She doesn’t step back.
“Why?” she asks.
The question isn’t sharp. It’s curious. Careful.
“You feel it too,” I say finally.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s part of one.”
She waits. No interruption. No pressure. Just attention. I’ve faced down pack elders with less composure than that.
“In our world,” I begin, “there’s something called a mate bond.”
The words sound heavier out loud than they ever did in my head.
This is the part where people usually laugh, panic, or walk out. Ellie just waits. Somehow that feels more dangerous.
“It isn’t romance,” I add quickly. “And it’s not destiny the way humans tend to imagine it. It’s… recognition. Something instinctive. Immediate. It bypasses reason.”
“Recognition of what?” she asks.
“Of someone who matters enough to rewire you,” I say. “Enough that your instincts stop being abstract.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but I feel the shift anyway—the way the bond tightens. It feels likeacknowledging.
“That pull between us,” she says slowly.
“Isn’t just attraction,” I finish. “It’s protective. Stabilizing. And it doesn’t ask permission.”
The pause that follows is thick.
“And you didn’t think I deserved to know this,” she says.
She processes my admission without stepping back or shutting down. Then, she nods, acknowledging the depth behind my guarded exterior. “But protecting me by making decisions for my safety that ignore what I need? That erases me from the choices, the risks, the outcome. It’s not protection—it’s control.”
We’re two sides of the same coin. No tactics, no careful strategies—only raw emotion flooding between us. “I’m terrified. Terrified of what we stand to lose, of what you could lose.” My voice, usually steady as law, wavers now. “You matter so much.”
Ellie’s gaze softens, vulnerability blooming freely. “I feel it too. You’re the one who made me feel it. But if I let fear dictate my decisions, I lose everything, starting with myself.”
We've danced around these truths for too long, spinning stories as safeguards. Now they tumble out in plain speech. I admit my desire, not as distraction, but as something grounding and real—something that pulls the edges of chaos tighter, making sense in this unpredictable world.
Ellie mirrors the sentiment, honesty wrapped in determination: raw attraction mingling with connection.
Finally, we name choice. “You choose the fight. To be here, in this moment, despite everything.” She steps closer, her determination unwavering. “But I choose this fight. I choose to be more than a target, more than a victim.”
“Your choice, not the pack’s, not mine,” I acknowledge, accepting the weight that statement carries.
She nods, embracing the dangerous certainty as fiercely as any wolf chooses to run with the moon at its back. I see every question between us find resolution, every string that’s tangled around our hearts since she arrived carefully untwined.
“Well… then I guess we fight,” I say quietly, understanding there would be no backing out, no retreat from her choice, from our shared path forward. I offer the plan, we map it out together—this time weaving trust and transparency into each decision, each risk.
I’ve plannedraids with less uncertainty than whatever comes next.
She watches me, her eyes clear and unwavering. No challenge, just assessment. “How long?”
“A few hours.” I move around the desk, not toward her, but to close the distance the paperwork had created. “It’s not enough time.”