12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
HARRISON
“Happy birthday, Em.” I hold the cupcake with a candle on top of it out to her. “Make a wish.”
She scrunches up her face as she thinks, her hands clasped beneath her chin. Then she leans forward, pursing her lips, and blows the candle out.
The thoughts I have as I watch her lips are not at all related to training. She takes the cupcake from me, swiping her finger through the buttercream frosting. As she sucks it off her digit, I’m forced to stifle a groan.
Training, Harrison. We’re supposed to be training today.
And she doesn’t think of me like that. I’m just her teacher, whom she only interacts with when we’re working out.
She has her own group of friends—Stephanie and some pack members she met in her culinary classes—and that group does not include me.
I clear my throat and shove my jealousy and despair into a locked box, where they will stay for the rest of our time together. Hopefully.
“I think you should try to shift again today.”
Her finger pauses mid-frosting swipe. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“I don’t know…” Her eyes flick to the candle and then up to my face, telling me without telling me that what she wished for was a successful shift today.
Even at nineteen, she clings to the belief that her wish won’t come true if she tells me.
Adorable. She’s so adorable with her gray eyes and her two braids and her perfect bow-shaped pink lips. My lycan nods his agreement as I mentally continue to list off all the things I find adorable about her.
Shit. Did she just say something to me?
“Um…”
She angles her head to the side, eyes assessing and sharp. “What makes you think I’m ready?” she repeats, slowing down her words to make sure I’m listening.
“You’re stronger. You barely get winded when running. You can defend yourself when someone attacks you by surprise. You can mindlink.” I could write an entire book of reasons, but I stop there. “You’re ready.”
She turns towards the lake, taking a bite of her cupcake as she processes my certainty. I wait patiently while she eats and thinks it all through, even though I’m itching to get her into the forest so she can shift.
The curiosity of what her wolf will look like has been eating me alive since we started our training almost a year ago.
I know she’ll be beautiful no matter how she looks.
I don’t care if her fur is white, brown, black—or lilac.
I just want to see her, run my hands through her fur, and chase her through the forest.
“I don’t want to do it here.” Emily drops the cupcake wrapper into a trash bin. “I want to do it somewhere safe, quiet, and private.”
“Of course.” My reply comes without hesitation. This is her day—her moment. I’ll do whatever is needed. Whatever she wants. “If that makes you more comfortable, then we’ll go into the forest and find a spot.”
She nods, then leads the way into the trees.
It’s a chilly day. A light dusting of snow covers the grounds, left over from a mild storm a few days ago. Clouds block the sun, and as we enter the forest, the temperature drops several degrees.
It’s nothing to me. My shifter genes keep me comfortable.
But a tiny shiver passes over Emily, and I have to resist the urge to wrap my arms around her or carry her deeper into the cover of the trees.
I’d keep her safe and warm if she were cradled against my chest and under my chin.
But she’s determined to do this on her own, and I have to respect that.
We walk for about five minutes when Emily stops dead in her tracks.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She glances at me sideways, worrying her lip. “I don’t have spare clothes.”
Oh. Right. If—no, when—she shifts, her clothes will rip. Or she’ll have to strip first and stand around naked while waiting for her wolf to come out. And I know she doesn’t want to do that.
“I’m sure there are spare clothes tucked away in a hole somewhere.” We always keep spares stocked throughout the forest in case someone needs to shift in a hurry. “Or you can wear my shirt back to the packhouse when we’re done.”
Her gaze flicks to where my biceps bulge against the sleeves of my T-shirt. Okay, so maybe I intentionally picked a slightly too tight shirt because I knew I’d see her today.
Can anyone blame me? I think about her more and more with each day that passes.
No she-wolf has ever captured my attention like she has.
Emily is… she’s everything. Smart, kind, resilient.
Beautiful. There’s a pull to her I can’t resist. Even with the distance she keeps—the distance I respect because I’d never do anything to hurt her—I’m drawn to her.
Her smile, her wit, her empathy. Her scent.
Goddess, her scent. It becomes more fragrant each time I see her.
I’ve told no one—not even Brad—but I’m confident she’ll be my mate when she turns twenty-one in two years. I’m desperate for that reality, and my lycan is as convinced as I am that fate will work in our favor. That she will be my mate. My luna.
“Okay. I’ll wear your shirt.”
It’s a simple, quiet response, but it’s everything to my lycan and me.
If she walks back into the packhouse with my shirt on, every male will know to stay away from her.
They already give her a wide berth as it is.
She’s close with Stephanie, and they know Stephanie will kick their asses if they hurt her friend.
But my shirt—my subtle, unofficial claim—will deter them even more.
We reach a small clearing on the side of the lake opposite the main grounds and the packhouse. The water is barely visible through a gap in the trees.
Emily pivots, scanning the clearing’s circular edge before she finally faces me. “How do I do this?”
Gone is the confidence she’s gained over the past year. In its place is the vulnerable, scared version of Emily I saw on her last birthday. She hugs her chest and curls her shoulders inward, like she’s protecting herself from an invisible blow.
“Just relax, open yourself up to your wolf, and let her do the rest.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes.” I don’t lie. There’s no point. She’ll realize I lied as soon as the first bone cracks, and she’s been lied to too many times. “It will hurt. But it won’t hurt as badly as last year when you couldn’t shift. You’re stronger now. You’re ready.”
She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth, then sits in the middle of the clearing.
Smart choice. She’d drop to her hands and knees anyway if she stayed standing.
I turn to gaze at the slowly darkening sky to give her some privacy.
I’m still unsure where our relationship stands beyond me training her.
Yes, she accepted my shirt to wear after her shift.
But while I see it as staking a claim, she may see it as simple politeness. Me doing my duty as the future alpha.
The stars dot the sky, peering out from behind the thin clouds until the heavens glitter. The temperature drops steadily, made colder by a slight breeze weaving around the trunks.
I hazard a glance at Emily. I haven’t kept close track of the time—I don’t wear a watch—but it’s been at least a few hours since we left the packhouse’s back deck. Emily hasn’t said a word since she sat on the ground, and I haven’t looked at her since I turned away.
She sits with her knees to her chest. Her body trembles, either from nerves or the cold or both, and she avoids my eyes. A tear drips down her cheek and falls onto her kneecap, adding to a growing wet spot on her sweatpants.
I take one step towards her. “Em—”
“Please don’t, Harrison.” She stands abruptly, backing away from me. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t.” A sob cuts through her words, and she shakes her head, the movement becoming frantic as the tears pour out of her. “I need to be alone.”
Fuck that. She may be upset—embarrassed even—but there’s no way I’m leaving her alone. “Is that really what you need right now? To be alone so you can drown in your emotions? Or do you need a friend?”
“Harrison, please. I—”
“Don’t be stubborn, Em.”
She snaps her mouth shut, teeth clenching against her protests.
“Let me comfort you.” My lycan urges me to cross the distance and take Emily into my arms, but I don’t. I wait for her to make the first move.
She releases a frustrated groan that echoes off the tree trunks, and then she’s across the clearing and in my arms. I wrap her up tight and let her cry into my chest as the night wears on. I’m not worried about how long we’ve been out here or bothered by the tears and snot she leaves on my shirt.
It’s been almost a year since the last time I held her in my arms. Seeing the difference in her musculature is one thing, but feeling it?
A year ago, I was terrified I’d crush her with my strength.
Now, I can actually embrace her the way I want to—unrestrained, without fear of breaking her ribs.
She’s secure in my arms, locked up tight where no one can hurt her.
“I’m sorry I disappointed you.” Her words come out muffled, trapped between her face and my shirt.
“You could never disappoint me.” The fact that she even thinks she could is proof of how epically I’ve failed at training her. “If anything, I should be apologizing for disappointing you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I did though, Em. I failed you. I thought you were ready, and I was wrong. That’s on me, not you.” I take her face in my hands, ensuring she witnesses the sincerity of my words. “But I promise you, by your next birthday, you will be able to shift.”