The bathroom door swung inward, releasing a wave of sandalwood and something deeper, musky. Killian filled the doorway, grey sweatpants clinging low on his hips, a simple black tee straining against the corded muscles of his arms. My lips were already parted before I even registered the sound – a low, rumbling growl that vibrated in my chest. Heat bloomed, low in my belly, a stark contrast to the chill of the late-afternoon sun slanting through the dusty window. His gaze, sharp and knowing, pinned me to the spot. Carter's throat cleared, a brittle sound against the sudden tension. "Do we need to leave?" Crimson stained my cheeks. Before I could answer, a half-empty glass of water sailed through the air, whistling past my ear to land with a soft thud against the wall near Carter. The impact was slight, but the message was deafening.
My cheeks burned, a scarlet tide flooding my neck as Killian settled onto the bench beside me. Not touching, but close enough that the warmth of his body radiated, a tangible heat against the chill autumn air that whipped through the gnarled branches overhead. The scent of pine and damp earth hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of his cologne. He spoke, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the wooden slats, "We got some answers." His words hung suspended, then he continued, "A witch. Used her fur in a binding potion." Amelia's response was immediate, bright and brisk, "That's great." My head snapped up; a question mark etched on my face. "It is?" I echoed; the uncertainty clear in my voice. Amelia's smile held a knowing glint. "Yes. I know the potion. And I can make a counter-potion." A hesitant smile touched my lips, a fragile bloom against the storm of uncertainty brewing inside. The ancient stones of the weathered building seemed to hold their breath, mirroring my own apprehension. Would it work? And more importantly… did I even *want* to feel the mate bond?
The midday sun, a hazy gold through the balcony's wrought-iron railing, warmed our faces as Carter and Amelia left to get lunch. "Did you get some clothes?" he asked, my voice a low murmur, barely audible above the chirping of unseen cicadas. My gaze remained glued to the intricately woven rug beneath my feet. His apology hung in the air, a palpable shift in the atmosphere. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I wasn't mad." His voice was rough, edged with something unfamiliar – genuine contrition. No one had ever apologized to me like that before. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted my head. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held a depth of remorse that sent a shiver down my spine. My wolf, usually a quite presence, throbbed with a restless energy, a primal urge to flee threatening to overwhelm me. His hand, warm and surprisingly gentle, cupped my cheek. This time, instead of recoiling, I felt a strange stillness settle over me. "I will never hurt you, River," his voice, a low rumble, vibrated against my skin. "I'll spend the rest of my life proving that to you." The squeak of the door shattered the fragile peace. Carter and Amelia entered, their laughter a jarring intrusion. His hand fell away, the warmth draining from my cheek, replaced by a sudden, icy chill. A low growl escaped my lips, involuntary, instinctual. He bent, his lips brushing my forehead in a feather-light kiss. "You can touch me whenever you want," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. His hand, strong and steady, offered itself. He helped me up, and as I took his hand, a dizzying pull, potent and undeniable, snaked through me, drawing me inexorably toward him.
The afternoon sun, thick and honeyed through the dusty windowpanes, cast long shadows across the table as Carter's words landed, blunt and heavy: "Killian needs to return to his pack." Killian's hand, gentle as a summer breeze, rested on mine. Held a flicker of regret. "I'm sorry to rush this," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I wanted you to accept the mate bond first, but… urgent matters." I nodded, the weight of his words settling like stones in my stomach. The unspoken hung between us, thick and suffocating. "We leave tomorrow," he said. "Anyone you want to say goodbye to?" My head bowed, my gaze clinging to the rough-hewn wood of the table. The silence stretched, each tick of the grandfather clock in the hall echoing the relentless march of time. A whisper escaped my lips, barely audible: "Can I… can I get a box from my old room?" "Of course," Killian said, his voice softening. "I'll go with you." The thought rippled through me – *two years* – a lifetime of icy fear and simmering resentment, finally melting. Silver Creek. The name tasted like ash in my mouth. But the Royal Pack… a flicker of fragile hope, a hesitant bird taking flight in my chest. Amelia's voice broke through my reverie. "Here's the potion." The vial in her hand gleamed, a dark, viscous liquid swirling within. The sharp scent of herbs, familiar yet unnerving, filled the air. Carter helped her gather them, painstakingly grinding them to powder in the kitchen. My gaze dropped to the potion. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced me, a jagged shard of ice. But beneath it, a deeper yearning throbbed – the primal pull of my wolf, a missing limb, a forgotten voice. I had to take it. I had to feel her again.
The pungent aroma of herbs, sharp and oddly sweet, filled the air as Amelia's hand, steady and deliberate, plunged a chipped wooden spoon into the murky brew. She heaved the concoction—a swirling vortex of brown and green—into my teacup, the clinking sound jarring in the otherwise silent cottage. My gaze fixated on the opaque liquid, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. The potion's memory—a searing brand on my soul—lingered. Amelia's voice, soft yet firm, cut through my apprehension. "It won't burn," she assured, her eyes, the color of warm honey, meeting mine. "And it has no taste, barely." A pause, then, a quieter murmur: "Your wolf will return within twenty-four hours. Full strength… that will take longer. Your human self is frail, starved." The weight of her words pressed down; the neglect, my neglect, a physical ache in my bones. But the wolf's desperate cries echoed louder, a primal urgency. Debt paid in pain or not, this was the only key. I lifted the cup. The rough, cool ceramic felt alien against my trembling fingers. Closing my eyes, I tilted the cup back, the bitter tang of the mixture surprisingly mild, a fleeting whisper of mint and something earthy, almost metallic on my tongue. No fire, no agony. Only a strange, quiet calm descended. Had it even worked? The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered.