Chapter 8 A Promise in the Petals
A PROMISE IN THE PETALS
“The bond between a vólkin and his mate isn’t only about claiming. It’s about knowing, without question, that even your soul is no longer your own, it belongs to her.”
— ánya Volkóva of ávera, Mate to Vládan
Theron
My mate is afraid of me.
I can barely contain my body. My knees still tremble, but only slightly now. I must breathe. If I tear apart more trees, she’ll run away. But now she stares at me with wide eyes, and a soaked cunt. Our bond is real. Her soul responds to me. But she is still afraid.
The sight of her tiny body, shivering before me, only fuels the storm inside. Her fear, it excites me. She sees me. She sees my strength, my size, and there’s no denying it—I’m the male who can protect her. When her gaze lingered on my shaft . . .
A surge of pride floods my chest, and I suppress the grin threatening to surface again.
She saw it. Saw me. I can feel the pulse of desire in my blood making my cock throb.
She knows now what I can offer her. She knows I am capable, not just as a protector but as a male.
She sees me as strong, I hope as my muscles flex involuntarily. The thought makes my fur stand on end.
To be the first vólkin in centuries to meet his mate . . . It’s a great honor. I am the luckiest being in the world to have found her, yet with this fortune comes heavy responsibility not to overwhelm her, to approach with the care she deserves.
I can hear her rapid breathing, the faint sound of her heart pounding in her chest. My senses are so attuned to her that it’s almost painful. Almost.
I lower myself slightly, trying to appear less intimidating, even though I know it won’t change much. Maybe the gesture will ease her. I’m not only taller than any human, I’m also one of the biggest vólkins.
“Why wouldn’t you want to harm me?”
The very thought sends a pang of pain through me. I could never harm a female. Even if she wasn’t my mate, I’d never dare. “Because you are my mate,” I say, willing my voice to be as gentle as possible, even though my instincts want to roar the truth for the entire forest to hear.
Her eyes narrow, her posture straightens, and the confusion on her face is beyond charming. She’s trying to understand, trying to process words that sound foreign to her. “Your mate?” she repeats. “I’m not interested in participating in your mating season.”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. The sound of it surprises her, and truthfully, it surprises me too. But her response, her fire . . . Oh, I love it so much.
“It’s not like that,” I begin. Goddesses, she’s fierce. “A mate isn’t a companion for a season. A mate is . . . far more. A soul bonded to mine, chosen by the goddesses. It’s a connection that can’t be broken. You are mine, just as I am yours. Two halves, one fate.”
Her brow furrows as she studies me, her weapon still held defensively between us. She’s so small yet so brave, standing her ground. “What makes you think I’m your mate?” Her eyes search mine for answers she clearly doesn’t want to accept.
My heart swells with pride. How sweet. “It’s in your scent,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
I don’t want to frighten her, but I need her to understand.
“Your scent is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.
It’s . . . intoxicating. It draws me to you in ways I can’t explain, and my body, my soul, react. There’s no mistaking it.”
Will she get more defensive if I tell her that her body reacts as well? I don’t want to lose the fragile thread we’re spinning between us.
She raises an eyebrow. “So, what? It could happen with any other female. You just follow a scent?”
I shake my head, moving a fraction of a step closer. Careful, Theron. “No.” I keep my voice as steady and firm as I can manage. “It only happens with the one chosen by the goddesses. The connection is unique, only with you. It’s not just a scent. It’s deeper than that, a pull . . . a bond.”
The air between us feels charged, heavy with both tension and unspoken truths. I can see her struggling, torn between disbelief and the pull she must feel too. At least I hope so.
“Prove it. Show me you speak the truth,” she demands. There’s something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe even hope.
I nod. Very well, my mate.
I focus, drawing on the natural energy that hums beneath the earth, the connection that binds me to this forest and to her. The air around us shimmers, but soon, the ground at her feet stirs with small vibrations that ripple through the soil.
A delicate gasp escapes her as tiny shoots burst from the earth, unfurling into beautiful blue roses.
The petals are a vibrant, rich blue, glowing in the misty air.
They mirror her—this beautiful, fierce human standing before me—because they’re tied to her essence, what I’ve sensed from the moment her scent reached my snout.
“These roses,” I say, my eyes never leaving her face, “are not native to this land. They bloom here because of you. Your scent, the sweet scent of blue rose petals, led me to you. They’re a reflection of your soul.”
Her eyes widen, and she turns in place, taking in the growth around her. The way her dark hair flows as she moves, how it frames her pale skin that seems to glow in the dim forest light, captivates me. She’s breathtaking, like the goddesses carved her from stardust.
I take a slow step closer, but not too close, I don’t want to frighten her.
Not now. Not when she’s seeing the truth of our bond.
“As you see,” I continue, “these roses are not a random choice. They are connected to you, to your soul. Only a mate can sense and create something so personal. This bond, though new and unfamiliar to you, is ancient. It’s deeper than either of us can understand, but it’s real. ”
Her fingers brush the petals. Her touch is gentle, hesitant, as if she’s testing whether this moment is real. The roses sway under her fingertips, responding to her presence.
“You . . .” she starts, breathless and full of wonder. “You made them appear because you sensed them in me?”
“Yes, little human,” I confirm as gently as I can.
“It’s part of the bond between mates. We connect with what is most precious to each other.
These roses . . .” I gesture to the blooming flowers surrounding her.
“They are my heart reaching out to yours. They are proof that we are bound together.” Soon, it will be my responsibility and my honor to create a blue rose crown for her. Very, very soon.
For centuries, I’ve trained and led my people, each day pushing forward, every step driven by purpose.
But no amount of respect earned could ever fill the hollow ache inside me.
We are taught from birth that each of us has a mate, a soul connected with our own.
To find one’s mate is to find the missing piece of your very being, to become whole in a way nothing else can ever achieve.
And now . . . she’s here.
Right in front of me. Real. Flesh and blood. I can scent her, feel her presence with every breath I take.
But joy and fear, they’re two sides of the same leaf, aren’t they? The bond is a force of nature to me, absolute. Yet what if she doesn’t feel it the same way? What if it’s only me who is consumed by it, by this instinct, this pull that cuts me to my core?
She’s human, and I’m vólkin. We come from two different worlds. How can I make her see that she’s the missing piece of my being? And I’m the missing piece of hers?
I must help her understand.
The beauty of the moment turns bitter as her expression changes, curiosity fading into something darker.
“How dare you,” she snaps. Her chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, her hands gripping the fabric of her white sarafan.
Her eyes blaze with fury. “You reach into my soul without permission and presume to call me your mate? Who do you think you are?”
Her words are sharper than any fang, but I don’t move.
I can feel the heat of her anger, the fire burning inside her, and I understand.
Of course she’s afraid. She’s human. She didn’t grow up with tales of bonds and mates woven into her every thought like I did.
She knows nothing of the goddesses’ ways, or the destiny I’ve been waiting for my entire life.
To her, this must all feel like an invasion.
Her world suddenly exposed to someone she’s never met. Even if I am her mate.
She takes a step back, then another. The distance between us grows, and my heart clenches at the sight of her retreating. I should have been more cautious, more patient. Her reaction is a reminder of the boundaries I must respect. I was too eager, too consumed by the bond I feel with her.
Her eyes meet mine one last time before she turns on her heel and bolts. The sight of her disappearing into the forest, her long, dark hair flowing behind her like a shadow, leaves an ache in my chest. But I don’t move to follow.
Not yet.
I let her run. Let her feel that she can escape. My cock throbs with every breath I take, as if her scent alone has chained me.
Because little does she know . . . I love the chase.