14. Bo
Bo
Iwas in the goat shed when she found me.
It was the warmest place on the property besides the cabin, and the goats didn't ask questions or expect conversation. Just headbutts for attention and soft bleating when they wanted more hay. Simple needs. Simple creatures. The kind of company I understood.
Maple had her head in my lap, her eyes half-closed while I scratched behind her ears.
She was the oldest of the three, gray around her muzzle now, and she'd adopted me the first winter I spent here.
Followed me around the property like a dog, slept outside my door when the weather was mild enough.
Calder joked that she was my familiar. He wasn't entirely wrong.
The shed door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and a scent that made every muscle in my body go tight.
Rain. Honeysuckle. Pine. And underneath it, that sweet, building warmth that had been driving me slowly insane for days.
I didn't look up. Just kept scratching Maple's ears, kept my breathing steady, kept my body still even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to turn around and look at her.
“Hi.” Her voice was quiet. Careful. Like she was approaching a wild animal and didn't want to spook it. “Can I come in?”
“Door's not locked.”
She stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. The goats looked up with interest, assessing this new presence in their space. Juniper, the youngest, trotted over to investigate, sniffing at Noa's hands until she laughed and scratched his chin.
“He likes you,” I said.
“He likes that I smell like the oats Calder was cooking this morning.” But she was smiling as she said it, that real smile that transformed her whole face into something soft and open. Something that made my chest ache in ways I didn't want to examine.
She made her way across the hay-strewn floor and lowered herself onto a bale near where I was sitting. Close, but not too close. Giving me space. Respecting my boundaries the same way I'd respected hers.
“I talked to Shepherd,” she said. “And Calder.”
“I know.”
“You know?” She tilted her head, studying me. “How?”
“You smell different.” I finally looked at her, letting myself see what I'd been avoiding.
The flush in her cheeks. The brightness in her eyes.
The way she held herself, looser than before, like some of the tension she'd been carrying had finally let go.
“Happier. Less afraid.” I paused. “Like them.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I smell like them?”
“Their scent is on you. Just traces. Enough to know you've been close to them recently.” I went back to scratching Maple's ears, giving myself something to do with my hands. “Enough to know things went well.”
She was quiet for a moment. Processing. She did that, I'd noticed. Took time to think before she spoke, weighing her words carefully. It was one of the things I liked about her. She didn't fill silence with noise just because it was uncomfortable.
“It did go well,” she said finally. “With both of them. Better than I expected.”
“Good.”
“Is that all you're going to say? Good?”
I looked at her again. She was watching me with that sharp, assessing gaze, trying to read me the way I read everyone else. Trying to figure out what I was thinking, what I was feeling, what was hiding behind the walls I'd built so high.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don't know.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Defensive posture, but not closed off. More like she was trying to hold herself together. “I guess I wanted to know if... if you felt the same way they do. About me.”
The question hung in the air between us. Simple words. Complicated answer.
I could lie. Could tell her I didn't feel anything, that whatever she'd sensed between us was just biology, just the proximity of alpha and omega in close quarters. Could push her away before she got close enough to hurt me the way Ellis had.
But I'd never been good at lying. And she'd never been good at believing them.
“I've been trying not to,” I said. Honest. Brutal. The only way I knew how to be. “Feel anything. About you.”
Something flickered in her expression. Pain, maybe. Or understanding.
“Why?”
“Because last time I felt something for someone, she used it to destroy me.” I set Maple gently aside and stood, needing to move, needing to burn off some of the restless energy that was building in my chest. “Ellis knew exactly what I felt for her.
Knew I'd do anything she asked. And she used that.
Twisted it. Turned my own instincts into a cage I couldn't escape from.”
I paced to the window, stared out at the snow-covered landscape without really seeing it.
“Three years of that. Three years of being so in love I couldn't see what she was doing to me.
And when she was done, when she'd gotten everything she wanted, she threw me away like I was nothing.” My hands curled into fists at my sides.
“Calder found me in the mountains, half-feral and ready to die. It took me years to feel like a person again. To trust myself. To believe I could exist without someone else telling me who to be.”
The shed was quiet except for the soft sounds of the goats and the wind outside. I could hear her breathing, could smell the shift in her scent from curiosity to something softer. Something that felt dangerously like compassion.
“Bo.” Her voice was gentle. Gentler than I deserved. “I'm not Ellis.”
“I know you're not.” I turned to face her. “That's the problem.”
She frowned. “How is that a problem?”
“Because if you were like her, I could keep my walls up. Could tell myself you were dangerous and stay away.” I took a step toward her, then another.
Closing the distance between us even though every survival instinct I had was screaming at me to run.
“But you're not like her. You're honest. You're real.
You fight for what you want and you don't pretend to be something you're not.”
I stopped in front of her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to see the way her pupils dilated, the way her breath caught, the way her pulse jumped in her throat.
“You're wild,” I said quietly. “Like me. And that scares the hell out of me. Because wild things don't do well in cages, and I'm terrified that if I let myself want you, I'll end up building a cage for both of us.”
She stood slowly, unfolding herself from the hay bale until she was standing in front of me. So close I could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, could count the individual curls framing her face, could see every fleck of gold in those amber eyes.
“I've been caged my whole life,” she said.
“By my family's expectations. By alphas who thought they knew what was best for me. By my own fear of letting anyone close enough to hurt me.” She reached up, slowly, giving me time to pull away.
Her palm came to rest against my chest, right over my heart.
“I'm done being caged. And I would never do that to someone else.”
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could feel it through my shirt. Her hand was warm, steady, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected.
“I don't know how to do this,” I admitted. The words came out rough, scraped raw. “Calder and Shepherd... they know how to be gentle. How to say the right things. I just... I see things. Feel things. And I don't know how to make them into words that don't come out wrong.”
“Then don't use words.”
She rose up on her toes, closing the last few inches between us. Her other hand came up to cup my face, her fingers cold from the winter air but gentle, so gentle.
“You see me,” she said softly. “You saw through me from the very first day, when I was lying about the suppressants and pretending I was fine.
You saw the fear underneath and you didn't push. You gave me space. You let me come to you on my own terms.” Her thumb traced along my cheekbone.
“No one's ever done that for me before.”
“Noa...” Her name came out like a prayer. Like a warning. Like both at once.
“I see you too, Bo.” Her eyes held mine, fierce and tender and absolutely certain. “I see the walls you've built and the wild thing you're hiding behind them. And I'm not afraid of either one.”
Something cracked inside me. Some last defense I'd been holding onto, some final wall I'd built to keep everyone out.
“I'm not good at gentle,” I warned her. “I'm not soft like Calder or careful like Shepherd. I'm rough edges and sharp instincts and I don't know how to be any other way.”
“I don't want you to be any other way.” Her hand slid from my cheek into my hair, fingers tangling in the strands, gripping just tight enough to make my breath catch. “I want you exactly as you are.”
I kissed her.
Not gentle. Not careful. Not anything like what Calder or Shepherd would have done.
I kissed her like a starving man who'd finally found food. Like a drowning man who'd finally found air. Like a wild thing who'd been alone in the wilderness for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to be touched.
She made a sound against my mouth. Not protest. Encouragement. Her hands fisted in my hair, pulling me closer, demanding more. She kissed me back with the same ferocity, the same hunger, matching me beat for beat.
I backed her against the wall of the shed, my hands finding her waist, her hips, the curve of her back. She was so warm. So alive. So real under my hands in a way that nothing had felt real in years.
“Bo.” She gasped my name when I broke the kiss to trail my mouth down her throat. “God, Bo...”
“I know.” I pressed my forehead to the curve of her neck, breathing her in.
Rain and honeysuckle and pine, and underneath it, the building sweetness of her approaching heat.
But that wasn't why I wanted her. That wasn't why my hands were shaking and my heart was pounding and everything inside me was screaming mine, mine, mine.
I wanted her because she was Noa. Because she was wild like me. Because she saw the feral thing hiding behind my walls and didn't run away.
“I'm going to mess this up,” I said against her skin. “I'm going to say the wrong thing or push too hard or forget how to be human. That's what I do. That's who I am.”
“Then I'll remind you.” Her hands gentled in my hair, stroking instead of gripping. “We'll remind each other.”
I pulled back to look at her. She was flushed, breathing hard, her lips swollen from my kisses. But her eyes were clear. Certain. She knew exactly what she was choosing, and she was choosing it anyway.
“You're sure?” I asked. “About all of this? About them, about me, about what's coming?”
“I've never been sure of anything in my life,” she admitted.
“I've always been too afraid to commit, too scared of being hurt, too convinced that everyone would eventually disappoint me.” She reached up and traced the line of my jaw, her touch feather-light.
“But I'm sure about this. About you. About all of you.” She smiled, small and real and devastating.
“You're the first people who've ever made me feel like being wild isn't something I need to hide.”
I didn't have words for what that meant to me. Didn't have a way to tell her that she'd just given me something I didn't even know I needed.
So I kissed her again instead. Softer this time. Slower. Letting her feel everything I couldn't say.
She melted into me, her body softening against mine, her hands sliding down to rest on my shoulders. The goats bleated in the background, unimpressed by the drama unfolding in their midst. Somewhere outside, a bird called. The wind whispered against the walls.
And I held her, this fierce, stubborn, beautiful woman who'd crashed into my life and refused to leave. Held her like she was the most precious thing I'd ever touched. Held her like I was never going to let go.
“We should go back inside,” she murmured eventually. “Before they send a search party.”
“Probably.” But I didn't let go. Couldn't quite make myself step back yet.
She laughed softly. “Bo. We have time. I'm not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” The word came out before I could stop it, raw and vulnerable in a way I hated.
But she didn't laugh at me. Didn't mock the need in my voice. Just looked at me with those amber eyes and said, “Promise.”
I kissed her one more time. Soft. Brief. A seal on the promise she'd made.
Then I made myself let go. Made myself step back. Made myself breathe.
“Okay,” I said. “Inside.”
She smiled at me, warm and bright and real. Then she took my hand, her fingers threading through mine like they belonged there.
We walked back to the cabin together, the snow crunching under our boots, her hand warm in mine.
The others were waiting by the window. I saw them watching as we approached, saw the way their expressions shifted when they noticed our joined hands. Calder's face softened into something like relief. Shepherd smiled, small and knowing.
This was happening. This impossible, terrifying, wonderful thing was actually happening.
I was letting someone in. After seven years of walls and isolation and convincing myself I was better off alone.
I was letting her in. Letting all of them in.
And for the first time since Ellis, it didn't feel like a trap.
It felt like coming home.