Chapter 72

Isla POV

Kieran’s eyes were on me then, and for a second I felt like some fragile thing being examined.

His face carried something like pleading, like the hope that perhaps I would do the impossible: sidestep the world and choose him. The stretch of longing there was stupid and clear yet it made my knees ache.

Tristan’s jaw worked. “He was seen talking to a rogue,” he said. “Right here in the compound, in the compound, Isla! Does that not even bother you or do you trust him more than you trust me.” The accusation landed like a blow.

My mouth fell open and I didn't know what to say so I just stood there looking at him.

Eventually, Tristan spoke again. “Isla, are you with me, or not?”

Time folded into itself.

In the silence that followed, I heard everything. The rustle of leaves beyond the compound. The distant murmur of someone else’s life carrying on as if a time bomb wasn't ticking under my feet.

My pulse thundered in my ears. The steady, insistent tug of something I had been taught to call the mate bond ….a warm coil of certainty that looped from my sternum to the small of my back, gentle and demanding.

It hummed with Tristan’s name, a comfort I had tried not to test but had found comforting every time I encountered it.

And then there was Kieran.

What I felt with him wasn't similar to the bond or it's warm tether, but a different sensation…. adrenaline and danger and the memory of being rescued by hands that had no right to be kind.

Around him the air always smelled like sudden rain… sharp and alive. When he looked at me, I felt like I was standing at the edge of something I wanted to fall into and was terrified to jump.

He made me want to jump head first and take risks.

I thought of the way Tristan treated me and how great it felt, and how the mate bond combined with everything else made it feels so amazing but…

That was when he bothered to give me the time of day or even care about me.

I thought of how Kieran always knew what to say when I was upset or new what to do to calm me down…. Also I remember the spark I felt whenever I was around him, it made me want to break my rules and stomp my legs and be reckless in every small way.

And while that was beautiful I had to think about the pack.

Of the elders’ faces and the way their judgment could sway everything we had built.

A dozen tiny calculations crowded in my head, all of them honest and all of them selfish in their way. If I stayed with Tristan, we kept the pack safe, steady.

If I stepped toward Kieran…. I'll be stepping toward what? passion? truth? rebellion?

I might be choosing a life of fire, of uncertainty that could swallow my identity and who I was.

If I chose Kieran, would I be choosing myself, or just the dangerous idea of myself?

“Isla?” Tristan’s voice was softer now and trembling at the edges, as if he were lifting something fragile and hoping it wouldn’t break. “Are you with me, or not?”

I could feel Kieran’s hope like a hand at my spi

ne. He was waiting for me to tear the world to pieces and hand him the shards.

I could see every line of expectation in his face and it made something hollow inside me ache.

I looked from one to the other. I measured the weight of both choices as if they were coins I could hold in my palm.

Both were here. Both were kind and loving. Both could hurt me.

Yet, I could only choose one.

My mouth opened.

Words came that surprised me because I hadn’t practiced them and they were plain and honest. “I—” I started, and the breath that came out gusted cold.

For a second I almost stepped forward, toward the danger of Kieran’s shoulders. The idea of being brave and raw and honest with him glittered. It felt like freedom.

But instead my feet moved instead one small, obedient step to Tristan’s side.

It wasn’t triumph. It wasn’t a smile. It was a hand finding another and clinging to it like a prayer. His palm was rough, warm, familiar in ways that settled my stomach.

The mate bond thrummed with triumph against my ribs, a gentle, undeniable presence.

I wanted to be brave enough to tell him everything ….to tell him about the butterflies that ran through me when Kieran laughed…. but the words hung like a lump in my throat.

Kieran’s face changed in the span of a breath. For a moment it looked like disbelief; then it hardened into something I had never wanted to see…the line of a man closing against a wound.

He stepped back as if he’d been struck.

“You chose him,” he said, the words bitter and filled with pain.“You chose him over me… well it's not like I'm surprised.”

The accusation hung there, not seeking forgiveness, only stating truth. I wanted to reach for him… to smooth the angry lines that crossed his face… but Tristan’s hold on my fingers tightened.

It was not possessive exactly; it was protective and panicky, like someone bracing for a storm.

Kieran’s shoulders squared.

He gave me one look that held every complicated thing he was, every hope and every hurt, and then he turned away.

His footsteps were steady and hollow through the dry grass, each step measuring distance not just from the compound but from us.

Before he disappeared into the dark line of trees, he said one more thing, half a whisper, half a promise: “I just hope you don’t regret it, Isla.”

I watched him go until the night took him, unshed tears bubbling in my heart.

Tristan’s hand in mine was warm and real. My heart hurt in ways I had never expected… not because I had chosen poorly, but because I had been asked to choose at all.

“Are you all right?” Tristan asked finally, voice small.

It wasn’t gentle; it couldn’t be. Not after everything. But there was fear in it, and that made the answer roll up inside me like a stone.

“Yes.” I lied. I tightened my fingers around his palm because in that grip was the safety I’d always thought I would want.

I pressed my forehead briefly against the rough cloth of his shoulder but or like before I didn't feel that peace that was always present.