Chapter Seven
Alexis
I wake up gloriously aching – and alone. Cole is not in bed with me, and I feel his absence immediately. Absurdly, I feel a fierce craving for his return, this man I just met…yesterday?
What have I done? Have I gone crazy?
I blink, rub my face with my hands, stretch, and sit up.
The morning light filters softly through pale linen curtains, turning the whole room honey-gold. The bed is big—king-sized, naturally—and the sheets smell faintly of cedar and the warm spice that clings to him.
His bedroom is simple—rough-hewn wooden furniture, a dresser scarred with age and polish, a framed photograph of the mountains above Cedar Run on one wall.
I stretch again, missing his warmth next to me, and that’s when I hear him—his low voice carrying from somewhere down the hall. The words are indistinct, but the tone is serious, clipped, all business. Whoever he’s talking to, it’s not a social call.
I slide out of bed, heart starting to beat faster. There’s something in his voice—tension, frustration —that tells me whatever’s going on out there, it’s not just small talk.
I grab my shirt and pull it on over my head, and then slip into a pair of panties. Then, carefully, lightly, I tiptoe out into the hall. I want to overhear what Cole obviously doesn’t want me to hear.
Unfortunately, shifters have incredible hearing. Instantly, Cole’s voice changes and goes all chipper. “That sounds great! I’m going to run by pack headquarters to check in with my mother. Talk to you soon.”
My warm feeling of satisfaction from last night fades. He’s keeping secrets from me. This is not a great start to a relationship.
I stalk into the kitchen just as he’s hanging up.
The kitchen is rustic but not rough. Warm pine cabinets, the knots and grain visible under a soft satin finish.
The counters are polished granite, dark as river stone, and the morning light slants in through the big window over the sink, glinting off the chrome coffee maker and the faint shimmer of steam rising from two mugs.
A cast-iron skillet still sits on the stove, a few crumbs of toast and the faint scent of butter clinging to it.
The table—solid oak, probably hand-built—is set for two.
There’s a plate of scrambled eggs flecked with herbs, bacon curled and glistening, golden toast stacked neatly beside a jar of homemade berry jam.
A bowl of sliced fruit—peach, apple, and honeydew—sits in the center, along with a small vase holding a single wildflower, probably picked from outside.
Cole is standing beside it, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. He’s barefoot, his hair still damp from a shower, wearing just jeans and a plain gray T-shirt that does nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders.
He looks up the moment I walk in.
“Morning,” he says, all easy charm and suspiciously casual tone.
I fold my arms, giving him my best don’t-even-try-it stare. “Morning. So… who were you talking to? You sounded… tense.”
For just a heartbeat, something flickers in his eyes—gone before I can pin it down. He picks up his mug, takes a long, unnecessary sip, and sets it down again. “It was nothing important. Just logistics.”
“Logistics,” I echo.
He lifts a shoulder and gives me a charming shrug. “Pack business is boring. There’s a reason I let my brother be Alpha. I’d rather talk about us.”
On the one hand, I want answers and I don’t like that he’s shutting me out. On the other hand, I also want to know what our future holds.
I settle down at the table and shovel a pile of bacon onto my plate, and then follow it up with a pile of fluffy golden scrambled eggs, as he sits down in the chair across from me.
He leans back in his chair, coffee mug cradled in his hands, and says quietly, “You know what I want?”
I swallow a bite of buttery eggs and raise an eyebrow. “I’m afraid to ask.”
His mouth curves. “A life that feels like this. Breakfasts together. Stealing your bacon.”
“But there’s a giant pile of bacon on-” I’m pointing at the plate in the middle of the table.
He reaches over, plucks a piece off my plate, and pops it in his mouth before I can protest. “Yours tastes better.”
I can’t help but laugh, but then I grow serious. “You’re asking for…forever. Why? Why me?”
He studies me for a long moment, the teasing fading from his face. He sets his mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“Because it just feels right,” he says finally. “Not just right—it feels inevitable. In the best possible way. You’re my person. You’re what I’ve been waiting for all along, without even knowing I was waiting.”
I blink. “That’s a lot to take in from a man I met yesterday.”
He nods slightly. “Yeah. It is. But that’s what being fated means for us, Alexis.
It’s not just chemistry or attraction. It’s…
the bond. The pull. The sense that your soul recognizes someone before your mind has caught up.
You feel it in your bones, and no matter what you tell yourself, you can’t unfeel it.
I thought it was a myth until I met you. ”
Something in his tone—soft, reverent—makes my chest tighten.
“When I met you,” he continues, “there was instant recognition. I looked at you and I thought, her. I just…my words aren’t coming out right. You’re my fated mate, which means you’re the person the universe chose for me. The one I was built for. The one I’ll protect, no matter what it costs.”
My throat goes dry. “You barely know me.”
His eyes gleam with a warmth that flows over me like sunshine.
“Maybe not every detail. But I know the important things. I know the way your heartbeat changes when you’re about to challenge me.
I know that you’re strong and smart and funny.
I know you’re not afraid of wolves—but you’re terrified of belonging anywhere.
And I know that when you laugh, it sounds like home. ”
I stare at him, words caught somewhere between my heart and my throat.
“That’s what being fated means,” he says quietly. “It’s not magic. It’s… recognition. It’s every part of me knowing, without question, that you’re it.”
I swallow hard. “That’s not fair. You know, to the very depths of your soul, and I’m sitting here questioning, wondering whether this is real, wondering if you’re just using me to…”
To distract me from whatever secret you’re keeping.
“Using you?” he looks puzzled. “Wolves don’t lie about our fated mates. Ever.”
His phone rings, and he looks at it and rolls his eyes. “Hello, mother of all nags,” he answers it. “Yes, we’ll be there shortly. Keep your fur on.” And he hangs up.
“We will?” I ask, giving him a skeptical look. “I’m meeting the family already?”
“It’s better this way.” He smiles ruefully.
“Otherwise she’ll be casually sending pack members to drop by every fifteen minutes to borrow milk or drop off a loaf of bread that I don’t need, and she’ll call me every ten minutes asking questions that she already knows the answer to.
Don’t worry, she’ll love you. She’s at pack headquarters. ”
He snatches another piece of bacon from my plate. “I’m going to need my strength.”
“What about my strength?” I yelp, pulling the plate closer to me and covering it protectively with my hands.