Chapter 16 - Connor
Dylan finds me at the edge of Fern’s property just after midnight.
“Thought I’d find you here.” He falls into step beside me as I pace the fence line. “You know we have other wolves who can run watch duty.”
“I know.”
“Wolves who actually slept last night.”
“I’m aware.”
Dylan sighs and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground, Connor. You know that, right?”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy watching the tree line for movement and too focused on the steady rhythm of Fern’s heartbeat inside the cottage. She fell asleep about an hour ago. I’ve been counting her breaths ever since.
“How’s the mate bond treating you?” Dylan asks.
“Fine.”
“Liar.” He kicks a loose stone out of his path as we round the corner toward the back of the cottage. “I saw your face when you got that call from her. Thought you were going to tear someone’s throat out before you even made it to her cottage.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Yeah, well, try to keep that under control.” Dylan stops walking and turns to face me. “Last thing we need is you going feral on some human because your wolf can’t handle the idea of someone threatening your mate.”
My mate. The words hit me somewhere deep in my chest and settle there with a weight I wasn’t expecting. Fern would hate hearing herself described that way. She’d probably throw something at my head if I said it out loud.
But that doesn’t make it less true.
“I’m not going feral.”
“Not yet.” Dylan gives me the look he always gives me when he thinks I’m being an idiot. “But you’re not sleeping. You’re barely eating. You’re spending every spare minute either watching her cottage or thinking about watching her cottage. That’s not sustainable, and you know it.”
“It’s temporary.”
“Is it?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re settling in for the long haul. And I’m not sure your body can take much more of this before something gives.”
I don’t have a good answer for that, so I stay quiet.
Dylan shakes his head and lets out a long breath. “Look, I get it. The bond makes you want to protect her. That’s how it works. But she’s pack now, which means she’s got the whole town looking out for her. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”
“I’m not carrying it by myself. I’m carrying it with you.” I gesture at the darkness around us. “Aren’t you supposed to be running the eastern border right now?”
“Thomas and James have it covered. I wanted to check on you first.” He cocks his head to the side and asks, “When’s the last time you actually talked to her? Had a real conversation that didn’t end with one of you storming off?”
I think about the way she looked at me in her cottage earlier. The pain in her voice when she said I’d already hurt her. The way she closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to watch me leave.
“We’re working on it,” I reply vaguely.
“From what I hear, you two have been circling each other like wolves sizing up a fight. Lots of growling, not much actual communication.”
“Who told you that?”
“Luna. Who heard it from Ruby. Who apparently heard it from one of the nurses at the clinic.” Dylan grins at my expression. “Small town, remember? Word travels fast around here. Especially when it involves the most interesting couple Silvercreek has seen in years.”
“We’re not a couple.”
“You’re mated.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“You claimed her in front of the whole pack, Connor. Whether she wants to admit it or not, whether you want to admit it or not, that means something. The bond doesn’t lie.”
I think about the way Fern kissed me back in her office. The way her body melted against mine before she shoved me away and called me a prick. The way she looked at me in the woods on our mating night, all fire and fury and something else underneath that neither of us was ready to acknowledge.
“She’s scared,” I tell him. “Of me. Of what I represent. Of everything that’s happened since she got here.”
“Can you blame her?”
“No. I can’t blame her for any of it. She has every right to hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.” Dylan steps closer, glances toward the cottage, and lowers his voice. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching. That’s not hate, Connor. That’s a woman who’s terrified of how much she feels and doesn’t know what to do about it.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe that somewhere underneath all her anger and fear, Fern feels even a fraction of what I feel for her. But wanting something doesn’t make it true.
“Go run your patrol,” I deflect. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
Dylan holds eye contact for a long moment and then sighs and shakes his head. “You’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever met.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He’s already backing toward the tree line, and he raises a hand in farewell. “I’ll check in later. Try not to freeze to death while I’m gone.”
I watch him disappear into the darkness, and then I turn back toward the cottage.
Fern’s heartbeat is slow and steady now. Deep sleep. Good. She needs it after everything she’s been through.
I make one more circuit of the property and check every door and window along the way.
The sheet she pinned over the broken kitchen glass flutters in the breeze, and I wedge a chair under the back door handle and test it twice to make sure it holds.
Tomorrow I’ll have someone come out to replace the pane. For tonight, this will have to do.
The front porch has a decent view of the street and the path leading up from town.
I slide against the wall beside the door and stretch my legs out in front of me.
The wood is cold and hard, but I’ve slept in worse places during training exercises and border patrols.
At least here I can hear her breathing. At least here I can reach her in seconds if something goes wrong.
The hours crawl past. I track the moon’s arc across the sky, count stars, and listen to the small sounds of the town settling into sleep.
A dog barks somewhere in the distance. An owl calls from the trees behind the cottage.
A cat slinks across the yard and pauses to stare at me before disappearing into the shadows.
Dylan texts every so often, just like he promised. Perimeter clear. Eastern border quiet. No sign of movement.
I send back acknowledgments and keep my eyes on the darkness, and my ears tuned to the steady rhythm of Fern’s heart.
Around three in the morning, exhaustion finally catches up with me. I lean my head against the wall and let my eyes drift shut. Just for a minute. Just to rest them.
The next thing I know, the door is flying open, and Fern is standing over me with her mouth hanging open.
“What the hell?”
I blink against the morning and try to remember where I am. My neck screams in protest as I lift my head, and my back feels like someone spent the night beating it with a hammer. Every joint in my body aches from hours spent sitting on cold wood in the November chill.
“Connor, what are you doing here?” Fern’s voice climbs higher with each syllable.
I push myself upright and wince at the symphony of pops and cracks from my spine. “Morning.”
“Don’t you ‘morning’ me.” She crosses her arms over her chest and glares down at me. She’s still in the clothes she wore yesterday—rumpled now from sleep—and her hair is a wild tangle around her face. Dark circles shadow her eyes. “Have you been out here all night?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“I told you I’d have someone watching the cottage.” I stretch my arms overhead and feel my shoulders realign with a satisfying crack. “I never said it wouldn’t be me.”
“That’s insane.” She throws her hands up and paces to the edge of the porch and back. “You can’t just sleep on my porch like some kind of—”
“Guard dog?” I offer.
She doesn’t smile. “This isn’t funny, Connor. You must be freezing. And for what? To prove some kind of point?”
“To keep you safe. Someone broke into your home, Fern. Did you really think I was going to leave you alone with that threat hanging over your head?”
“The pack is handling it. You said so yourself.”
“The pack is handling the perimeter.” I push myself to my feet and brush dirt from my jeans. “I’m handling you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“That came out wrong.” I scrub a hand over my face and try to shake off the fog of exhaustion. “I meant—I’m not going to sit at home and wait for someone else to tell me you’re okay. I need to know for myself. I need to be here. I need—”
I stop myself before I say something I can’t take back.
“You need what?”
I shake my head and force my voice back to something approaching normal. “Nothing. Forget it. The point is, I wasn’t going to leave you unprotected. Not tonight. Not after what happened.”
Something flickers in her gaze. Not quite gratitude, but close. Maybe recognition. Maybe the first crack in the wall she’s built between us.
She looks away first.
“Well, I’m fine. As you can see.” She gestures at herself with a self-deprecating wave. “Alive and well and in desperate need of coffee. So you can go home now and get some actual sleep.”
“Where are you headed?”
“The store. I need a few things for breakfast before work.”
I glance at my watch. It’s already past seven, and I know her first appointment is at nine-thirty. “You’ll be late if you go yourself. You still need to shower and get ready.”
“I’m perfectly capable of managing my own schedule.”
“Give me the list.” I hold out my hand and wait. “I’ll go. You get ready for work. By the time you’re done, I’ll be back with everything you need.”
She stares at my outstretched palm like she’s trying to decide if accepting help from me counts as some kind of defeat. I keep my hand steady and don’t move.
“I don’t need you to run my errands.”
“I know you don’t, but you’ve had a hell of a night, and you’ve got a full day of patients ahead of you. Let me do this one thing, Fern. Please.”
The fight drains out of her all at once. Her shoulders slump, and she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper.
“Fine.” She slaps it into my palm. “But this doesn’t mean anything.”
“Never said it did.”
“And I’m still angry with you.”
“I know.”
“And this doesn’t change what happened between us. Any of it.”
“I know that too.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re being awfully agreeable.”
“Would you prefer I argue?”
“I’d prefer you stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re some kind of white knight who just slayed a dragon for me.” She jabs a finger at my chest. “You slept on my porch. That’s not heroic. That’s just stubborn and slightly unhinged.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Noted.”
“Go.” She points toward the street. “Before I change my mind and tell you to forget the whole thing.”
I tuck the list into my pocket and head down the porch steps. The morning is crisp and clean, and the walk to the general store takes less than ten minutes. Mrs. Patterson is just unlocking the front door when I arrive, and she raises an eyebrow at my disheveled appearance.
“Rough night?”
“Something like that.”
I grab a basket and work through Fern’s list. Eggs. Milk. Bread. Butter. Bacon, fresh berries, and orange juice. Coffee, because I noticed yesterday that she was running low. Nothing fancy, but enough to make a decent breakfast.
Mrs. Patterson rings me up with curiosity written all over her face. The whole town probably knows about the lottery by now. About the human woman who ended up matched with me. About the bond that neither of us asked for, but both of us are stuck with.
Let them talk. I don’t care what anyone thinks.
The walk back feels shorter than it should. I take the porch steps two at a time, knock on the door, and wait.
A moment later, it swings open.
Fern has showered. Her hair is still damp and dangles loose around her shoulders, and she’s changed into fresh clothes—black slacks and a soft blue sweater that brings out the color of her eyes.
She looks tired but put together, and something in my chest loosens at the sight of her standing there safe and whole.
“That was fast,” she comments.
“Small town. Short walk.” I hold up the grocery bag. “Got everything on your list. Plus coffee, because you were almost out.”
She takes the bag and peers inside, and I watch her face soften as she catalogues the contents.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I mean the coffee. It wasn’t on the list.”
“Figured you could use it after last night.”
She’s quiet for a moment and studies me with those pale blue eyes. I hold still under her scrutiny and wait for whatever comes next.
“Well,” she finally says, “I suppose the least I can do is make you breakfast. After you spent all night freezing on my porch like an idiot.”
A real smile breaks across my face before I can stop it. “That an invitation?”
“Don’t push your luck, Langley.” But there’s no heat in the words, and she steps aside to let me through. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”
It’s not forgiveness. It’s not acceptance. It’s not even close to the fresh start we both know we need.
But it’s a door she didn’t slam in my face, and right now, that feels like everything.