Pain fills each word as his pheromones retreat behind whatever walls he’s constructed to keep himself separate. “I’veseen what happens when people like me drag others into their battles. The collateral damage never heals.”
There’s no doubt or fear in him, at least not over this. Just a bone-deep belief that his presence will poison what Jared and I have built.
The front door opens behind Leif, cold air and the scent of fresh snow rushing in on a gust that stirs my hair. Jared fills the doorway, snowflakes melting on his broad shoulders, his cheeks flushed from the cold.
He stops, taking in the scene before him, the distance between Leif and me, the rigid set of Leif’s shoulders, my stillness. His attention shifts from Leif to me, questioning without words.
I give a small shake of my head.
Jared steps inside and closes the door, his salt-air pheromones mingling with the woodsmoke and rosemary, creating a complex aroma that grounds me in this moment, in this place that is mine regardless of who stays or goes.
I draw a slow breath and seal away that flutter that begs me not to let my Omega go.
“I won’t ask you to stay,” I tell Leif. “Not if staying means sacrificing yourself. And not if you’re staying hurts us.”
The words aren’t surrender, but a line I should have drawn a month ago. This isn’t about keeping Leif out but keeping myself whole.
“This isn’t what I want,” Leif whispers, his composure fracturing.
“I believe you,” I say. “But you’ve made your choice clear in every canceled dinner, every unanswered text, every morning you left before dawn. You claim to have wanted this, but you’ve always had one foot out the door.”
He flinches at the truth laid bare.
In the silence, Jared steps to my side, his shoulder touching mine, his salt-air scent thickening in the air between Leif and us. Jared’s warmth radiates outward, surrounding me in warmth despite the winter chill at our door.
Leif’s nostrils flare, his eyes darting from Jared to me, tracking how my bondmate’s pheromones curl around me in an instinctive desire to shield me from hurt. Even scent-blind, it comes to Jared as natural as breathing, while Leif’s pine scent continues to retreat.
“Go fight whatever battle you think you need to take on alone,” I continue. “I won’t beg you to stay. I won’t make myself smaller when you refuse to fully enter our life.”
His composure splinters again, pain breaking through before he reins it in. Without another word, he gives Jared a nod that carries volumes of unspoken regret and turns toward the door, his steps heavy on the wooden floor.
I remain standing in the center of the cottage, not reaching after him, not calling his name, not pleading for him to reconsider.
The door opens, cold air swirling around my ankles.
Then the door closes, and the bond, that living thread connecting us, goes terribly silent. My Alpha instincts howl in protest, a primal scream that never leaves my throat as my nails bite into my palms with the effort not to chase after him.
As Jared’s arms fold around me, the absence rings louder than any sound, a void where Leif’s presence once hummed beneath my sternum.
I would have risked everything I have, everything I am, to protect Leif.
But he never gave us the chance.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Leif
The phone screen glows blue in the dim hotel room, mocking me with its silence.
Twenty times I’ve checked it in the past hour, twenty times I’ve found no response from Carson, and each refresh of the screen carves another notch into my anxiety.
After my breakup with Emily, I had called out sick for the remainder of the week, and then five hours ago, I sent Carson a direct text, which still sits onRead.
Leif
I won’t be attending the faculty function with you.
Nine words that might have destroyed what’s left of my career and my place here in Pinecrest.