Chapter 4 Felix
Felix
Ispend the whole shift pretending I don’t notice how good he smells.
Spoiler: I notice. I notice every five seconds.
Coffee and cedar and this warm, solid thing that makes my chest tight and my wolf restless. The mate bond hums under my skin like I swallowed a live wire. Every time he leans past me, the scent spikes and I forget how to exist as a human being.
“Felix, you’re steaming the milk too hot.”
Right. Milk. I blink down at the thermometer. It’s basically lava.
“Oops.” I grin, hoping the charm distracts him.
It doesn’t. Ben just gives me a look, one that’s half exasperation, half “I was born disappointed in humanity.”
It should bug me, but honestly? It’s kind of hot.
By the time the morning rush ends, I’ve messed up two orders, over-frothed one pitcher, and nearly called him “mate” instead of “Ben.”
So yeah, a solid performance all around.
When he tells me, “Good work today,” it’s so dry I can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or mercy. Either way, my chest does something stupid and fluttery.
***
By the time I get home, the bond is still buzzing, low and constant like static under my skin. Our pack’s cabin hits me the second I walk in: pinewood walls, worn leather couches, three different kinds of laundry detergent clinging to the air. Too much scent. Too little him.
“Yo, Felix,” says Mateo from the kitchen, wrist-deep in a bowl of something aggressively green. “You good? You look like you ran face-first into a tree.”
I force a laugh, scratching the back of my neck. “Nah. Just a long day.”
He squints at me, like he can smell the lie. Maybe he can. I brush past before he can push.
Upstairs, I strip down, leaving my clothes draped across the arm of a chair. The second I shift, my bones realign, fur rippling across my skin, and the pressure that’s been building behind my ribs finally lets go.
The world sharpens into sound, scent, and the rhythm of the woods calling.
I run.
Through the trees, down to the lake, over the cold earth that smells like rain and new leaves. I run until my lungs burn and my paws ache. It helps, but not enough.
Because even in this body, I can still feel him. Like a compass needle under my skin pointing north: Ben, Ben, Ben.
Which makes zero sense. He’s human. He didn’t even flinch when we touched. No spark of recognition, no pull, nothing.
Werewolves rarely bond with humans anymore. That’s why so many packs live close together now. More wolves, more options. A better shot at fate doing its thing.
Maybe I’m just broken. Maybe my wolf’s confused because I’ve been single too long and Ben happens to look like every fantasy I’ve ever had.
“Maybe he’s not even my mate,” I mutter once I shift back, collapsing onto the grass. “Maybe he’s just… really, really hot coffee personified.”
The moon doesn’t answer. Rude.
I drag myself inside, make a cup of instant ramen, and scroll the pack chat. My pack-mate Rowan has texted five different memes about “mate senses tingling.” I throw my phone onto the couch and bury my face in a pillow.
Tomorrow I’ll be normal. Professional. Non-sniffy.
I’ll keep my distance…
…or I’ll get close enough to memorize the way he says my name again.
Either way, I’m doomed.