Chapter 17
CADE
I’ve never been good at waiting, and tonight, after the last couple of weeks, I feel like my bones are pacing even when I’m standing still.
Rowan’s room is quiet and yet, somehow charged, like even the walls know she’s finally home.
The bed is neatly made, and her closet is freshly stocked, even the floors are warm.
And her scent lingers faintly in the air—subtle, familiar, almost breakable.
A thread of comfort woven through the air that I don’t dare breathe too deeply, afraid it might vanish.
It’s the only room I entered when she was gone that I didn’t destroy. I couldn’t.
With a heavy sigh, I turn toward the window as snippets of Elias’s previous words loop through my head for the hundredth time.
We’re running out of time with the council, Cade.
Taren’s already warning that the packs are restless.
Now that we know Rowan’s alive and even more powerful, we need to show them who she is before they come for her again.
They’re going to be watching our pack closer than ever before.
We need our alpha.
He isn’t wrong. Not about any of it. I’ve known this since I decided to enter Glacier Crest Pack, but we also have to balance out the council again. It might be nearly as important as showing them my mate isn’t a threat.
For centuries, those alphas weren’t just lawmakers—they were the anchor of our survival. A unified force stronger than any single pack. They kept our people alive when the women began to go barren. They built systems so no wolf—old or young, strong or struggling—was ever left without a home.
No shifter left behind. It wasn’t a slogan. It was salvation.
And then they twisted one of their own vows: Protection from any who threaten our existence.
They let Malrik manipulate them into believing Rowan was a death sentence instead of a prophecy fulfilled.
Fear did the rest. Now the remaining two council members, possibly still loyal to him, are a danger.
Not just to Rowan, but to every pack out there, and I’ll dismantle every last piece of their broken system before I let it destroy her again.
Taren has apparently been pushing relentlessly for immediate action. She’s afraid the packs will lose faith if the council isn’t restored soon. Afraid others not fit for the role might try to seize control. Afraid we’ll lose hold of the narrative before we even understand what that should be.
I told Elias I understood.
Then I told him I didn’t give a damn, but that was a lie, and he knew it.
I just need tonight to be selfish.
He didn’t argue. Only nodded and said, “Take care of her. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”
Now I’m here, pretending I’m calm when every part of me is vibrating with the need to see her. To touch her and confirm she’s real and not something my mind stitched together to survive.
Because for weeks, that’s all I had—ghosts of her laugh, echoes of her scent, the memory of her hand slipping out of mine.
And then—
Her footsteps approach. Slow at first, then quicker, like she can’t wait either.
Rowan steps into the room, and my entire world snaps back into focus like someone’s forced the sun out from behind a cloud.
Her smile hits first. Soft and exhausted, but radiant in a way that knocks the air straight out of my lungs. She stands steadier, like she’s carrying a storm inside her but finally knows how to hold it without letting it tear her apart.
Then she’s running toward me.
I stop breathing entirely.
Gods, I think as she collides with my chest, I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
I wrap her up instantly, hands spanning her back, arms locking around her like instinct has taken over, and maybe it has. The moment her body presses to mine, every frantic thought—Taren, the council, Malrik, responsibility—disintegrates like ash in the wind.
My mate is here.
She’s alive.
She’s in my arms.
And for right now, that’s the only thing in the world that matters.
Rowan melts against me, and her fingers fist into the back of my shirt—desperate and trembling—and something in my chest pulls tight, sharp enough to hurt.
After a long moment, she tips her head back and looks up at me. “You have no clue how much I missed you.”
“If it’s even half of how I felt,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along her cheek, “then I have an idea.”
I try to smile, but it doesn’t sit right. I don’t want to talk about the time she was gone. I don’t want to look back at those days where every sunrise felt like a punishment. I want this—her warmth, her breath, the way she leans into every inch of me like she was born to be right here with me.
“You’re different,” I say instead, my fingers skim gently along her jaw. “But I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”
Her smirk brightens the room. “Because I finally see you as more than a murder-hungry-asshole and twice now, I’ve run into your arms like I need you more than life itself?”
“That helps, yes.” I hold her tighter as a soft chuckle escapes me.
“Seriously, though.” Her head shakes, and it seems to be in amazement as her prism-like eyes stare up at me.
“It’s almost indescribable. I feel you. The bond, the tether, the rightness of being right here in your arms. It’s…
home. Unlike anything I’ve ever known. I don’t understand it, but I know I can trust it. ”
I swear the floor shifts beneath me.
Her words hit harder than any blow I’ve ever taken. They strip me open and fill me all at once. I don’t trust my voice—not when every instinct inside me is howling to mark her, claim her, sink my teeth into her skin and announce to the world that she’s mine.
But it’s not the time. Rowan’s close, but I refuse to push her even a breath faster than she wants to go.
So, I hold her like she’s something holy, something I was never meant to touch, and yet somehow get to.
I press a slow kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll always be your home,” I whisper against her hair. “Whenever you need me. However you need me.”
And for the first time since she disappeared, I feel steady again.
She glances over my shoulder, scanning the room for something—or someone—until her gaze lands back on me. “That wolf shifter book Iris gave me didn’t really go into details of what being mates really entails. I’d like to ask some questions if that’s okay.”
She’s giving us the opportunity to teach her, my wolf practically purrs.
He’s been quiet since we found her—coiled and watchful—but I know that’s not disinterest. It’s restraint. Instinct clawing against control.
“Anything you want to know,” I say, taking her hand, “I’ll tell you.”
We sit on the bed together, but she pauses before speaking again, a crease between her brows. “Where’s Archie?”
“Sleeping on the chair.” I nod toward the corner. The ferret is curled in a tiny ball, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his small body as he breathes.
She smiles softly. There’s no uncertainty about her any longer. Just a woman ready to understand something that had previously terrified her since the day she was told it existed.
Rowan places a hand over her heart briefly. “Is it normal to feel you even when you’re not touching me? It wasn’t like this before, but now, it’s almost like you’re inside my head. Not speaking. More like a presence there.”
A warmth blooms low in my chest, matching the bond’s pulse—a physical echo of her recognition.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That’s our connection settling and strengthening.
It was strained while you were gone—stretched, but not broken.
Now that we’re together again, it’s anchoring itself.
What you’re feeling now? That’s a preview.
And it isn’t even close to what it will be like when the bond is complete. ”
Her eyes widen slightly, searching my face with a curious gaze. “Like when we have sex?”
She’s not holding back tonight. If she were anyone else, I might be the uncomfortable one.
I shake my head, then shrug. “Sex strengthens the bond, yes. But it’s the bite that completes it. We could be fully bound without ever having sex, if that’s what you needed.”
She lets out a harsh laugh. “Let’s not go that far. I’m a woman with needs after all.”
Thank the gods for that.
Then she lifts a brow. “Just not constantly. And I do have some control over my hormones, thank you very much.”
I take that as Rowan-language for: Don’t even think about it tonight.
Heat colors her cheeks—not embarrassment, but something hopeful. “So, the pull I feel? Wanting to be close to you? That’s normal, too?”
“Normal,” I murmur, leaning down until our foreheads touch, “and mutual. I assure you.”
Her breath shivers against my lips. “I used to think the bond would make me feel trapped. Like I’d lose myself inside it.”
“And now?”
“And now,” she whispers, “it feels like I found an extension of myself instead. Like I’ve been missing half my senses, and they’ve finally switched on.”
I close my eyes for a beat, because her trust—her certainty—hits me harder than any punch could. “Rowan, you have no idea what it means to hear you say that.”
She lifts one hand and lays it gently over my heart. “I think I do.”
The bond thrums between us, deep and steady, something ancient and instinctive threading through our veins. Strength I didn’t know I had settles inside my chest.
She leans closer, voice a soft whisper in the space between her lips and mine. “Thank you for making me feel safe here.”
“Always.” My thumb strokes along her jaw. “If you have doubts or you’re scared or just confused—I’ll be right there with you. Every step. You only need to say the word.”
Her smile is small but bright. “Good. Because I have a lot of questions.”
“And I have all night,” I murmur.
Her smile softens, eyes warm. “So do I.”
We keep talking long after we should. Her questions come slowly at first, then quicker, curiosity blooming where fear used to live. I answer everything—patiently and honestly—watching the last shadows of doubt slip from her eyes one by one.
Until eventually, exhaustion wins.