Page 80 of Primal

My wolf made sure not to approach her too suddenly. Instead, he stepped on a twig. The crack loud enough to break the quiet stillness of the space. Noa had stiffened and pulled herself into a seated position, a movement that looked like it took more energy than it should have.

Her unique gaze swept across the yard until it landed on my wolf.

She stared back, disbelieving and hesitant, as if she was having trouble trusting what she was seeing, that she couldn’t find it within herself to believe that my wolf—and I—would have bothered to come for her and this must just be a trick of her imagination. It stung, but I understood it.

My wolf felt just as uncertain now that he was almost within touching distance of her. Uncertainty coursed through his mind and muscles, scared that she wouldn’t want him there. Thatshe’d send us away. He had no intention of going anywhere, regardless, but he wanted her towanthim there. Craved her acceptance.

He braced for her disgust…her rejection.

But it didn’t come.

She just sat there, unmoving, looking at him, so he took it slow. Each step forward was deliberate and measured so she could count each lift of his paws if she wanted to. He stopped before the bed-like lounge she’d curled up on, close enough that she could reach out to him if she wanted to, but she remained frozen.

So, he’d dropped his head, resting it on the cushion before her crossed legs. A silent plea. Not a demand. Just the hope that maybe she’d reach out to us. At the same time, it was a sign of submission most alphas would balk at, but he was so far beyond caring about such trivial things like projecting his dominance.

The only thing that mattered to him was bridging the gap I’d created between us. My wolf cared deeply about our pack, about our people—the omegas under our care—but he cared about her more. The ancient council member Oswin voice echoed in my head like a bitter lesson learned too late, his words sharp.“An Alpha’s loyalty to his pack should be second to only one. His mate.”

I should have listened.

Right then, I made the vow again—not just to her, but to myself. I would put Noa first. Her needs, her happiness, her life would come before everything else. I’d still lead my pack. Still protect them. But my omega…she would come before everything else. Just like she should have from the beginning.

When her hand finally came down—fingertips caressing my wolf’s head—it felt like breathing after holding it too long. My wolf had gone still under her touch, reverent. She didn’t pull away. She kept going, petting him in slow strokes over his head,between his ears, across his neck and shoulders. Everywhere she could reach. And I…I stayed still and let it wash over me. Even watching from the back seat of my own body, I felt every graze of her hand like it was meant for me alone.

In that moment, I’ve never been more thankful for my animal half. Because of him, I felt genuine hope for the first time all week.

The purr that rumbled from my chest wasn’t just his. It was mine. That sound, low, steady, content, a sound I’ve only ever made once before. And it was for her. Only for Noa. Forever.

She looked so tired. Like she hadn’t slept in days. The circles under her eyes were almost black and blue bruises, and I knew if she didn’t rest soon, her already weakened body would betray her. My wolf knew it too. Which is why we’d curled up beside her, our body draped half over hers. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense. Just let go.

She’d fallen asleep fast. The kind of sleep that only comes when you feel safe enough to stop pretending you’re fine. She never shivered despite the chill in the air. My wolf’s heat kept her warm, tucked against him like she belonged there.

Because she did.

My wolf never slept. He closed his eyes, but he stayed alert. Breathing her in, guarding her, refusing to let exhaustion take him under.And I let him. Because I knew, deep down, that this was the only thing either of us had gotten right all week.

The first snowflakes started falling just before dawn. Just a few. Light, slow. But it was enough. I knew it couldn’t last. She needed to go inside. Needed more than a wolf curled around her and the open sky above her. And that meant I had to shift back. I had to take over.

But my wolf didn’t want to let go. Not yet.

So I made promises. Quietly, teetering on desperately. Over and over. I told him I would protect her. That I would care forher. That I would make this right. Not just tonight. Not just until she was safe inside. But every day after. I swore I’d fix the bond, that I’d fight for her until there was nothing left in me to give. I’d do whatever it took.

Eventually—reluctantly—like he still isn’t sure if he can believe me, he lets go.

Next to her, I shift back.

She’s tucked in close against me, fast asleep, her breath slow and even. The lines of pain and exhaustion that haunted her face are gone now, softened into something I’m almost too scared to call peace. It settles something sharp and edgy in my chest. It doesn’t erase the guilt, but it gives me a second of stillness I didn’t think I’d get. A glimpse of the girl she was before I ruined her. A glimpse of who she could be if I repair the damage.

But that calm is hard to hold on to with her pressed up against my heated, naked skin. My body reacts on instinct, blood surging low to my cock—my knot—before I can stop it. It’s not the time or place, and I hate the way it betrays me, but there’s no stopping it. She’s an omega curled into her alpha, even if we’re not bonded—not properly. Not anymore.

I’m grateful for the layers of fabric between us, even if they don’t do much to dull the ache.

One of those layers is my hoodie.

The green one.

I’d noticed it earlier, even before I shifted back, how she’d wrapped herself in it like it was a shield against the ache. It hadn’t escaped my notice that she’d been wearing it when she left my house yesterday, that she’d chosen—consciously or not—to steal it. I guess it’s not really stealing when I’d secretly hoped her budding omega instincts would encourage her to keep it when I’d first draped it around her. It was a breadcrumb, a silent offering I hadn’t had the courage to speak aloud.

The scent of me on it is fading, stale. I can tell. And I make a quiet promise to myself, in the faintest light of dawn, to fix that. To replace it or, better yet, leave behind a version of myself that doesn’t drift away so easily. Maybe that won’t happen today, but it will.

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