Chapter 7 - Thane
It does mean something.
Those are the words I want to say as I follow Willow to the kitchen, still reeling from the look she gave me before she stormed out—the kind of look that could freeze fire.
Of course, I have no right to say those words. Why does her safety mean anything to me, anyway?
Right.
Because she's my fated mate, and we're destined to live happily ever after.
Except, her cold blue eyes warn me that she'll bite if I dare bring up being fated mates.
Willow is right. I am the one who rejected her. I don't get to hold her like it means something.
Then why do my fingers tingle with the desperate urge to reach out and grab her back, pull her toward my chest, and wrap my arms around her with the promise to never let her go?
I'd lost that right when I rejected her in the past, and now I'm forced to bite my tongue and clamp down on the urge to feel…whatever I felt when I grabbed her wrist.
For a split second, I'd caught a glimpse of heaven, tasted it on my tongue while my fingers were coiled around her dainty wrist. I met what felt like the height of my existence, and Willow crushed it with her denial.
Now, she moves with sharp, deliberate steps, her sack left forgotten on the bedroom floor, along with the impulse to run, I hope. I follow her silently, still mulling over the strange revelation that she's my fated mate.
Why didn't I feel it before?
When Willow reaches the kitchen, the tension that had been cutting through the air like sharp daggers seems to vanish. Just like that, she appears calm again, collected.
Numb.
As if none of it had happened.
I frown as I watch her open a cupboard, probably aware that I've followed her, but nonchalant about it. She retrieves a glass and fills it with water from the tap, as if this were the most normal evening of her life.
My pulse still pounds from the confrontation in the guest room, but she doesn’t even glance my way. The same woman who just shouted that she’d never mate with me now stands by the sink, drinking water as though she doesn't have a care in the world.
It’s unsettling, an odd shiver coursing down my back.
Her movements are mechanical—quiet, precise, detached. She doesn’t even flinch when I step closer. Her eyes are distant, unfocused, back to what I saw when I found her in Seward, and the faint tremor in her hand is the only sign she’s still feeling anything at all.
I realize she's protecting herself from me.
The thought sits heavy in my chest. I should say something—to explain, to apologize for the past that she still holds against me, to break through that shell she’d built around herself—but the words catch on my tongue.
I’ve never been good at saying the right thing when it comes to Willow Barker, and that's how I messed up in the past.
By spewing words that should never have left my lips.
Standing in the kitchen like a fool, watching her rinse her glass and set it upside down on the drying rack, I'm not quite sure what to say. When she turns, for the briefest moment, her eyes meet mine, and the exhaustion I see in her gaze nearly undoes me.
I long to reach out and touch her again, craving that electric feeling like it's the only time I've truly felt alive. But most of all, I want to hold her with the promise that things can be better between us. “Willow—”
“Goodnight, Thane.” Her tone is calm, polite even, but her voice carries a hollowness that twists my stomach.
I'm about to open my mouth to say something, but the words are caught in my throat, snatched by the reminder of her life away from Girdwood in the form of the scar running across her cheek. My hesitation allows her to brush past me, and then her shoulder grazes mine lightly. The contact sends another faint jolt through me, the same inexplicable spark that ignited when I touched her wrist earlier, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Even if she does, she's ignoring it, numb to it.
I can't bear it, my inner wolf becoming wild with the frustration of seeing its fated mate act so cold toward me, as if none of this matters. That's when I turn back to grab Willow's wrist again, stopping her from leaving and stopping my heartbeat altogether.
“Wh—what…?” Willow snaps, her usually timid voice bitterly cold as she turns icy blue eyes on me, as she snatches her hand away.
Electricity continues to pulse through my arm even when my fingers aren't around her wrist.
“You're not walking away like this,” I say, using a commanding tone as I straighten up and clear my throat. “I've just come back from a meeting with my fellow alphas, and preparations are being made for our mating ceremony tomorrow night.”
Willow's lips slowly lift into a cynical, forced smile, empty eyes locking with mine.
“I guess I don't have a choice in this, right?” Her eyes narrow and twitch as she scoffs. “Because you bought me, right? Bought my freedom? Bought my body? Bought my—”
Without thinking, I step forward and close the distance between us, grabbing her shoulders to stop her from spewing all this nonsense. The consequence of my hands on her shoulders is another harsh reminder that she's my fated mate—something I couldn't see before, even when we were friends.
“If I did buy anything, it was your dignity, Willow. I am entering this mate bond not just for the prophecy, but to keep you safe from Blood Claw,” I insist, recalling that heinous glint in Alpha Grant's eyes that hasn't allowed me to rest.
Willow laughs dryly, echoing the way she laughed while we were still in Seward.
“I didn't ask to be saved,” she says as she shrugs out of my touch. “And since you paid for me, you think my body is yours to be mated with.”
I raise my hands in a show of surrender. “There will be no mating, I promise. Not until you're ready.”
Willow throws her head back and laughs again, the sound bouncing off the walls in an eerie echo.
“I will never be ready!” she snaps venomously. “You want the mating ceremony so bad? Fine! I'll go through with it, but I'll never sleep with you. Are you fine with that?”
“I'll ask Rissa to come over to help you prepare for the ceremony tomorrow,” I respond with a challenging brow raised. Willow appears taken aback, her hardened expression softening, and a frown flitting across her face.
She opens her mouth to say something, but then snaps it shut and spins on her heel and walks away as if the air between us isn’t charged, as if my entire world hasn’t just shifted.
When her door clicks shut, I’m left standing alone in the quiet kitchen. The clock ticks faintly on the wall, each sound stretching through the silence like a slow, steady heartbeat.
So, she's agreed to the mating ceremony, provided there is no mating. I can live with that.
It's the perfect opportunity to make up for the past.
But that's only if Willow will let me in. It doesn't seem that way now, but I'm not one to quit so easily. I'll endure her bitter resentment and woo her once she's mine.
So why does it feel like an impossible feat?
A shiver courses down my spine, full of wariness, full of uncertainty.
Something is still very wrong, and I can't put my finger on it.
I finally move to the counter, open the cupboard, and pull down a bottle of whiskey when the glint of something behind it catches my eye. With my mind and heart acting out of sync, I reach for the box in the corner, surprised that it's still here.
It's not even mine, but Brooks's—he'd left it here the night he and Rissa came over to tell me about their vision.
I open the box to find two sticks inside and purse my lips in contemplation. I swore I wouldn't touch a cigarette again, but I can't help myself. It's the only thing that might calm me—the steady mix of tobacco and wolfsbane.
I pour a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the moonlight that now filters through the window, and lean against the counter, letting the burn in my throat dull the noise in my head.
When the glass is half empty, I pull out a cigarette and light the end, taking a long drag of a mixture that's supposed to take my mind off things.
But everything feels wrong.
I should feel triumphant, relieved that I found Willow, that I bought her freedom, that I can finally protect her the way I couldn’t before. But instead, all I feel is confusion and a gnawing sense of failure.
Because even after years of training, of leadership, of learning to command wolves who would die for me…I still can’t reach Willow Barker.
My gaze drifts to the hallway. Her door is closed, the faint sliver of light from inside the room spilling onto the wooden floor in the hallway.
She hasn’t tried to run again, and part of me is grateful for that.
The other part knows it’s only because she’s too exhausted to try, like there's no fight left in her.
I take another slow sip with the cigarette in one hand, eyes still on that door.
Rissa said Willow’s powers would awaken when we mate. That she’s the fourth witch, the key to ending this curse before the demons rise again.
But what if fate got it wrong?
What if I’m not meant to save her, but destroy her—like I did five years ago when I crushed whatever trust she had in me?
That's what it feels like now, and it's why Willow is pushing me away. She's afraid of being destroyed a second time, and somehow, I'm worried that I might do it again, too.
The whiskey burns deeper now, settling in my chest like a slow fire. I set the glass down and drag a hand over my face, my thoughts circling back to that moment—her eyes wide, her voice trembling, her words cutting through me like a blade.
“You rejected me…”
She’s right. I did.
I told myself it was for the pack, for my future as sub-alpha, for the rules I’d been born to follow. How was I supposed to be seen with a wolfless omega?
But the truth is simpler.
I was a coward.
The clock ticks again, and somewhere down the hall, the floor creaks. My head snaps up.
Then I hear it—soft murmuring, faint but distinct.
Willow.
Her voice carries through the quiet, broken and vulnerable, like she’s whispering to someone who isn’t there.
The sound sends a chill through me. I take a cautious step toward her room, then another, until I’m close enough to hear the words more clearly—but they’re fragmented, slurred, caught between dream and waking.
Her voice trembles. “No…stop…I didn’t mean to….”
Something twists inside me. I press a hand against the door, resisting the urge to go in. She’s dreaming—maybe reliving whatever hell she went through in Blood Claw.
I should leave her be.
But I can’t move, my inner wolf yelping, crying out to go in there and comfort her.
I stay outside, listening, until her voice quiets, the silence returning heavier than before. Only then do I pull back, my palm leaving a faint print on the door.
Back in the kitchen, I refill my glass and stare into the whiskey, my reflection swimming on its surface. Staring at that reflection now, I inwardly tell myself I’m just making sure she’s safe. That’s all.
But deep down, I know it’s a lie.
Because for the first time in five years, I don’t just want to protect Willow Barker.
I want to understand her.
And that's what sends me back toward her bedroom.