Chapter 61
Graham
Hunter’s the first one I see when the bedroom door creaks open. His shoulders are loose, more relaxed than I’ve seen them in weeks. But it’s Willow behind him—barefoot, cheeks pink, her hair a soft, tangled mess, in my hoodie—that really gets me.
She’s glowing.
And I know.
Even before she tilts her head to nudge into his side, before she smiles up at him like she’s safe for the first time in a long time—I know.
My eyes drop to her neck.
The mark is faint, still fresh, but it’s there. Right below her pulse, lower than a normal mark. A soft crescent, unmistakable. If she were in her clothes, I wouldn’t even see it.
My chest tightens.
I want to say I’m surprised. That I didn’t see this coming. But I did. Anyone with eyes could’ve seen the pull between them.
Hunter’s gaze finds mine, and there’s something defiant in it—defiant and protective. He’s ready for me to say something. Maybe even expecting it.
But I just nod.
Because what am I gonna do? Be angry that she’s trusting us? That she’s choosing one of us in that way?
No. I’ll never punish her for giving her heart away. Especially not to someone who’s been proving he deserves it every damn day.
Still, I feel the burn of something bitter at the back of my throat. Not jealousy, exactly. Just…ache.
Because I want that too.
And I know it’ll come. She’s already halfway mine in the way she looks at me, the way she bites back her sass when I bark orders, the way her scent goes soft and warm when I’m near.
But for now, I let Hunter have this moment—because he earned it. And because Willow deserves someone looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.
She glances at me, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, afraid of what I’ll say.
So I give her the truth.
“Looks good on you,” I murmur, nodding toward the mark. “He did it right.”
She exhales, her shoulders relaxing. Hunter’s arm tightens around her waist.
I move back toward the kitchen, not because I’m avoiding them, but because I need a second to ground myself. I grip the counter with one hand, jaw tight. I’ve never been the jealous type, but something about seeing that mark on her…knowing Hunter got there first…
It stirs something deep.
Something primal.
But I breathe through it, squeezing my eyes shut, because this isn’t about me.
It’s about her.
Footsteps pad softly behind me, and I don’t have to turn to know it’s her. The soft scent of peaches and warm sugar wraps around me, sweeter than it’s ever been. Bonded. She’s bonded now. To one of my pack mates.
I glance over my shoulder just as she stops beside me, a faint nervousness in her expression.
“I didn’t plan it,” she says quietly, as if she owes me an explanation.
She doesn’t..
“I know.” I study her face, the way her lips tug to one side, and the way she can’t quite hold my gaze.
“It just…felt right. In the moment.”
I nod. “I’m glad you didn’t hesitate.”
Her brows lift slightly, surprised. “You are?”
“Willow…” I exhale and face her fully. “I want you marked. I want you protected. I want you cared for in the way you deserve. I’d be a hypocrite to be angry that it wasn’t me first.”
Her mouth parts slightly, something unspoken hanging between us. “You’re okay with this?”
My voice is low, steady. “More than okay.”
A quiet beat passes between us. Her fingers twitch at her sides. I close the distance and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, watching the way her lashes flutter at the touch.
“You’re still mine,” I murmur. “Even if it takes time. Even if we’re building this forever pack one bond at a time.”
Her breath catches. “Forever pack?”
“Forever and always, sweetheart.”
Behind her, Carson whistles—low and exaggerated. “Okay, okay, if this turns into a kissing contest, I’m gonna need popcorn. And a turn…because we all know I’m the best kisser.”
Willow laughs softly, glancing over her shoulder at him.
I let my fingers brush down her arm as I step back to lean against the counter. But not too far.
Never too far.
Because now, the scent of her bond lingers in the air—sweet and warm, threaded through with Hunter’s alpha musk—and it only makes me want mine all the more.
“You’re really okay with this?” she asks again, voice lower now, meant just for me. “With… taking our time?”
I nod. “I don’t want a rushed bond, Willow. I want a real one. The kind that lasts.”
Her lashes lower as she swallows. “I’m trying to believe I deserve that.”
“You do,” I say instantly. “You deserve everything we can give you, for the rest of our lives.”
Willow’s smile lingers, the echo of a promise, soft and private between the two of us.
She’s still in my sweatshirt—bare legs curling under her as she slides onto the barstool, hands wrapping around the glass of water she left there earlier. It fits. This moment. Her here. Us here. It all fits so well, it almost hurts.
I turn back to the oven, checking the pan-roasted chicken that’s crisping perfectly beside the foil-wrapped potatoes. I pull the pan out and pull down some plates. Steam wafts off of it, rich with garlic and rosemary. The green beans are already sautéed—just waiting on the stovetop.
Behind me, I hear Carson’s bare feet pad across the floor. He rounds the kitchen island like a man on a mission, his gaze on the stove top.
“Kitchen’s smelling like seduction in progress,” he says, peeking over my shoulder. “What are you making, Casanova?”
“Pan chicken. Herb baked potatoes. Green beans with lemon zest,” I mutter, plating a piece of chicken with practiced ease. “Food. Real food.”
“Sounds fake,” Carson deadpans, grabbing a potato off the pan and popping it in his mouth. “Where’s the indulgence and bad decisions?”
“Staring at me while stealing my potatoes.”
Willow laughs behind me, and I swear, it’s the sound of something healing.
I turn to find her watching both of us with wide eyes, the water glass halfway to her lips. “You really made all this?” she asks.
I nod and set a plate in front of her, a pile of herb potatoes, the chicken still steaming, and green beans perfectly bright.
“Thought you deserved something warm.”
Carson circles the island and leans on the back of her chair, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who didn’t cook a damn thing.
“You’re gonna spoil her,” he says, brushing her hair off her shoulder.
“I plan to,” I reply, watching the way her breath catches.
Willow lifts a bite of chicken to her mouth and moans. Actually moans.
Leaning against the kitchen island, Hunter freezes mid-sip of his coffee. His eyes flick to her mouth, then to me, then back to her.
Carson groans. “Nope. Nope. That’s it. If we’re doing this now, I demand a second plate. Preferably with a ring and a lifetime commitment.”
Willow snorts into her fork, cheeks flushed with amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”
Carson does a half-bow as he takes the seat next to her. “Thank you. It’s part of my charm.”
Hunter shakes his head but can’t suppress a smirk. “You three are chaos.”
Willow arches a brow, her lips twitching. “Chaos you volunteered for.”
His expression relaxes, something unguarded slipping through. “Yeah. And I’d do it again.”
There’s a beat of quiet after that. Comfortable. Familiar.
Hunter sits on her other side, leaning into her just enough to nudge his shoulder gently into hers. “You doing okay, princess?”
Willow gives him a small smile, one that reaches her eyes. “Yeah. I think I am.”
She glances around the kitchen, and her expression shifts.
“I think I could get used to this,” she murmurs.
“You better,” Carson says. “Because we’re already used to you.”
I don’t say anything—just refill her glass of water and set it beside her plate. My hand brushes hers as I place it down, and her fingers linger on mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
She looks at me, and she doesn’t look away.
And in that moment—with dinner in front of us, her scent in the air, Carson close enough to kiss her shoulder, and Hunter watching her as though she’s the only star in the sky—I realize something:
We’re not just protecting her anymore. We’re building a home. One bite, one touch, one promise at a time. And I’ll wait for my bond as long as it takes.
Because I’m not here just to claim her.
I’m here to love her.