Page 84 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

I don’t have a response.

I don’t need one.

The fire crackles in the grate, casting warm light across the living room. We’ve migrated from the leaking guest room to the couch, Mario has graciously allowed us to occupy the ends, maintaining firm control of the middle, and the silence between us has shifted from awkward to something else. Something waiting.

“Ask me,” I say finally. “Whatever you want to know. No more omissions. No more waiting for the right moment. Just ask.”

She’s quiet for a beat, gathering her thoughts. Then: “The bond. How does it actually work? Not the romance novel version… the real version.”

“It starts as a recognition. A pull.” I choose my words carefully, wanting to get this right. “When a lycan meets their mate, the recognition is instant, a thread drawing taut between us, something I can feel even when you’re not there. The full bond comes later, and only if we both choose it. There’s a claiming. A completion. But the recognition doesn’t fade, and it doesn’t let go. It doesn’t create feelings. It doesn’t control behavior. It just… knows.”

“Knows what?”

“Compatibility. Rightness.” I pause. “That if we chose to be together, we would be good. Not perfect… compatible. Like two puzzle pieces that fit.”

“But I can reject it.”

“Yes.” The word scrapes my throat on the way out. “Humans aren’t bound the same way lycans are. You can choose not to accept it. Walk away. And if you do…”

“What happens?”

I’ve never told anyone this story. It lives in the locked rooms of my memory, filed under things too painful to examine. But she asked for no more omissions.

“There was a pack member,” I say slowly. “Centuries ago. He found his mate… a human woman from a village near our territory. He loved her. She loved him, I think, or something close to it. But when she learned what he was… she couldn’t accept it. She rejected the bond and left.”

“And?”

“He didn’t die. That’s not how it works… the rejection doesn’t kill you outright.” I stare at the fire. “It just hollows you out. He lived for another hundred years, going through the motions… eating, sleeping, performing the duties of a pack member. But something in him went dark and stayed that way. He was there, but he wasn’t… present. It was like watching someone slowly fade to nothing while their body kept moving.”

Fable is silent for a long moment.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me? Because you were afraid I’d leave like she did?”

“I was afraid you’d stay for the wrong reasons.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “If you knew about the bond, you might feel trapped. Obligated. Like the universe had made a decision for you and you had no choice but to go along with it. And I couldn’t…” My voice breaks. “I couldn’t bear to have you stay out of duty. I wanted you to choose me. Actually choose me, without the weight of fate hanging over it.”

“But by not telling me, you were still making the choice for me.”

“I know.” The admission costs me something. “I told myself I was protecting you, but I was really protecting myself. From the possibility that you’d look at me differently if you knew. From the fear that you’d run.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m telling you everything. No more protection. No more fear.” I spread my hands. “Whatever you decide after tonight… I’ll accept it. But I won’t hide anything from you again.”

She absorbs this. I watch her processing, filing, organizing the information the way her brain works.

“What about Aaron?” she asks. “Esme pointed him out at the barbecue. Silver hair, posture of a disappointed statue. She said he was the old guard.”

“My uncle. Three times removed, very old, very traditional.” I can’t keep the weariness out of my voice. “He believes a human queen is beneath the pack. He’s calling a formal gathering to challenge my choice.” I pause, because she asked for everything, and everything is what she gets. “He’s also the one who’s been watching us. From the ridge above your building, for weeks. We confirmed it after the storm.”

“Watching us? Like, surveillance?”

“Like a man collecting footnotes. Aaron doesn’t do menace. He does documentation. Every hour I spent outside a human’s window is an exhibit in the case he’s building.”

“Can he do that?”

“He can call the gathering. Whether he can actually change anything is another matter.” I shrug. “I’ve been dealing with Aaron’s disapproval for two hundred years. This is just the latest iteration.”

“You don’t seem worried.”