Chapter 4
Finn
I watch her.
She doesn’t see me, but that’s the way it’s always been. Willow moves through the world like a firework, bright and blinding, too wild to be contained. People look at her, admire her, but they don’t see her. I do. I always have.
She’s at the rink now, weaving through her teammates, her body electric with movement. She’s sharp, focused, but I can see the way her frustration lingers just beneath the surface. It’s those new alphas trailing her.
Mine.
They think they’re protecting her. They think they have a right to be near her, to watch over her, to pretend she belongs to them.
They’re wrong.
She doesn’t belong to them.
She belongs to me.
I keep to the shadows, to the spaces just outside her world, watching as she practices, pushing herself harder than she needs to.
I can tell by the set of her jaw that she’s trying to skate off whatever irritation is simmering inside her.
I wonder if she’s thinking about me. I wonder if she is remembering the other night when I was closer than I should have been.
My name on her lips, the memory still makes me shiver with pleasure.
She felt me—saw me. She had no choice.
I locked the door. Let the reality of us settle around her, thick and inescapable. I watched the way her breath caught, the way her pulse ticked wildly at her throat. I watched the way she waited—waited to see what I would do, how far I would go.
And when I lifted my camera, she didn’t move. She just stared, wide-eyed, her scent spiking, confused and shaken, but not entirely afraid.
That moment is frozen in time, saved in my phone for my eyes only. I pull it up now, scrolling until I see her face. That night, she knew what it meant for me to be that close. Knew that I could have taken so much more.
But I didn’t.
Because she wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
I can be patient. I’ve always been patient.
She’s leaving now. I follow. Not close enough for her bodyguards to notice, but close enough to keep my eyes on her.
I know where she’s going before she does.
She always craves something sweet after practice.
The coffee shop is predictable, part of her routine, something she clings to for a sense of control.
That part of her—the need for anchors in the chaos—I like best.
She slips inside, ordering something with too much sugar and too much caffeine for this late in the day. I find a place outside, just far enough to go unnoticed, but close enough to see her. To capture her.
I lift my camera, adjust the lens, and snap a photo. Perfect.
But it’s not enough. Not really.
She shifts in her seat, sitting by the window, stirring her drink absentmindedly while she scrolls through her phone.
I love that her hair is pink again. She always goes back to pink.
It suits her, makes her stand out. I would’ve been disappointed if she’d changed it to something else. Although, her natural red was nice too.
My gaze flicks to her guards. They stand nearby. She ignores them, though. They don’t know her the way I do. I wonder if they’ve noticed how she chews on her bottom lip when she’s thinking, how her fingers tap against the tabletop in the exact rhythm of the song stuck in her head. I do.
I shift slightly, adjusting my position outside, careful to keep to the edges of the world she inhabits.
This vantage point lets me take in everything—the way the light catches in her hair, the way she tilts her head when she laughs at something on the screen of her phone.
The way she doesn’t laugh as often as she used to.
That’s because of him.
Landon.
His name alone makes my fingers clench. He ruined her. Broke something in her that hasn’t healed yet. But that’s okay. I can fix it.
Willow shifts in her seat, glancing out the window. I can almost feel her eyes on me. My pulse kicks up, but I don’t move. Not yet.
Not today.
Her bodyguards don’t react, which means she hasn’t seen me. Not yet. Good. They think they can keep her from me, but they don’t understand. I’m not the danger here.
I’m the one who’s going to save her. I’ll show her the world when she’s ready. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I lean back into the shadows when her gaze drifts to me again. Her eyes on me makes my heart pound in my ears. Yearning spreads through my blood.
She feels me.
I know she does. Just like she did the other night when I reached out to her on the rink.
A slow burn starts in my chest, the urge to move, to cross the street, to step inside. It would be so easy. Just a few steps. Just a few words. I could remind her of what she already knows—that she’s mine. That she’s always been mine. That she should stop fighting it.
My foot inches forward before I catch myself.
Not yet.
I take a breath, force myself back into the shadows, gripping my phone. She’s not ready. Not yet. But she will be.