Chapter 32 – EMMA
EMMA
The bond tells me he’s out there. An invisible thread is tugging me toward the treeline.
“Bodhi. I’m not going back inside until we talk.”
More silence. I count to thirty, listening to my pulse and feeling the bond thrum in time with it. The trees stand dark and still, their branches creaking in the night breeze. An owl calls somewhere in the distance.
Fine.
I cross the porch and descend the steps, the frozen grass crunching beneath my feet. The cold bites into my soles, but I keep walking in the direction my gut tells me to go.
“Emma.” His voice comes from my left, low and rough. “Go back inside. It’s cold.”
I turn toward him. He’s leaning against a tree trunk, arms crossed, dressed in dark clothes that make him nearly invisible. Moonlight illuminates half his face, carving shadows beneath his cheekbones, highlighting the exhaustion in every line.
“Come inside with me.” I demand.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He doesn’t answer my question. His jaw tightens, and his gaze slides away, fixing on the cabin, the trees, anything that isn’t me.
I close the distance between us before he can retreat, pressing a finger into the middle of his massive chest and backing him against the rough bark.
His eyes widen, his body going rigid, but he doesn’t push me away when I flatten my palms against his chest and feel the heat of him through his shirt, and the rapid pounding of his heart beneath my hands.
“Emma…”
He smells so good.
“No.” I press closer, eliminating the space between us until I’m flush against him.
His breath catches, and his hands come up to grip my shoulders, fingers digging in through the fabric of my hoodie.
“You don’t get to do this.”
Guilt flashes in his eyes. He knows what he’s doing to me.
“You don’t understand,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Then explain it to me.” I slide my hands up his chest and over his shoulders before linking them behind his neck. A tremor runs through him as my forearm brushes his bite mark. “Because I don’t understand why you’d rather do anything and everything other than be with me.”
His grip on my shoulders tightens. “I can’t relax until this is over.”
I feel the war in him, the way his body strains toward mine, even as his mind keeps pulling back.
“Is it because of what happened?” The words come out before I can stop them, my insecurities and doubt roaring to life in the face of his indifference. “What you saw in that cabin? Do you look at me now and see someone weak and damaged?”
From what I’ve heard, the urge to claim me should be impossible to resist. So why is he?
“Don’t.” The word is fierce. He yanks me closer, so suddenly, that I gasp as my body collides with his. His hand cups my face and tilts it toward him. “Never think that.”
I feel like stamping my foot in frustration.
“Then why?” My voice cracks. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
He makes an indistinct sound in his throat, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. We’re so close, I can feel every exhale against my lips. See the battle playing out in his eyes.
“Because I want you so much that I can barely think.” The words come out rough, almost pained. “Every second I’m near you, my bear is screaming at me to claim you. Mark you. Make you mine so completely that no one will ever question who you belong to.”
He crowds me. “I want to turn you around, bend you over that railing and fuck you right here, right now, until you can’t even stand but you can still scream my name.”
“You want everyone to see us… to hear us…” I stammer.
“No,” he roars, possessiveness lacing his words. “You’re mine. Only mine.” His expression darkens, and he practically vibrates with anger.
“Stop.” Throwing my hands up in the air, I pray for patience because even though I love this man, he’s giving me whiplash. “Then why are you fighting it?”
He pulls back enough to look at me, and the anguish in his expression takes my breath away. “Because I’m a fucking mess.”
He stares up at the patches of dark sky he can see between the trees and sucks in a deep breath to steady himself. The atmosphere around him feels charged, like the air right before a storm.
“Because in that cabin, I became a monster. I had no control. And until I know I won’t turn into that again, I can’t be around you.”
I step back, stunned, the loss of contact sending cold rushing over my skin everywhere except the hand that Bodhi has caught in his.
“You told me this was forever. And I believed you.”
“It is.” A plea.
But I’m not entertaining this wallowing any more. What about what I want?
“So, you’re assuming I’ll wait.”
He goes still, and his hands fall to his sides.
“I’ve been through hell.” My voice shakes, but I push forward; the anger and hurt so tangled that I can’t separate them. Tears burn in my eyes, and I blink hard, refusing to let them fall. Not yet. “But this, this hurts more.”
The tears spill over. I keep talking anyway.
“I’m not sitting around waiting while someone else decides when I get to be happy.”
He stands there, frozen, watching tears track down my face. His throat works, but no sound comes out.
“I know you won’t hurt me, but if you don’t trust yourself, what am I supposed to do?
I need someone to be there for me.” My voice is ragged now, barely holding together.
“Not someone who pushes me away when things get hard.” I press my hand against my sternum, where the bond aches.
“If you can’t be that, if you’re going to be another source of chaos in my life instead of my safe place, then just leave me alone. ”
I wave my arms around, gesturing to his little hiding spot near my cabin.
“Emma…”
“I mean it. Go.” The words come out thick and distorted by tears. “Send someone else to guard me if you need to, whatever it takes, just go.”
The wind moves through the trees, scattering pine needles across the frozen ground. The owl calls again, distant and mournful.
Bodhi stares at me.
“Okay,” he says quietly after a beat. “If that’s what you want.”
But it’s not. And I want to scream it. I want him to fight for me. I want him to refuse to leave. I want him to grab me and tell me nothing could keep us apart.
But my throat has closed now, and the words don’t come.
So, he turns away, his shoulders curving inward, and starts walking toward the treeline. Each step he takes pulls the bond tighter, thinner.
At the edge of the trees, he stops.
My breath catches. His head turns slightly, just enough that I can see the edge of his profile and the rigid line of his jaw.
Call him back. Say his name. Tell him you didn’t mean it.
I open my mouth. The words are right there.
But I don’t say them.
Instead, I stand there for a long time after he leaves, shivering, arms wrapped around myself. The tears have stopped, leaving my face tight and raw. Through the bond, I feel him moving away, growing fainter.
When I finally slip back inside the cabin, my feet are numb.
Inside, the fire has burned down to embers.
I should add more wood. I sink onto the couch instead, pulling one of Natalie’s quilts around my shoulders, and catch a trace of his scent still clinging to my hoodie from when I pressed against him.
A sob escapes. Then another. So, I bury my face in the quilt and let it happen, let the grief and anger and regret all pour out of me until there’s nothing left but exhaustion.
Through our faint connection, I feel him getting further away. I curl onto my side, tracking his retreat until I can barely sense him at all. That’s what cuts deepest. Not that he left. That he made me believe I wouldn’t be alone anymore.
But that was a lie. Because I feel lonelier right now than I ever have before.