Chapter 23 Riley
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Riley
I couldn’t stop staring at the journal.
The words blurred in front of me, rearranging themselves, refusing to make sense even though I’d read them three times now.
Riley Mirabelle.
That was me. That was who I was. Not Riley Hawkins, human romance novelist from Lysmont. Not the orphan raised by a kind godmother who never spoke of her past.
Riley Mirabelle. Wolf, noble blood from Lytopia.
Everything Caelan said was right. He wasn’t the reason I shifted. His bite didn’t transform me into what I wasn’t. It just... woke me up. Woke the wolf that had been sleeping inside me my whole life.
I wasn’t human at all.
I’d never been human.
The realization crashed over me in waves. Shock, then grief, then a strange numbness that settled over everything. My whole life had been a lie. Every assumption I’d made about myself, every belief about my identity, my heritage, my place in the world. All of it, wrong.
Cool. Great. Totally fine. Just a complete existential crisis before lunch.
I owed Caelan an apology. A massive one. I’d blamed him for days, accused him of changing me against my will, kept him at arm’s length because I was convinced he’d done this to me.
He hadn’t.
He’d just found me. And in doing so, accidentally unlocked the truth of who I really was.
Wen must have sensed my spiraling, because suddenly she was talking. Bright and fast, pulling my attention away from the journal.
“You know, you’re not the only one whose life got turned upside down by Lytopia,” Wen said, her voice light but her eyes understanding. “I’m actually the reason this whole clusterfuck started seven years ago.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“The portals. The first one that opened between our worlds.” Wen laughed, a little self-deprecating, a little bewildered. “That was me.”
“You opened it?”
“By accident. I was young and stupid and lonely, and I found this old book in my grandmother’s things.
A spell book, though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time.
There was this... soulmate spell.” She shrugged.
“I thought it was nonsense. A joke. I did it on a whim, never expecting anything to actually happen.”
“And it opened a portal?”
“To Lytopia. To Ravenor, specifically. Where a certain grumpy Alpha King happened to be standing at exactly the wrong moment.” Wen grinned at Malachar, who rolled his eyes fondly.
“I didn’t know I had magic in my blood. My grandparents never told me.
I had no idea I was capable of pulling off a spell. ”
My mind was racing. “But that was seven years ago. Portals have been opening ever since. All over the world.”
“Exactly.” Malachar stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “Which raises an interesting question. The spell Wen cast was a soulmate spell. Singular. To find her soulmate. But what if her magic didn’t stop there?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if Wen’s magic is the reason portals keep opening?
Not to find her soulmate, that’s done, but to find soulmates.
Plural.” He looked between us all. “Wolves finding human mates. Humans stumbling through portals into Lytopia. The boundaries between worlds weakening in specific places, at specific times. What if it’s all connected to that original spell? ”
No one said anything. I stared at Wen. Wen stared back, looking just as shocked as I felt.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“That would make sense,” Caelan said slowly. “The pattern of portal openings. The frequency of wolves finding human mates in the past seven years. It’s not random. It’s magical. Guided.”
“By my accidental soulmate spell?” Wen’s voice was faint. “I did that?”
“You might have.” Malachar’s hand found her shoulder, steadying. “Without knowing. Without meaning to. Magic has a way of growing beyond its original intent.”
“But that’s...” Wen shook her head. “That’s insane. I just wanted to find my soulmate. I didn’t mean to... to change the fabric of reality or whatever.”
“Magic doesn’t care about intent,” Caelan said. “It cares about power. And if you had enough power to open a portal between worlds, even accidentally, you had enough power to leave a permanent mark on the barrier between them.”
“Oh great.” Wen laughed, but it was hollow. “So I’m the reason wolves have been showing up in the human world for seven years. I’m the reason all this chaos has been happening.”
“You’re the reason we found our mates,” Malachar corrected gently. “You’re the reason I found you. If the spell is still working, still connecting soulmates across worlds... that’s not a bad thing. That’s a gift.”
Wen didn’t look convinced. I could relate. Finding out everything you believed about yourself was built on secrets and lies wasn’t exactly a comfortable experience. At least she’d only accidentally changed reality. I’d just discovered I wasn’t even the species I thought I was.
I sat down heavily. Or rather, my legs gave out and I ended up on the floor, but same result. Very dignified.
Too much. This was too much.
I was a wolf from another dimension. My parents were murdered because of secrets related to the crown. There was a prophecy about me. And the reason the entire world had been dealing with portals for seven years might be a lovesick girl’s accidental spell.
If this were a book, I’d throw it across the room for being too ridiculous.
“I need to process this,” I said weakly. “I need... I don’t know. Sleep. A bed. Somewhere that isn’t here, no offense.”
“None taken,” Wen said softly.
“My brother has an apartment nearby,” Malachar offered. “He’s not in town right now. Won’t be back for a few days. You two could stay there tonight.”
“That would be perfect,” Caelan said. “Thank you.”
Malachar nodded, pulled out a key from somewhere, and gave us directions. It was walkable, apparently. Just a few blocks down the main street.
We said our goodbyes. Thanked Wen for her help, promised to keep in touch, exchanged phone numbers. Wen hugged me, holding on longer than expected, treating me as an old friend. It was strange and also exactly what I needed.
“We’ll keep looking through the archives,” Wen promised. “If there’s anything else about the Mirabelles, about the prophecy, we’ll find it.”
“Thank you. Really.”
“Take care of yourself. And him.” Wen nodded toward Caelan, who was pretending not to listen while clearly listening. I nodded and followed Caelan out the door.
The walk to the apartment was quiet and awkward.
Well, it was mostly me. My issue, my fault.
Because I’d blamed him for no reason, kept him at arm’s length for two days. Made him sleep in my living room while I barricaded myself in my bedroom. Very mature of me.
And he didn’t deserve any of it.
I kept glancing at him as we walked. He was tense, a low thrum of uncertainty pulsing between us that matched my own. He didn’t know where we stood. Didn’t know if I was still angry.
I wasn’t.
I was embarrassed, guilty. And I missed him, missed him so much it hurt, a hollowness that only his presence could fill.
The streets of Ryeville were quiet in the evening light.
A few locals walked past, nodding politely.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Normal, human things happening in a normal, human town, while I walked beside a werewolf prince from another dimension, trying to figure out how to apologize for being an absolute disaster of a person.
My life was absurd. Truly, genuinely absurd. If I put this in a book, my editor would tell me to tone it down.
We found the apartment easily enough. It was a nice place, clearly belonging to someone with actual taste. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room with a comfortable couch.
And one bedroom.
I stood in the doorway, staring at the single queen-sized bed. One bed. One of my favorite tropes, happening in real life.
I’d written this scene a dozen times. The forced proximity, the tension, the inevitable giving in to feelings they’d been denying. I knew exactly how it was supposed to go.
But living it was different. Awkward and uncomfortable and I had no idea what to do with my hands. I really must be in another dimension.
“I’ll take the floor,” Caelan said immediately, already grabbing a pillow from the bed.
“You don’t have to...”
“It’s fine. You take the bed.”
There was no argument in his voice, no pushback. He was giving me space, the same way he’d been giving me space for two days.
I hated it. But I had no idea how to fix it yet, no idea what to say. So I just nodded and watched him arrange blankets on the floor with military precision, creating a makeshift bed that looked significantly less comfortable than the actual bed sitting empty behind us.
This was stupid. We were both being stupid. But apparently being stupid was my specialty lately.
We got ready for bed in awkward silence. I used the bathroom first, changed into the oversized t-shirt I’d packed, brushed my teeth. When I came out, he was already on the floor, eyes closed. Pretending to sleep, probably. Giving me privacy I didn’t want.
I climbed into bed. The sheets were soft. The pillow was comfortable. Everything was fine.
Except I couldn’t sleep.
I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, hyperaware of him on the floor below. His breathing, his presence, the steady pulse of the bond between us.
After what seemed an eternity, I rolled over and peeked over the side of the bed. He was staring back at me. His gray eyes caught the moonlight from the window, and a wall inside me crumbled.
I let my hand dangle down, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
My fingers found his face, following the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my palm.
“I miss you,” I whispered.
“I’m right here.”
“You know what I mean.” I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. For blaming you. For pushing you away. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Riley...”