Page 84 of Primal

In the stillness of this moment, my wolf remains utterly relaxed.

There’s no tension coiled under my skin like there usually is when I’m around males, no prickle of distrust or flicker of warning. Just contentment. And I know why.

She’s waited for him. All these years, she’s remained loyal to a fault to the man I hardly remembered. She held the line for him, sometimes with teeth, with instinct I didn’t understand. I should’ve given her more credit. Instead I thought she was just crazy, all the while she knew her mate was out there. She protected his place, even when I didn’t know he had one.

Driven by something I don’t bother naming—a pull too strong to resist—I slip out from under the covers. The air bites at my skin but compared to the chill I’ve been carrying for days, it almost feels warm. My limbs move easily, no aching joints or trembling muscles slowing me down. The usual pain isn’t there. Like it’s been cast away by his mere presence.

I notice the green hoodie is gone from my body, leaving me in the black tank top and leggings I’d worn under all the layers last night. But my heart stutters when I spot it draped over the pillow I’d curled around in my sleep. Like he wanted me surrounded by him while I rested. It hits me in a quiet, instinctive way. He didn’t just leave the hoodie. He laid the first piece of my nest, and my omega side preens at the offering.

My heart aches at the thought, a quiet pain that feels too close to hope, but I push it away for now, wanting to bask in the lack of soul-crushing ache for as long as I can.

I cross the room on bare feet, slow and quiet, and stop when I reach him. The hardwood is cool beneath me, but I barely register it. The closer I get, the more his scent fills the space around me—deep and rich, grounding in a way I forgot I could feel. It blends with mine, the sweetness of it clinging to my skin like something alive. I shouldn’t find comfort in that. But I do.

It’s strange, standing here like this. A reversal of last night, when he stood before me in his wolf form and waited for something I didn’t have the courage to offer. Now I’m the one just…watching. Unsure.

I tell myself I’m not looking for anything. But my eyes still roam his form.

And then I see them.

The scars.

Four raised lines, starting at the edge of his brow and cutting back into his hair. I’ve noticed them before, but never like this. Now I have time to really look at them. With nothing between us but air and silence. They pull my focus, more than his bare chest, more than the tight fit of those borrowed sweatpants.

I stare, something twisting in my chest I can’t quite name.

Because I know what it takes for a dominant Alpha like him to still bear scars that have refused to fade with the passing of time. I know who had to be the one to inflict the pain for them to stay as they have.

Of their own volition, my fingers trail each of the four silver lines. They’ve barely reached where the scars end above his ear when Rennick’s eyes snap open.

They’re wild, unfocused. Flickering between recognition and reflex.

I part my lips to say his name, to warn him it’s just me, but I don’t get the chance.

In a blur of motion he’s on his feet, his hands hooking around my arms. The next thing I know, my back hits the wall, firm but not punishing. Air huffs from my lungs at the sudden impact, my heart thundering against my ribs.

His eyes flash, caught somewhere between man and wolf, the color flicking between gray and pale silver blue. The snarl carved into his face falters as recognition slams into him. I see the exact second it hits him, when he really sees me, and the shift is instant. Recognition knocks the fight out of him, and horror sweeps in to take its place.

“Noa,” he breathes, voice like gravel. Wrecked. His hands loosen their hold, but don’t let me go. They slide down myarms in a desperate attempt to soothe, to comfort, to check for damage. Like he needs to feel for himself that I’m still whole.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I whisper, words rasping from my throat. “I should’ve known better than to approach a sleeping wolf.”

“Shit, Noa,” he breathes, shaking his head. “Are you— Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head, though my breath is still uneven. His warm fingers and palms continue to graze the bare skin of my arms. Steady and grounding, “I’m fine,” I add, voice more even. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His gaze crumples at that, like the words land wrong in his soul.

“That’s not true,” he chokes out. “I have hurt you.”

My lip press together. I can’t lie to him, not when we both know the painful truth. “Yeah… You have.”

Rennick’s gaze searches mine, slow and careful, like he’s looking for something he’s scared to find. His hand lifts, fingers brushing at the mess of hair hanging in my face. It’s a losing battle—my bangs have a mind of their own—but he tries anyway, pushing them gently to the side. They fall right back into place. He doesn’t try again. Just lets his hand hover there near my temple, his thumb grazing the edge of my cheek like it’s second nature.

I part my lips to say something, what, I’m not even sure. Maybe to ask what he’s doing. Why he’s here. But he beats me to it.

“The fact that I made myself believe I could live without you, sweet Noa…” He breathes the words and they hit me with more force than I’m prepared for. I see the flicker of misery cross his face. “That I told myself I had to—because it was right, or honorable, or whatever fucking lie I clung to—none of it makes up for what I’ve done.”

Sweet Noa.

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