Then I say, “I can’t forgive you.”
He flinches, like I’ve just hit him, and the pain in his eyes is so real it’s almost beautiful. I rush to finish, “…because there’snothing to forgive you for. Not anymore. I know what you did to get out. I know how hard you’ve tried. I know you’d burn yourself to the ground to keep us safe, I knew you were coming for us, and I can’t keep holding you responsible for ghosts you didn’t create.”
He doesn’t move. He just stares at me, and I see the relief and the disbelief and the hope, all tangled up and fighting for space on his face.
I wipe at my eyes, furious that I’m crying, but unable to stop. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t deserve a fresh start or to be part of Silvercreek. I’m sorry, I never let myself grieve and took it out on you. Not once. Not for my father, or for the life I lost, or for any of it.
“I made it your fault because I needed it to be someone’s. I needed to hate you so I wouldn’t have to admit how much I wanted you, and how angry that made me. For a long time, I thought that if I kept you at arm’s length, I could punish you for what Cheslem did to my family. But you aren’t Cheslem. Not anymore.” I sniff hard, and the sound is so loud that it makes me laugh, which only makes the tears come faster.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m the one who never let you have a real chance. I just… I missed my dad so much, and I missed home, and I missed who I used to be, and I couldn’t even admit it to myself. So I kept running from you, even when I didn’t want to.” My voice gets smaller, so soft I’m not sure he even hears me. “I think he would have liked you, you know. My father. He would’ve respected you. Even if he gave you hell for a while.”
Caleb lets out a sigh, but it’s not sad; it’s relief, and the next thing I know, he’s crossed the space between us and pulled me into his lap, arms around me so tight I nearly lose my breath.I bury my face in his shoulder, and we stay like that for a long, long time, just holding on. It doesn’t feel fragile or desperate. I cry, really cry, like I’ve needed to for so long but couldn’t let go.
After a while, he tips my face up and kisses me, slow and reverent, and this time, I don’t hold back. I kiss him like I mean it, like I’ve been dying to do it for years, like nothing else in the world matters. I taste salt, and I don’t know if it’s my tears or his, but we don’t stop. I lace my fingers into his hair, tugging him closer, and he makes a noise that’s half growl, half sob. We lose our balance and spill sideways onto the couch, laughing and breathless, our bodies pressed together in the dark.
His hands are everywhere, holding my face, my waist, my hips, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me. “Goddess, I love you,” he whispers, and the words sink into me, warm and electric and terrifying.
“I love you too,” I say, and the words settle between us, true and solid. I kiss him again, and again, until it feels like we’re both going to combust. When his hands slide under my shirt and find bare skin, I gasp, but I don’t stop him. I want it. I want him, all of him, the broken parts and the healed parts, our painful past and our beautiful future.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes so open and raw I almost have to look away. “We’re really doing this?” he asks, and I nod, heart pounding.
I guide his hand to my jaw, press his palm flat against my cheek. “I want this. all if it.”
I want all of him, and I want him to know it. My wolf surges up, greedy and unashamed; I arch into his hand, press my lips to the hollow of his throat, and feel his pulse hammer wild and frantic. Underneath the spent adrenaline, he smells like home. The weight of his palm cradling my jaw, the heat of hismouth at my neck, the way he touches me as if he’ll never let me go, it’s enough to make every cell in my body flare to life.
There are no more words, only actions, hands, and mouths affirming more than could ever be said. I feel total peace, despite everything we’ve been through, the rogues that are still out there, and the Cheslem threat. For the first time, there are no ghosts in the room.
Chapter 19 - Caleb
The croissants are offensively flaky. I mean, they explode down the front of my jacket the instant I break one open, dusting Alora’s baby carrier with a blizzard of crumbs before I even get a bite. The woman behind the bakery counter tries to hide a smile, but she’s not really fooling anybody. Dina’s already got the coffees in hand, and she’s not even trying to hide her amusement as we exit the bakery and I try to brush off the entire pastry now decorating my clothes.
Main Street is busy this morning, the air sharp with the kind of alertness that always follows an incident like yesterday. The town square’s full of patrols coming and going. We pass a group of betas who rush to check on Dina and Alora; the relief in town feels tangible.
Every window along the block is steamed with condensation or frosted up entirely, so the bakery’s neon sign is just a blue blur behind us as we walk. It’s not a long walk to the pack hall, but it might as well be a thousand miles, given how much attention we’re pulling. I can feel the stares, the way people glance up from their phones or their conversations and then politely look away, only to look back again like they can’t quite help themselves.
I’m hyper-aware that folk will just be glad to see Dina and Alora are out and about, and ok. My phone was blowing up all night with well-wishes, and Dina said the same. Not that we picked up any of the messages because we were far too lost in each other. My mind drifts back to last night again and again, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. Walking past a window, I almost do a double-take. We look like a family, which is a mindfuck all its own, because up until a week ago, I’d have sworn that was the last thing we’d ever be.
Our hands never touch, not even by accident. Dina keeps her whole body angled forward, as if she doesn’t know how to present our new reality to the world either. Do we make an announcement? Is it even important to the pack, given everything that’s going on? It is to me because even with that tension, I can’t stop noticing how good it feels to be seen with her, how much my wolf wants everyone to know she’s his, how proud I am that even after everything, maybe because of everything, she’s still here. And she’s mine.
We make it past the hardware store and the pharmacy without incident, but when we hit the corner by the bookshop, the universe decides to test us. Ruby is outside, balancing on a battered step stool, cleaning the window with a squeegee and humming along to the pop station blasting from inside. She sees us, stops mid-chorus, and gives a wave so enthusiastic she nearly topples the bucket at her feet.
“Heyyy, look at you three! This looks like a breakfast date?” she calls, voice slicing through the cold.
Dina tries to play it cool. “Just a tactical coffee deployment,” she says, lifting the tray like it’s a shield. “Someone’s gotta keep the security team from mutiny.”
Ruby grins. “Oh sure, that’s why your bond is all tangled up together and flashing like a neon sign.” She drops off the step stool and crosses the sidewalk, enveloping Dina in a hug and asking how they are.
I know Dina has already spoken to a lot of the women this morning as they all called one after the other. I think she was quite surprised so many people wanted to check on her, but she shouldn’t be—it’s clear to anyone with eyes how well she’s settled here and how much everyone likes her; but I think she’s just realizing that for herself now.
We chat with Ruby for a minute, or rather, she chats, and we laugh, and then she shoos us onward, promising to come by later with some new distraction for Alora. I have no doubt she means it. We leave her to the squeegee and step back into the flow of town, passing Dawson from the feed store, who gives Dina a solemn little salute, and then we’re at the steps of the pack hall, where the morning’s real business waits.
Inside, the warmth is immediate, as is the overwhelming smell of fresh coffee, which I suspect is currently fuelling the security team. I feel a pang of guilt for missing my patrol this morning, but the guys all insisted I stay with Dina and Alora; I’m not sure I could have physically left them anyway. The main room’s already half-full, and every face turns as we walk in. Connor’s at the front, arms crossed, while Dylan and Bryan are comparing notes on a battered legal pad. Even Nick is here, perched on the edge of the big conference table, his posture all casual authority, like he’s been up since before dawn and plans to keep it that way until the world is fixed. Which, knowing Nick, is probably true.
The room goes quiet as we enter. Not like the movies, where glass drops and everyone stares, but more like a subtle, collective recalibration. A lot of the faces here were out last night, searching for Alora and Dina, and I feel the weight of that gratitude hit me like a truck. Nobody says a word about it directly, but it’s there, the way people stand a little straighter, the way they make space for us at the table.
Dina doesn’t hesitate or hover by the coat rack; she moves like she grew up in rooms like these. She unzips Alora from the carrier, hands her off to me, and slides, starting to examine the maps tracking the rogues with the confidence of someone who’s done this a hundred times. I catch a flicker of pride at the back ofmy mind, something my wolf doubles down on, and I realize I’m grinning like an idiot as I bounce Alora on my knee.
Nick gives a small, approving nod, then opens the meeting with a brisk, “Let’s get started.” He launches into the debrief, reviewing the abduction timeline, the response, and the perimeter weaknesses that allowed it to happen. He doesn’t mince words, but there’s no blame in his tone, just focus. He’s spent years rooting shame out of his pack, and you can feel it in the way the team absorbs facts without flinching.
