Raena threw a small pebble into the fire, and it hissed before settling into a quiet glow. The flame licked around the stone and calmed, casting a wavering light across the cave walls. “You always do that,” she said, not looking at me.
“Do what?”
“Look at me like you’re searching for something you already know.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes flicked toward me before returning to the fire. “And then you shut down. Like I’m something you’re trying not to feel.”
I let out a breath that felt heavier than it should have. “Maybe I am.”
She gave a half-smile. “At least you’re honest.”
“I could lie,” I offered.
“You already are,” she said, sharper than before. “Just not with your words.”
I frowned and forced my shoulders to stay loose. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you sit there, pretending like all of this doesn’t touch you,” she said, gesturing vaguely between us, “but I feel you flinch every time our bond surges. You look like you’re drowning in your own skin.”
“I’m handling it,” I muttered.
“No, Silas,” she said, voice tight now, “you’re surviving it. Barely. And that’s not the same thing.”
I didn’t know what this was between us—whether it was a mistake or something we were both pretending not to recognize. The uncertainty pressed against my ribs like a braced fist.
“My brother used to braid my hair,” she said suddenly, not looking at me. “Said it made me look like less of a menace.”
She glanced up. “Didn’t work.”
I let out a small snort that escaped before I could stop it. “No, it really didn’t.”
“He’d mess it up on purpose. Every single time. Then he’d teach me how to throw a punch so I could knock out the boys who teased me about it.” She grinned. “I had a mean right hook by nine.”
I leaned back on my elbows and let the stone floor cool my palms. “Sounds like a legend in the making.”
She shrugged, a quick lift of one shoulder that softened nothing. “He was. Still is.”
A long pause passed between us, the kind that gathers meaning in the quiet. I picked at the seam on my bracer. “I always liked archery,” I said. “Preferred it over blades. Keeps things… distant.”
“Of course you like the quiet weapons,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“They require precision. Control.”
“They require fear,” she shot back, smirking. “Knives are better. Up close, you feel it. You see it. Every flinch. Every breath.”
I gave her a look and couldn’t help the grim humor that edged my voice. “That’s deeply concerning.”
Her laugh broke out before she could stop it—sharp, rough, and real—and it caught me off guard in the best and worst ways.
“You never answered me,” she said, casually picking at the cuff of her sleeve.
“About what?”
“Why do you flinch every time I get too close?” Her tone wasn’t accusing. It was too calm for that. But it hit harder than if she had yelled.
I stiffened despite myself. “It’s complicated.”
“Just try.”
“I’m not in the mood for therapy, Raena.”
“Well, too bad,” she said flatly. “I’m bonded to you. I think that earns me a front row seat to whatever this mess is.”
I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, staring into the flames until the shapes became shifting ghosts. The heat pressed against my face and made the truth feel brittle.
“My father,” I said finally, the words dry and reluctant, “he didn’t believe in restraint. Or loyalty. Or decency. He’d bring she-wolves into our home like trophies. Like he wanted my mother to see. Wanted her to hurt.”
Raena didn’t say anything. The fire crackled again, louder this time, as if it understood too much.
“I was a kid. But I remember the screaming. The laughter from strangers in our halls. And her crying… that’s what stuck the most.” I paused. My voice caught on the memory. “She didn’t scream or fight. She just… disappeared. Quietly. Until one day, she never came out of her chambers again.”
“She died?”
I nodded slowly, forcing myself to breathe through it. “They found her… hanging. I was the one who found her.”
The silence stretched between us like a blade held steady at the throat of the moment.
“Since then,” I said, staring hard at the fire so I wouldn’t fold, “I’ve made a promise to myself. I’d never be that man. Never treat someone like an object, never take without permission. Never let anger turn me into him.”
“And you think being with me makes you him?” she asked, her voice soft but pointed.
“No,” I said. “But the way I feel around you… it’s strong. Loud. And I don’t trust it yet.”
She tilted her head, weighing me with a look that felt like a test I wanted to pass. “You don’t trust yourself.”
I met her eyes and let the admission stand. “Exactly.”
Raena shifted, leaning forward just slightly, like a tide considering the shore. “You think desire makes you dangerous.”
“Doesn’t it?” I whispered.
“No,” she said. “Not when you choose what you do with it. Not when you hold back because you care. That’s not danger. That’s discipline.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, suddenly angry—at her and at myself. “Every man in my bloodline took what they wanted. They called it dominance. Alpha nature. They called it their right.” My voice trembled against the old fury. “I hate that I’ve got that same blood in me.”
Raena didn’t flinch; instead she held the space steady, like a sparring partner who refuses the cheap hit. “Then be the one who breaks it.”
My throat felt tight, and I looked down at my hands. They were steady to the eye, but they didn’t feel like mine.
“I’m scared of touching someone who trusts me,” I said. The truth hung between us, raw and ugly, and I let it.
She didn’t laugh, smirk, or look away.
She reached out—slow and deliberate—and placed her hand over mine. Her palm was warm and her grip firm. She didn’t try to pull me closer. She didn’t promise it would be okay. She just stayed where she was and let the contact speak.
“You can start by letting me stay,” she said, voice quiet but unshakable.