“Should probably have that talk now,” I rasp, no longer feeling like I have the upper hand in this conversation.
Connor’s eyes slip down my body before he releases a measured breath and nods. He rolls up from the wall, his hands shaking as he stuffs them in his pockets. Leading me into a room that looks very similar to the ones upstairs, he flicks on the lights and closes the door behind us, ensuring us some privacy, even though there really isn’t such a thing as full privacy when a ghost can pop into the room at any moment. On the floor are two duffles, one open and dug through—Connor’s—and one sitting neatly against the wall—Kaleb’s.
My first instinct is to sit on the edge of the bed, since it’s comfortable and in the middle of the room, but considering the circumstances, I deviate to the reading chair in the corner. Lifting my feet into the chair, I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my head on my knees.
Desire and unease pour off Connor in equal measures as he roams the room for a place to sit. He eyeballs the bed in a similar fashion I did, but then chooses to simply lean against the desk on the other side of the room. I’m unsure how to feel about the fact he’s decided to keep so much physical space between us.
“So…” I trail off, at a loss on how to start this conversation now that I’m no longer filled with righteous irritation.
He looks up at the sound of my voice, curling his hands around the edge of the desk, but doesn’t say anything. His wolf is still heavily present in his eyes, and past his visible stillness, there’s a storm of mixed emotions inside him. It’d be nice if I didn’t have to pry them out of him.
“I know what you’re feeling,” I blurt, the silence suffocating. “Is it the same for you? Do you know what I’m feeling?”
“Yes,” he answers in a low murmur, as dread and sadness rises to the top of his emotional turmoil.
“For how long?” I whisper, afraid I already know the answer—cataloguing all the things he now knows about me.
Connor looks at me for several painful seconds, fidgeting under my gaze, then confesses, “Night of the ceremony.”
“Of course it was,” I groan, bouncing my forehead against my knee. I’m uncertain which is worse—the fact he’s aware of my raging hormones or that he now has confirmation I’m certifiable. “This is why I’m not allowed to do blood rituals without permission.”
He releases a strangled laugh, then, apparently deeming it safe, moves to sit on the corner of the bed a few feet away from me. Leaning forward, he braces his elbows on his thighs while his clasped hands hang between his knees. Even without the power of empathy, I can tell that he’s strung as tight as a piano string. If plucked the right way, something sweet and beautiful can come from the tension. The wrong way, and it can snap, cutting deeply in its destruction.
Nerves dance in my belly as my eyes trace along his features, taking in this person that I’ve grown to care so deeply for. The question I don’t want to ask but need to hangs like a noose around my neck. “Did you know it would happen?”
His mouth opens and closes a few times, searching for the right words, which is an answer in its own right. Finally, he admits, “Not at first, but…I…Por favor no me odies.”
“English, please,” I whisper, my heart sinking with the anguish in his gaze.
“I didn’t mean to start the bond,” Connor insists, his low voice now a beaten rasp of the condemned. “Only wanted to protect you.”
“Start the bond?” I echo, my hands gripping the soft fabric of my pajama bottoms.
He moves to his knees before me, as if to prostrate himself upon my mercy. His jaw flexes with the truth trapped between his teeth.
“What bond?” I repeat, trying not to break under the guilt stricken expression carved across his features. Under the weight of his fear and loneliness.
“We are mates,” he chokes out, his fingers digging into his thighs, while his body leans closer to me, both wanting and fearing my nearness.
My mind turns into this white emptiness, as if it has been overloaded with errors and decided to reboot itself. I can never seem to feel the right things at the right times, so instead of expressing anything that makes sense, I joke, “Does this make me a child bride?”
Connor’s head tilts to the side, his eyes narrowed in confusion, likely due to the fact that his new empathy abilities aren’t helping him. If I’m not feeling anything, there’s nothing for him to sense.
“No,” he utters slowly, reaching up to touch me, but pulling back when I flinch. “You…have a choice. I wouldn’t expect…”
“I need you to explain it to me,” I murmur, as I watch him flounder. A sad emptiness coats my soul as his insistence that I have a choice tastes like a lie. “I know you don’t like talking, and normally, I’d respect that, but not this time. I need you to tell me everything—in detail. No half-truths. No bare minimum answers. No waiting for me to ask the right question.”
His eyes widen when my cold disappointment is telegraphed through our mate bond. It’s hard to believe I have a choice when he knows everything I feel as soon as I feel it.
Connor nods his head, acknowledging what I’m asking of him and sits back on his heels. His gaze rests on my hands, which are folding the fabric of my pants into a fan before releasing it and starting over, while his hands clench his thighs.
In broken sentences interspersed with sighs, Spanish cursing, and the occasional brave, measuring glance at my face, he explains what happened that night. He assures that his intent for the ceremony was exactly as he told me—a promise of loyalty and protection—but unintentionally, his vow came from something beyond an Alpha promising the loyalty of his pack. Alpha or not, he was vowing himself to me…forever. I probably should have picked that up from the whole ‘until I take my last breath’ bit, but I trusted it meant only what he told me it meant. That it was a ceremony to make me a member and protector of the pack.
My cheeks burn as he confesses that the bond was one-sided right up until the moment I bit him. He apologizes for his selfishness, fumbles over explaining how starting the bond required a whole ritual, but all it took to finish it was some feelings and consuming his blood.
“Might not be permanent,” Connor admits like it’s a lifeline for me, while the thought of it seems to be a twisting knife in his stomach. “Bonds don’t hold if you don’t mean them to.”
His hunched form blurs before me as my eyes begin to fill with tears. Finally understanding what happened, I can see the glittering pieces of my love along the tapestry of his soul. Love I gave freely because I wanted parts of myself to be with him always.
