Page 85 of Primal

He called me that in the clearing, when his plea for forgiveness rang through me like a broken prayer. I hated it then. But now—reverent and rough on his tongue—it hits different. Like it costs him something. Like I’m still worth saying it to.

“You won’t believe me yet,” he says, voice steadying even as his eyes stay raw. “And that’s okay. I’ll keep saying it until you do. I’m going to make this right. I’m going to repair the bond. The damage. All of it.”

My heart stutters. Something inside me goes completely still, like the world just tilted slightly off its axis.

Because he said it. Out loud.

He wants to fix it.

The way Seren had begged me to tell Rennick that his bite could do more than just fix it, but could save me, echoes between my ears as if she’s standing next to me shouting it in real time. The piece of me that wants to live, wants to believe that his words are true, mirrors her sentiment instantly. My wolf plants herself firmly in that camp too, fully convinced our mate would catch us if we fell. Guess all it took was a little quality time with his wolf to change her tune.

I can’t decide if I’m envious, or just annoyed by how quickly she’s let go.

But it’s the part of me that shattered in that clearing that wins out. The fear that he’ll eventually learn the truth—that he’s the key to my survival now—and could still choose to walk away. That’s what keeps me from leaning into the promise in his words. I’d rather meet the end on my own terms, with a little dignity, than watch him not chose me a second time. That would destroy what’s left of my fractured soul.

Rennick’s expression tightens, no doubt sensing the storm of anxiety twisting inside me. “You don’t trust me and I’ve earnedthat. I haven’t given you a single reason to believe in me, but I need you to know I meant every word.” He takes a breath, jaw working. “I’m going to find a way to protect my pack, to keep my omegas safewithoutMcNamara or his…” He stops short, gaze flicking away for a beat like he refuses to say her name in front of me. I’m grateful for that. It feels like a line he won’t cross. A small mercy. “We’re working on another way,” he goes on, voice low but steady. “But even if I can’t pull that off—even if I fail there—I won’t fail at this. At us. Fixing what I broke with you is the only thing I’m certain about. You’re my priority now, Noa. Nothing comes before that. Not anymore.”

Something in me shifts, quiet and unwelcome, but it’s there nonetheless. Not forgiveness, not even close, but a softening that slithers through the cracks he left behind. Because the way he’s standing here now, the way he’s speaking with this quiet, careful intensity, doesn’t feel like a performance. It feels real. His chest is inches from mine, radiating heat I shouldn’t crave, and his chin dips low in that way that says he’s trying to reach me—even though we both know it will be near impossible to bridge the distance he created.

And it’s the little part of me that will never stop wanting him, broken bond or not, that has me wondering if just for a moment, I could give in. Just to have a single taste of what could have been. What could have been mine.

It’s probably the dumbest thing I could do. Even if he says they’re working on another solution, the truth is he’s still promised to someone else. He still isn’t mine.

And he’s right, I don’t trust him. Maybe I never will. But the pain that’s been rotting me from the inside out is quiet in his presence. Just him, standing here, is enough to still the ache and take the cold out of my bones. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m dying. And I want to stay here, just a little longer, in this impossible moment where I don’t feel like I’m falling apartand if I try hard enough, I can pretend this can be more than that.

Just a moment.

So I place my hands against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath my palms. I rise up onto my toes, closing the small gap between us, and pull him down to meet me.

And I kiss him like he’s mine.

His lips stay pressed to mine, unmoving, no doubt stunned by the weight of what I’ve just done. I don’t pull away. I don’t breathe. I just wait, caught in the space between hope and regret, to see if he’s going to meet me there.

He remains frozen and I release a sound I don’t mean to. A small, desperate whine crawls up my throat, heedless and unmistakably omega. It betrays everything I’m still too afraid to say. That I want this. Need it. Crave more of his touch, even if I know somewhere in my mind that it can’t go further than this.

It’s my omega nature crying out that breaks him.

His hands come up, cupping my face with a kind of care that shatters me. Not just holding—cradling. Fingers spread across my cheeks like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. The first pass of his lips over mine is soft, tentative. Almost like he’s asking if I’m sure.

But then I part my lips and graze my tongue over his bottom lip. And that’s all it takes. He growls, the sound more wolf than man, and I feel it in my bones.

His mouth claims mine fully, no hesitation this time. His body presses harder into mine, pinning me against the wall, and I let it happen. Let the weight of him hold me steady as he devours me like he’s starving. My hands slide from his chest, curling gently around his wrists where he frames my face. It’s not to stop him. It’s to stay connected, to anchor both of us in this kiss.

We’re not smooth. Our movements aren’t rehearsed. This isn’t something we’ve done a hundred times. It’s clumsy, a little desperate, but agonizingly real.

It’s not like I’ve had chances to practice. Not that I ever really wanted them. This was never something I thought I’d need to be good at.

We explore each other for a minute—minutes? What is time at this point?—learning and finding a rhythm that makes my skin start to flush. But then he lets out a frustrated growl that rattles my bones.

Before I can fully register the sound, his hands are gone from my face, only to find a new hold. He bends slightly, gripping behind my thighs, and then I’m lifted. Airborne. In the next breath, my back is against the wall once more and his hard, defined chest is pressed to mine. My legs scramble to wrap around his waist, a little too short to hook fully, but I manage, clinging to him like I have any business deluding myself into thinking I’ll ever be ready to let go.

His mouth leaves mine just long enough to trace a path down the curve of my jaw, then lower, to the overly sensitive stretch of flesh at my throat.

The moment his lips brush the skin over my pulse, right where a mating mark would go, my entire body jerks.

My hips flex on instinct, searching for something with a desperation I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before.

No, of course I haven’t. This is all new to me. The last guy I let close didn’t get too far past the too wet kiss and grabby hands that had left me snarling at him like a feral animal before I could stop it. I gave up trying after that. That was years ago.

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