Chapter 12 Tolin
TOLIN
Icouldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. The confusion. The fear. The way she looked at me when I refused to answer her questions.
What do you want me to say?
I don’t know! An explanation? An apology? Something that makes any of this make sense?
And what did I give her? Nothing. A half-assed apology and a closed door.
My mother’s voice echoes in my head, relentless. Be vulnerable. Be honest. You can’t earn her trust while you refuse to be honest with yourself.
I made her breakfast. I cleaned the cabin. I gave her extra blankets. But when she needed the one thing that might actually matter—answers—I shut her out.
I’m still hiding. Still protecting myself when I should be fighting for her.
Not anymore.
The kitchen is warm from the fire I built up before dawn. I’ve been cooking for an hour, trying to get it right. The first batch of pancakes came out too thick. The second batch burned on the edges. The third batch is... acceptable. Not perfect, but close enough.
I arrange the plate carefully. Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese the way humans seem to like them. A glass of orange juice. A cup of coffee, even though the smell makes my nose itch.
Then I sit down at the table.
And I wait.
My bear paces inside me, anxious and restless. He wants to go to her. Knock on her door. Drag her out here and make her listen.
But that’s not how this works. That’s not how I win her.
I have to let her come to me.
The minutes stretch. The food starts to cool. I’m about to give up and cover the plate when I hear it—the soft creak of her door opening, light footsteps down the hallway.
She appears in the kitchen doorway and stops.
Her eyes move from the food to me. I watch her calculate—retreat or engage. Her body tenses like she’s about to bolt.
“It’s getting cold,” I say.
She doesn’t move.
“I’m not going to bite.”
Her expression shifts. Not quite amusement, but close. “That’s not very reassuring coming from a bear shifter.”
“Fair point.”
She hesitates another moment, then crosses to the table and sits down across from me. As far away as the small table allows, but she’s here. She’s sitting.
It’s more than I expected.
She looks at the plate, then at me. “You cooked again.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to eat.”
She picks up her fork, still watching me like I might lunge across the table at any moment. I don’t blame her. After everything I’ve done, I wouldn’t trust me either.
The meal is quiet. The tension is thick. She focuses on her food, not looking at me. I focus on her, cataloging every detail.
She’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday, wrinkled from sleep. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, thick curls tumbling everywhere. There are shadows under her eyes, evidence of a rough night.
I did that. I put those shadows there.
She eats quickly, mechanically, and I can see her planning her escape. Finish the food, say something polite, retreat to her room. Another day of avoiding me, another day of this endless standoff.
I can’t let that happen.
“Imani.”
She freezes, fork halfway to her mouth.
“Can I—“ The words stick in my throat. I force them out. “Can I ask you something?”
She sets the fork down slowly. “Depends on the question.”
“It’s not—“ I blow out a breath. “I’m not trying to interrogate you. I just...” I trail off, not sure how to say what I need to say.
She waits, her expression guarded.
“I know I don’t deserve your time,” I finally manage. “After everything I’ve done. But I’d like to try. To talk. Like normal people.”
“Normal people don’t rip car doors off hinges.”
“No. They don’t.”
She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me, weighing her options, trying to decide if this is a trap.
“You first,” she says finally.
I blink. “What?”
“You want to talk like normal people? Fine. But you go first. Tell me something real.”
Something real. She wants vulnerability. Honesty. The things my mother told me to give.
My eyes drop to my hands on the table. Large, scarred, capable of so much destruction. I think about all the things I could tell her. The mate bond. The cleaning solution. The real reason I can’t let her leave.
But that’s not what she’s asking for. She’s asking for me. The person underneath all the walls.
“What do you want to know?”
Her gaze moves to my face. To the scar. I know what she’s looking at. I always know. The three jagged lines pull at my skin when I move, a constant reminder of everything I lost.
“How did you get that scar?”
Of all the things she could have asked, she went straight for the wound.
I could deflect. Change the subject. Shut this whole conversation down.
But I hear my mother’s voice. Be vulnerable.
“My brother,” I say.
Her eyes widen slightly. “Your brother did that to you?”
“I challenged him for Alpha.” The words come out rough, dragged from somewhere deep. “Leading the clan... it’s all I ever wanted. Since I was a cub, I dreamed about it. Trained for it. Believed it was my destiny.”
I pause, the familiar ache settling in.
“I lost.”
She’s quiet, waiting for more.
“When you challenge an Alpha and fail, he has the right to kill you. That’s the law.
That’s how it’s always been.” I touch the scar without meaning to, tracing the raised edges.
“But Ronan... he’s my brother. He loves me as much as I love him.
So he gave me this instead. A mark of what I tried to take and couldn’t. ”
“But you left anyway.”
“He offered me Beta. Second in command.” I shake my head, the old bitterness rising. “I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stand beside him as second when I’d spent my whole life wanting to be first. My bear’s pride was shattered. So I left. Exiled myself.”
“That wasn’t his choice,” she says quietly. “It was yours.”
“Yes.”
She studies me for a long moment, those olive-toned eyes seeing more than I want her to see.
“That’s a lot of pride for one person to carry.”
The words land. Not cruel, just... true.
“Yes,” I say again. “It is.”
It’s different now. Softer somehow. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. Not the monster who crushed her phone and ripped off her car door. Just a man with a scar and too much pride and years of loneliness weighing him down.
“Why are you being so nice to me now?”
The question hits me sideways. I knew it was coming eventually, but not now. I don’t have a ready answer. Or I do, but I’m not ready to give it.
“Because I’ve been cruel,” I say finally. “To you. To everyone.”
She doesn’t argue. We both know it’s true.
“I’ve spent years pushing people away. Making them miserable because I was miserable.
” I think about Merit at the school, the way she looked at me with pity and disgust. Derrick, who keeps trying despite everything.
The cleaning ladies who fled down the mountain in tears.
“The people in town cross the street when they see me coming. Derrick keeps sending workers up here even though I run them all off. My own mother has to ambush me just to see my face.”
I meet her eyes.
“I’m tired of being that person. I’m tired of being alone because I’m too proud to be anything else.”
She doesn’t respond right away. I can see her processing, turning my words over in her mind. Looking for the trap, the manipulation, the angle.
She won’t find one. For the first time in years, I’m telling the truth.
“So what am I supposed to do?”
The question comes out tired. Defeated. Like she’s given up trying to understand any of this.
“I’m here on assignment. Am I supposed to keep cleaning until I can leave?” She shakes her head, looking down at her plate. “I know I’ve lost my job. Derrick is going to fire me for sure after all this. I don’t even care about the money anymore. I just...”
She trails off, and I feel myself crack open a little.
She’s worried about her job. About money. About all the things she was building toward before I destroyed her life.
She doesn’t know. Doesn’t understand that she’ll never have to worry about any of that again. That I’m going to spend the rest of my life taking care of her, providing for her, giving her everything she’s ever wanted.
But I can’t tell her that. Not yet. Not when she’s still looking at me like I might explode at any moment.
“You’re not cleaning anything.”
She blinks. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re not cleaning. Not the floors, not the kitchen, not the bathroom. Nothing.”
“That’s literally why I’m here.”
“Not anymore.”
She stares at me, confusion written across her face.
I can’t explain it to her. Can’t tell her that every time I watched her scrub my floors, something inside me twisted wrong. Can’t tell her that my bear has been clawing at me since she arrived, furious that our mate was on her hands and knees in our home like a servant.
It makes sense now. All of it. The agitation I felt watching her work. The way it irked me so badly to see her cleaning, organizing, doing the job she was hired to do. My bear knew before I did. She was never supposed to be cleaning for me.
She was supposed to be beside me.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” she asks.
“Whatever you want. Just not that.”
She goes quiet. I can see her trying to make sense of it, probably assuming I’m just trying to make up for being an asshole.
I’ll let her think that. For now.
It’s not uncomfortable. She’s still here. Still sitting across from me. Still looking at me with something other than fear and hatred in her eyes.
It’s more than I deserve.
“Can we start over?”
The words slip out. Her eyebrows rise.
“What?”
“A do-over.” I lean forward slightly, holding her gaze. “I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me. No reason to want anything to do with me. But I’d like the chance to change that. To get to know you better. To let you get to know me.”
She doesn’t answer right away. I watch the hesitation cross her face, the war between what she should do and what she wants to do.
“I shouldn’t,” she says finally. “I really shouldn’t.”
My stomach drops. I nod, already preparing for rejection.
“But...” She shakes her head, something like frustration in her voice. “I don’t understand why I can’t say no.”
I know why. The mate bond is weaving itself tighter with every moment we share. She can feel it, even if she doesn’t understand what it is. The pull. The gravity. The invisible thread connecting us.
But I’m not telling her that. Not yet.
I want to win her heart first. I want her to choose me because she wants to, not because fate told her to.
I feel a smile forming. The first real smile in longer than I can remember.
“Then don’t say no.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
She hesitates. Then she sighs, and I can see her softening, just a little. Just enough.
“Fine. A do-over. But I reserve the right to change my mind at any time.”
“Fair enough.”
She stands up, gathering her plate to take to the sink. I watch her move, drinking in every detail. The curve of her hips. The way her hair falls across her shoulders. The way she carries herself, strong and guarded and so damn beautiful I can barely breathe.
“Imani.”
She pauses, looking back at me.
“Tell me something,” I say. “What are your hopes and dreams?”
She laughs, short and surprised. “That’s a big question for breakfast.”
“I’ve got time.”
She turns to face me fully, leaning against the counter. Something in her expression shifts, softens. For the first time since she arrived, she doesn’t look like she’s planning her escape.
“I guess we both do,” she says quietly. “Snowed in and all.”
“Snowed in and all,” I agree.
She’s quiet for a moment, staring at the window where the snow is still falling, thick and relentless. Then she looks back at me, and there’s something in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
Curiosity. Maybe even the beginning of trust.
“Alright, Tolin.” She crosses her arms, but it’s not defensive anymore. More like she’s settling in. “You want to know my hopes and dreams? Get comfortable. It’s a long list.”
I lean back in my chair, watching her, feeling warmth spread through me.
“I’m not going anywhere.”