Page 27 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
When she’s fully human again, she reaches for her cloak and wraps it around herself with trembling hands. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright with the aftermath of the shift—and with understanding.
“There’s something between us,” she says, her voice quiet but certain. “I felt it. When we were wolves, I felt it.”
I busy myself adjusting my clothes, avoiding her gaze. “Shifters can sense things differently in wolf form. It’s natural to feel—”
“Don’t.” The word is sharp, cutting through my evasion. “Don’t lie to me. Please.”
I look at her—at the strength in her posture despite the trembling of her limbs, at the certainty in her eyes despite the confusion in her voice.
“What did I feel?” she asks. “What is this connection between us?”
I could still deflect, still evade. But I see now that it would only delay the inevitable. She deserves the truth, even if it’s a truth neither of us knows how to handle.
“It’s called a mate bond,” I say finally. “It’s rare. A connection that forms between wolves who are...destined for each other.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Mate bond,” she repeats, testing the words. “Like Griffin and Maya have?”
I nod, my throat tight. “Yes.”
“We’re fated mates?” The straightforwardness of her question leaves me nowhere to hide.
“Yes.” The admission feels torn from me.
She’s quiet for a long time, processing. Then, with a clarity that cuts to the chase: “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I look away, unable to meet her eyes. The truth is tangled, complicated. Part fear, part duty, part self-protection. But she deserves better than excuses.
When I remain silent too long, her expression changes. A realization dawns, painful to watch.
“Is it because I’m not a real shifter?” she asks, carefully controlling her voice. “Because I was human first? Or is it something else about me that’s...wrong?”
“No.” I step toward her, instinct overriding caution. “That’s not it at all.”
“Then, why?” The simplicity of the query belies its weight.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Because I don’t want a mate.”
The words hang between us, brutal in their honesty. I see them land, see the slight flinch she can’t quite control.
“You’re rejecting the bond?” she asks, and the steadiness of her voice is somehow worse than if she were to shout or cry.
“Yes.” The single syllable feels like gravel in my throat. “I have responsibilities. To the kingdom, to my brother, to the army. I can’t divide my focus.”
She nods as if this makes perfect sense, as if I’ve just commented on the weather instead of denied the most sacred bond our kind can form.
“Aren’t you upset?” I ask, confusion overriding caution.
She looks at me now, really looks, with eyes that have seen too much suffering to be shocked by one more rejection. “When you started avoiding me, I understood you wanted nothing to do with me. I just didn’t know why.” Her voice is soft, unemotional. “I understand now.”
“Fiona—”
“I’m not like the other females here,” she continues as if I didn’t say anything. “I see how they are—confident, whole. I know what I am and what was done to me.” She draws the cloak tighter around herself. “I’m broken inside. I see that. I’ve always seen it.”
The words hit me hard. Not because they’re angry or accusatory, but because they’re spoken with such calm acceptance. As if she’s stating simple truths that everyone knows.
“That’s not—” I begin, but she shakes her head.
“It’s alright,” she says, and somehow those two words cut deeper than anything else she could have said. “I hope you find a mate who is better suited to you. Someone who is able to be what you need.”
