Page 7 of Shifting Hearts 1
“You needed rest.”
It’s the safest explanation, but it doesn’t erase the awareness buzzing in the air. The bond hums low between us, steady and insistent, like a song only we can hear. I press the quilt tighter to my chest, trying to anchor myself. I also have to hide my nudity from him.
“Did you undress me?”
“The dress was wet,” he mumbles. “I didn’t do anything.”
It wouldn’t have mattered. I clearly wouldn’t have known but it’s nice to hear the words.
“You should have left me,” I whisper, shame creeping hot into my throat. “You don’t understand. I’m nothing now. Broken. Rejected.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his gaze sharpens. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
I laugh, bitter and hollow. “Alive? My panther’s gone. She won’t come when I call. She’s silent.” My eyes sting, tears threatening. “What good am I without her?”
He studies me, long enough that I shift under the weight of it. “She isn’t gone. She’s hurt. Same as you. Just give her some time. She needs to heal too.”
I want to believe him. Goddess, I want to. But Gabriel’s face flashes in my mind. The way he looked at me like I was unworthy, like even fate had made a mistake in choosing me. The rejection still burns in my chest; the bond’s violent severing an echo I can’t silence.
Tears spill down my cheeks despite myself. I drag the quilt higher, burying my face for a moment. “You don’t know what it feels like. To be chosen and then….” My voice cracks. “To be cast aside in front of everyone. My mother looked away. My father didn’t move. Not one of them stopped him.”
For the first time, his jaw softens. His hand twitches on his knee, like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t. He holds himself still, his restraint iron.
“I know what it feels like,” he says finally. “To be cast out. To be left behind.”
I glance up sharply, meeting his eyes. There’s something there, something raw and dark, that makes my breath catch. But he looks away before I can read it.
The fire crackles and silence stretches between us. Then I notice his hands. Big, scarred, and calloused from years of labor.They rest on his thighs, but even from here, I can feel the heat they carry.
My body betrays me. A pulse low in my belly. A tightening in my chest. The bond stirs, whispering, pulling, demanding. I clench the quilt tighter, trying to still the rush of heat.
No. Not like Gabriel. I won’t give fate the chance to break me twice. But this is nothing like before. Heat and arousal pulse through me. I never felt this way with him.
My eyes keep drifting to him. To the way the firelight gilds the line of his jaw. To the breadth of his shoulders, the ripple of muscle under skin. To the scar slashing across his ribs, half-hidden by shadow.
He shifts, and I do to. the quilt slips lower on me, exposing the top curve of my breasts. His eyes flick there for just a heartbeat before he jerks them away, his jaw tightening.
The air thickens and my pulse skitters. This is wrong. This is dangerous. And yet, no matter how much I fight or deny, this is also inevitable. Unless he also refuses me and our mate bond. I know I won’t survive that a second time, especially not as weak as I am now and without my animal.
I clear my throat, desperate for distraction. “Why did you leave the pack?”
His eyes snap back to mine. For a moment, silence. Then he exhales slowly, leaning back further into the chair, shadows deepening across his face.
“Because it wasn’t home anymore.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. The firelight glints in his eyes, and I know there’s more. Layers of pain, of bitterness. But he won’t hand them over easily. Something in me aches at that.
He gave me his bed. He kept me alive. He doesn’t even want to be near me, yet he hasn’t left my side. And still, he hides himself away like the trees outside, impenetrable, and endless.
The bond hums, hungry for connection.
I turn my back on him and curl tighter under the quilt, closing my eyes as though I can shut it out. But even in the darkness, I feel him. His presence fills the room. His scent lingers on the blankets. His silence is louder than a scream.
And for the first time since Gabriel shattered me, I don’t feel completely alone.
Even if it terrifies me.
When I wake again, I push myself up slowly, the quilt slipping, the room tilting around me. My muscles protest, weak from days of lying still. My arms tremble, and I nearly collapse back onto the mattress.
