Chapter Five
JESSE
She touches my arm, small hand trembling, but the moment her skin meets mine, the world steadies. The fury still claws at the edges of my control, but her voice cuts through it like sunlight breaking storm clouds.
"Jesse. Don't. Please. I don't want this."
That one word, please, brings me to a halt.
Jeremiah knows it, too. He seizes the moment to turn and stalk off, shoulders rigid, his scent sour with fury. I'll deal with him later. For now, I focus on the only thing that matters—my mate standing so close to me, the feeling of her hand on my arm.
"Listen!" she blurts, gripping my arm tighter. "I—I want to see your house."
She's accepting that she's mine.
"Of course. It's your house too."
Her scent spikes with alarm. OK, maybe she's not entirely on board yet, but my wolf doesn't care. My wolf already knows.
My wolf is more confident than me that I can make up for all the stupid stuff I've done since I met her, like insulting her before I even laid eyes on her and then looming over her with my wang hanging out, before we'd even had a chance to shake hands.
I slide my arm around her shoulders, feeling her stiffen beneath my touch. She's so small, but she carries herself like she's ready to bite if cornered. I like that. I like everything about her more than I should.
We walk down the road, the afternoon air cool and damp with pine and rain.
The forest parts ahead, and the house comes into view.
Dark timbers rising from stone, weathered by time and storms. It's old, older than me, built by the first Alpha of Moonstone, a couple of hundred years ago.
Mostly Alphas live here. Every inch of it smells of pack, of duty, of loneliness.
My father died in a death challenge when I was twenty-two.
My older brother Andrew killed the man who killed him, and then moved into this house for a while, before he met his fated mate and moved away to form a new pack with her family.
Cole refused the job of Alpha, so I had to step in to a role I'd never expected.
The pack council offers me guidance, but the day to day running of the pack rests entirely on me, and it's a heavy weight.
Except…now I'm not alone any more. Any burden that I carry is shared.
When I push open the heavy oak door, the familiar creak greets me like an old friend. The warmth from the hearth seeps into the air, carrying the scent of smoke, pine resin, and leather.
I glance at her as she steps inside. Her eyes widen, reflecting the firelight.
The great room is wide and open, all rough beams and stone walls, a massive fireplace dominating the far side. The fur rug in front of it is from my first solo hunt. The scratches near the hearth? A reminder of what happens when my temper gets the best of me.
The shelves are cluttered—old books, a half-finished sketch, a guitar I haven't played in years. I hadn't realized how empty it all felt until she walked in and breathed life into the place.
"What can I get you to drink? Are you hungry?" I ask her as I lead her towards the kitchen.
"I don't suppose you have tea?"
"I have everything you'll ever need. And if I don't, I'll get it for you."
Her eyes widen in surprise.
Has nobody ever taken care of her? The thought makes me angry, and sad for her. And determined. I will be the man who takes care of her. She will want for nothing.
I lead her into the kitchen, which has always felt far too large for me. In my mind's eye, I can see it filling with children and laughter, but I won't mention that to her. Yet.
The space is built for a family, not a lone wolf.
Heavy timber beams stretch across the ceiling, and the wide flagstone floor still carries the faint scent of pine and smoke from winters past. The counters are thick slabs of wood, polished smooth from years of use, and the cabinets are deep enough to hold a small army's worth of supplies.
The sun is setting now. At the far end, a wall of tall windows opens onto the forest, where the trees rise like sentinels.
The last light of the day spills across the floor, softening the rough edges of the room, and pools around the small kitchen table that sits near the glass.
The table looks almost ridiculous here—too small, too human-scaled in a space built for a pack.
It's where I usually eat alone, with only the whisper of the woods for company.
I gesture toward the table. "Sit. I'll boil the water for us."
She hesitates, eyes flicking toward the windows, then back to me. "You also drink tea?" she asks, like I've just told her I knit sweaters for fun.
"Sometimes," I say with a shrug, moving to the stove. "Helps keep the wolf calm."
The kettle hisses softly as I fill it and set it to heat. I can feel her gaze on my back, tracking my every movement, and for once, I don't mind the weight of another person's eyes in this house.
When I turn around, she's sitting at the small table, her hands wrapped around the empty mug I've set before her. She looks fragile and fierce all at once—like she's ready to bolt, but too stubborn to run.
The kettle starts to sing. I pour the water into two chunky ceramic mugs, and then drop in two chamomile teabags that were made right here on pack property. The scent of it drifts through the air—sweet, earthy, grounding.
"Chamomile," I say, setting the mug in front of her. "It helps calm nerves."
"I'm not nervous," she says defiantly, chin lifting, though her fingers tremble against the mug.
She's fighting this, as if she has the slightest chance of winning. I bark out a laugh. "Right. And I'm not standing here fighting the urge to kiss you."
She rolls her eyes at that, and takes a sip of tea, and another. I settle into the seat across from her and do the same. An uneasy silence falls between us as the sun is swallowed by the horizon.
"Can you read my mind?" she blurts, the words tumbling out like she's been holding them behind her teeth for miles.
"Why do you ask?" I lift an eyebrow, unable to keep the hint of a smile from tugging at my mouth. "What exactly would I find in there?"
Her cheeks go pink. "Oh, stop looking at me like that!" she says, trying for playful, but her laugh wobbles. She twists her fingers together. "It's just…there's so much I don't know about shifters. I heard you all have some kind of telepathy."
"We do," I nod. "When a pack member is in mortal danger, they sound out a mental distress call.
Then there's the council bond. Shifter councils commit to spending so much time together that they form their own mental link, which is stronger than the pack bond.
And they're strengthened by a Telemage—rare ability, extremely valuable.
We don't even have a Telemage, we pay for one to visit and regularly enhance the council bond.
In an emergency…say an Alpha goes rogue…
the council can combine their mental powers and force him into submission. "
She nods, her expression serious.
"And mates?" she prompts.
I nod. "Yes. Mates have their own bond. Not word-for-word mind reading, but…over time you feel everything the other feels. You sync. Instinctively."
She swallows, her throat working. "But would you and I—I mean, would a human and a shifter have that? Is it possible?"
"Lane," I murmur, "aren't you already feeling it?"
She bites her lip, looking away. Then, without answering me, she gets up and starts walking towards the door. I leap to my feet and move to block her, towering over her, and she tilts her head back to glare at me.
"Why pretend that you don't want me as much as I want you?" I ask, amused. "I mean, I like it. I think it's cute that you think you can resist me. I'm just wondering how long you can keep it up." My mouth curls up in amused grin. "Isn't it exhausting?"
She shoves me. "Why, you arrogant, furry, obnoxious-"
"Okay," I interrupt her. "You don't want me? Prove it."
She flashes me a baffled look. "How?"
"Kiss me once, and then walk away."
Her eyes gleam defiantly. "Challenge accepted."