21. Gabriella
Gabriella
I’m pacing a groove into the wood floors by the time I hear the sound of a truck pulling up outside. My head snaps toward the window.
One glance and everything inside me stills.
Rowan.
He’s here. Half an hour early.
Like he knew I needed him.
Like he came fast as he could.
Of course he did.
My heart squeezes, and suddenly all the things I’ve spent the last few hours rehearsing disappear from my head.
I grew up with a group of Bearded Vulture Shifters. I’m not like them. I’m different.
Their Alpha seduced me, tricked me into believing I was his mate. He is not a good man.
I got pregnant, and I ran away from the Suicide Cliff Wake.
Matteo’s father is dangerous. He wants to control me. To use me as a breeder.
I ran far away from him to protect my son and myself. But now I think they might have found us.
This is so bad.
Fuck.
There were so many ways I’d practiced telling him. But none of them included bursting into tears.
Unfortunately, my emotions don’t seem interested in cooperating.
Because the second I see Rowan climbing out of that truck, the tightness that’s been sitting inside my chest since Lindsey grabbed my wrist finally breaks.
He came.
My Alpha mate came.
I don’t hesitate. I yank open the door and run down the steps, weekender bag in hand.
It’s rash.
Crazy.
Probably embarrassingly dramatic.
But I can’t seem to stop myself. Rowan barely gets both boots on the ground before I drop my bag and launch myself at him.
“Honey Girl—”
I jump into his arms. And my man catches my fluffy ass.
Fuck, thank God, he catches me.
My legs wrap around his waist, my arms lock around his neck, and Rowan doesn’t so much as stagger. Those huge arms close around me immediately, crushing me against his strong, powerful body.
The matebond flares.
Warm.
Golden.
Alive.
Everything that has been twisting inside me all afternoon seems to rush straight through that invisible connection between us.
Fear.
Relief.
Longing.
And something softer I’m not quite ready to name.
Rowan feels it. I know he does because his whole body changes.
One hand spreads across my back. The other cups the back of my head, holding me against his neck while a low, soothing rumble vibrates through his chest.
“I got you. I got you, Honey. Shhh.”
That nearly does me in.
Not What happened? Not Who do I need to kill? Though, knowing Rowan, I’m sure that one is coming.
Just—I got you.
My face presses into his neck.
He smells like soap, mountain air, and something smoky that must have followed him back from the fire.
My Alpha.
My mate.
The male I barely knew a few weeks ago and somehow already trusted enough to run toward instead of away. That thought scares me almost as much as what happened at The Joint.
Because I have spent years running. Years making sure Matteo and I never depended too heavily on anyone. Years teaching myself that safety meant keeping people at a distance.
And now my body recognizes Rowan as safety before my brain can even catch up.
I tremble against him. His arms tighten.
“I’m here,” he murmurs against my hair.
My throat closes.
I want to believe that means more than last night. More than this weekend. More than whatever magic the Fates put between us.
And that is exactly why I have to tell him everything. Because the truth? I’m falling for this man.
There.
I admit it.
At least to myself.
I’m falling in love with Rowan Cross, and I’m terrified that once he knows who I really am, he won’t look at me the same way.
I force myself to pull back. But his arms don't release me. Those incredible golden eyes search mine.
“We—we have to talk,” I whisper.
His jaw hardens.
“Okay.”
“About me.”
“Okay.”
“And Matteo.”
Something feral flashes in his eyes at my son's name. Not anger. Protection. And that makes my heart squeeze harder.
“I need to tell you—”
“Havoc! Havoc!”
Oh Lord.
Matteo vaults out of Mrs. Donnelly’s house with his little backpack bouncing against his shoulders and his favorite dinosaur plushie clutched in one hand.
“Havoc! Can you pick me up too?”
I bite my lip. The timing is so perfectly six-year-old that I almost laugh.
“Matteo, baby, it's okay. Let me get down first—”
I start trying to push out of Rowan’s embrace. But he doesn't let me.
Instead, his attention shifts to my son. His expression transforms.
Not completely. Rowan Cross is probably incapable of looking anything less than dangerous.
But he softens.
And God help me, that might be the sexiest thing I've seen yet. Rowan keeps me securely against him with one powerful arm and reaches down with the other.
“C'mere, Champ.”
He hoists Matteo up, too. My son's eyes go huge.
“Wow!”
Rowan grunts as he adjusts us.
“You’re strong! You're holding me and Mommy!”
“You bet I am, Champ.” Rowan looks completely fucking pleased with himself. “Now, are you ready for some barbecue?”
“Yes! I am!”
“Um, Rowan, put me down,” I hiss.
His gold eyes slide toward mine. And there's that damn look again.
Possessive.
Amused.
Hot as fuck.
It’s the look that makes me feel like he knows exactly what he's doing to me.
“Sure will, Hot Mama. Soon as I get you to the truck.”
“Rowan.”
He winks.
Winks.
This giant, feral Wolf who growls at strangers for standing too close to me fucking winks.
Matteo giggles. And just like that, I’m swooning for this man.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
I’m in so much trouble.
Rowan carries both of us toward the truck as if this is perfectly normal. And maybe that's what gets me.
How easily Matteo fits into his arms alongside me.
No irritation.
No awkwardness.
No sense that my son is baggage Rowan has to tolerate if he wants me.
He talks to Matteo. Listens to him. Looks at him.
Like he actually sees my boy.
And every time he does, another little piece of my heart slips somewhere dangerously close to his hands.
He finally puts me down beside the passenger door.
“See? Promised.”
“I have functioning legs.”
“I know.”
“I use them regularly.”
“Seen you do it,” he says and puts Matteo inside, “And I admire them greatly. Especially when they’re wrapped around my waist, or my head,” he whispers the last.
I narrow my eyes.
“You're very annoying.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Yeah. Been told that.”
He leans closer, our mouths almost touching. And my stomach flips. Matteo is already scrambling into the back, and he leans over the front seat excitedly.
“Can we go now?”
I laugh.
“Saved by the six-year-old.”
“Temporarily,” Rowan murmurs.
Oh, Lord.
He opens the back door.
Then I see it. A booster seat.
I stop. My heart does this ridiculous little flutter.
“When did you get that?”
I don't remember seeing it last night. Then again, last night I wasn't exactly inspecting the back seat of Rowan's truck.
Heat rushes into my cheeks at the memory.
“A few months ago,” he mutters.
I look at him, eyebrows raised.
“A few months ago?”
His ears are turning red.
Oh my God.
Rowan Cross is blushing.
“Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
He suddenly becomes very interested in securing Matteo's backpack.
“Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Honey Girl.”
I bite back a smile.
Apparently, that's all I'm getting. But I look at that booster again. Then at the enormous Wolf carefully helping my son sit carefully in it.
Something warm expands inside my chest.
He thought ahead.
Maybe not specifically about Matteo. Maybe it really was just in case.
But no, I think it must have been about this. About us.
And isn’t that so Rowan? For all his growling and swearing and pretending he doesn’t give a shit about anything, he notices what people need.
He quietly fixes messes. He protects. He shows up. He makes sure little boys are safe in his truck.
Christ.
I’m definitely falling for him.
“Alright, little man. Seatbelt buckled?”
“Yep!”
Rowan checks it himself anyway.
Of course he does.
“Good.”
Then he settles me into the passenger seat before walking around the truck. I watch him through the windshield.
Broad shoulders.
Blond hair catching the late-afternoon light.
That confident, loose stride.
Sexy Viking-looking bastard.
And he's mine.
Or well, I think he is.
I mean, he could be.
That's the terrifying part. The Fates might have brought us together. Our bodies might recognize us as Alpha and Omega. And yeah, the matebond might already be growing between us.
But none of that guarantees love.
That's something else entirely.
Something chosen. Built. And I think I'm starting to want that with him.
Rowan gets behind the wheel.
“Okay. Here we go.”
The truck rumbles to life. A moment later, his right hand settles on my thigh.
No hesitation.
No big production.
Just warm, calloused fingers and one reassuring squeeze.
The matebond hums. I look down at his hand. Then at him.
His eyes remain on the road. But his thumb moves once across my jeans.
A tiny caress.
Like he can't quite stop touching me.
My heart does something embarrassingly soft. I cover his hand with mine.
His fingers immediately turn beneath mine and lace through them, and a deep, satisfied rumble echoes through his body in the cabin of the truck.
Neither of us says anything.
We don't need to.
For a few minutes, Matteo fills the truck with excited chatter about Gia's birthday, barbecue, the mountain, whether Bears actually like honey, and approximately seven thousand questions about whether Rowan has ever seen a real dinosaur fossil.
Rowan answers every single one.
Even the ridiculous ones.
Especially the ridiculous ones.
I watch him. And the fear inside me gets tangled up with longing.
Because I have to tell him.
I can't keep hiding what I am from my mate.
Not after last night. Not after accepting the matebond.
If Rowan is choosing me, he deserves to know exactly who he's choosing.
An Avian Shifter female who ran from her Wake.
A mother whose child's father is dangerous.
A woman whose past might have just followed her straight to Ember Hollow.
What if he looks at me differently?
My fingers tighten around his.
His thumb immediately strokes mine. The automatic response makes my throat ache.
What if he doesn't?
That possibility is almost scarier. Because if Rowan hears everything and still wants me?
I don't know if I'll have any defenses left.
It’s not that far a drive, around thirty minutes or so, and as the town falls behind us and the road begins winding higher into the mountains, I find myself staring through the windshield.
Thirty minutes.
That's nothing.
I could do this every day.
The thought arrives so naturally I don't catch it at first.
Then I do.
Every day?
Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm already mentally calculating a commute from a cabin I don't live in.
But it really is doable.
Matteo could still go to school.
I could still work.
We could—stop.
Rowan hasn't asked me to move in. We had sex last night. One mating knot and suddenly I'm planning rural commuting logistics?
Get a grip, Gabriella.
“Hey.”
I jump slightly.
Rowan glances at me before returning his attention to the road.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
“Oh, um... nothing.”
My cheeks heat instantly.
His eyes narrow. He knows I'm lying.
Shifters can sense that kind of thing. It’s in the body language. The scent.
Of course he can tell.
The bastard can probably smell embarrassment.
His hand squeezes mine.
“Nothing got you turning that pretty shade of pink?”
“Drive the truck, Rowan.”
“I am driving.”
“Then concentrate.”
“I can multitask.”
From the back seat, Matteo pipes up.
“Mommy was smiling.”
Traitor. Rowan's mouth curves.
“Was she?”
“Matteo.”
“What?” my son asks innocently. “You were.”
Rowan brings our joined hands toward him and brushes his mouth over my knuckles.
My breath catches.
One tiny kiss.
That's all it is. And somehow it feels more intimate than half the things we did last night.
His eyes meet mine briefly.
“Whatever it was,” he murmurs, “I like that it made you smile.”
I am so fucked.
I look out the window because suddenly my eyes sting.
The mountains rise around us, enormous and beautiful, autumn touching the trees while sunlight slips between the branches in warm golden streaks.
And somewhere ahead is Rowan's cabin.
His world.
His Crew.
A weekend I never expected to want this badly.
My fingers remain tangled with his.
Soon I’m going to tell him everything. No more half-truths. No more hiding. And maybe Rowan will decide my past is too dangerous.
Maybe he'll realize having an Omega isn't the same thing as wanting Gabriella Santos with all her secrets and scars and baggage.
But when his thumb strokes over my hand again, the matebond answers with that warm, firelight glow.
And for the first time, another possibility takes root beside the fear.
Maybe he won't care what I am.
Maybe he'll care about who I am.
Maybe the Fates only brought us to the same place. And everything that comes next?
Maybe that's ours to choose.