past week. ”
“I think we’ve been forced into proximity by circumstances neither of us chose. The mate bond is powerful enough to manufacture feelings that might not otherwise exist. I think—” he stops himself and presses his mouth into a firm line.
“What? What do you think?”
“I don’t think you’d even look at me twice if we’d met under normal circumstances. I’m not worthy of someone like you.”
My breath catches. “Someone like me? You saved my life, and you’re working to break a three-hundred-year-old curse.”
“I also manipulated you into staying here and kept the mate bond secret because I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth.”
The mate bond thrums between us, stronger than ever. Not pushing or demanding. Just there. A constant reminder of what could be if we’re brave enough to reach for it.
I’ve spent my entire life learning to suppress what I want. To maintain distance. To value independence over connection. The curse taught me that needing someone makes you weak. That vulnerability is dangerous. That love is a trap that will only end in pain and disappointment.
But standing here with Reeyan, feeling the mate bond between us growing with every heartbeat, I realize something.
The curse wants me to stay isolated. Wants me to push him away. To choose loneliness over risk and to believe that connection equals weakness and independence equals strength.
And I’m done letting Moira Ashwood’s revenge dictate my choices.
I close the distance between us without giving myself time to overthink it. I won’t let three hundred years of curse conditioning stop me from taking what I want.
My hands find his chest, where I feel his heart pounding beneath my palms just as hard as mine. His whole body goes still, like he’s afraid any movement might break whatever spell this is. Like he can’t quite believe I’m touching him willingly.
“Sera.” My name comes out half warning, half plea. “What are you—”
I rise up on my toes, close the remaining distance between us, and press my lips to his.
The curse doesn’t get to win this time.