Chapter 9 CHAPTER 9
I woke with the strange disorientation that always comes after a vivid dream, except this time the dream wasn’t a dream at all.
The memory of two nights ago slithered into me like a slow poison, warm and thrilling and wrong in every possible way. Branden’s hands, Branden’s voice, Branden’s breath against my throat all of it rushed back before I could bury it beneath my usual walls. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, hating the flush in my cheeks and hating even more the truth that I didn’t regret a second of it.
I pushed myself upright and rubbed my palms over my face, trying to convince myself that today would be normal. Normal for a girl who’d slept with an Alpha whose wife was not only present in his life but heavily pregnant and adored by the entire pack.
The guilt twisted in my stomach, a knot that refused to loosen no matter how deeply I breathed. Still, there was a reckless spark in me that whispered he was my mate and that destiny didn’t care about vows, promises, or other women’s swollen bellies.
When the doorbell rang, I flinched hard enough to make my nightstand rattle. I threw off my blankets and padded barefoot across the small living room, hoping whoever it was would go away and leave me to my internal spiraling. Instead, when I opened the door, a delivery guy in a bright vest held out a rectangular parcel with my name written in bold strokes. My heart kicked once against my ribs because I already knew who had sent it.
I signed quickly while pretending I didn’t see the man’s curious glance, and I took the box inside like it was something dangerous. My fingers trembled as I opened it, peeling back the tissue paper to reveal a necklace that didn’t shimmer with silver Branden wasn’t stupid but gleamed with an old-world burnished gold, heavy enough to command attention. The pendant was a carved piece of deep red stone shaped like a rose, smoothed and polished, too beautiful and too expensive for any sane explanation. Nestled beside it lay a single real rose, its petals dark as blood, and a small handwritten note that made my throat close.
Ayla, I can’t stop thinking of you. Wear this for me.
—Branden
I snapped the box shut the moment I heard footsteps behind me because my mother never walked softly no matter how many times I asked her to. She stepped into the room with narrowed eyes that missed nothing, and her gaze went straight to the parcel on the table. Her mouth tightened in a way that told me trouble was coming long before she opened it. “What’s that?” she asked in a tone that wasn’t curiosity but accusation sharpened into a blade.
“It’s just something I ordered,” I said quickly, hoping the lie didn’t sound as strained as it felt. Her eyebrows lifted with the exact disbelief I expected, the kind reserved for daughters who had never learned to lie convincingly. She circled the table like she might snatch the box open at any moment, her suspicion practically radiating from her. “You don’t order jewelry,” she said flatly, and I forced a shrug that I prayed looked bored.
I grabbed the parcel and started walking toward my room before she could push harder, giving her only my back to glare at. “It’s just a gift to myself,” I tossed over my shoulder, though my voice wobbled and I hoped she didn’t hear it. I didn’t breathe again until my door clicked shut behind me, and even then, my lungs felt tight with the pressure of everything I wasn’t saying. I set the necklace on my dresser and stared at it like it held a future I didn’t want to face yet.
A few hours later I forced myself out of the house before my mother could corner me again, and I walked to the café where I’d promised to meet Tasha. She was already sitting at our usual table by the window, her dark curls piled on top of her head, her fingers tapping anxiously against her mug. The moment she saw me, her expression shifted into that familiar mix of curiosity and worry. “You look like you haven’t slept,” she said, and I slid into the seat across from her with a sigh.
“I slept,” I answered, though it wasn’t entirely true, because the sleep I’d gotten didn’t feel restful in any sense of the word. Tasha leaned forward like she wanted every detail before I’d even opened my mouth, her eyes sharp with the kind of intuition I sometimes wished she didn’t have. “Did something happen with your mate?” she asked softly, and I closed my eyes because the word mate hit harder than any accusation from my mother. “Something happened,” I admitted, and heat flushed up my neck all over again.
Tasha’s gasp was louder than necessary, and I kicked her gently under the table, but she only leaned closer. “Ayla, tell me everything,” she whispered, and I picked at the sleeve of my jacket while deciding how much truth I could stand to say out loud.
“We spent the night together,” I said at last, and her mouth fell open in a silent combination of shock and absolute horror. “Ayla, Branden’s wife is pregnant,” she reminded me even though I didn’t need reminding, because the guilt already gnawed at my insides.
“I know,” I whispered, wishing the table would swallow me whole, but she reached across and squeezed my hand instead of scolding me further. “But he’s your mate, and that complicates everything,” she said gently, though uncertainty flickered in her eyes as she spoke. I nodded because that truth had been both a blessing and a curse since the moment his scent recognized mine. “He sent me a gift this morning,” I added, and she groaned like that was the worst possible news.
“What kind of gift?” she asked, and I hesitated before admitting, “A necklace… and a rose.” Her eyebrows shot up as she leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing groan. “Ayla, that’s not a casual gesture from an Alpha, especially a taken one,” she said, and I dragged a hand down my face because she was right and I hated that she was right. “I don’t know what he expects from me, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I muttered.
“Well, what do you want to do?” she asked, but the question lodged in my throat like a thorn. I wanted Branden, but wanting him felt like choosing chaos, betrayal, and disaster in one breath. I wanted him to choose me, and I hated myself for wanting that almost as much as I hated the situation itself. Tasha watched the war play out on my face before she sighed and nudged my foot under the table.
“Listen, I know things are messy for you, but I need to talk to you about something too,” she said, and her voice dropped into something heavier. I looked up, surprised, because she usually avoided serious topics unless absolutely necessary. “What’s wrong?” I asked, and she twisted her fingers together before taking a shaky breath. “I think I might be losing control of my shifts,” she said quietly, and my eyes widened.
“What do you mean losing control?” I asked, leaning forward as worry replaced my personal chaos. She looked away, embarrassment flickering across her face before she confessed, “I shifted in my sleep two nights ago, and I don’t remember doing it.” Alarm shot through me because uncontrolled shifts were dangerous, unpredictable, and often signs of something worse. “Have you told the healers?” I asked, and she shook her head quickly.
“No, because if they tell the Alpha, the Alpha tells everyone else,” she said, and I knew what she meant without needing clarification. A wolf who couldn’t control her shift risked being labeled unstable, which in pack terms could lead to restrictions, surveillance, or worse. “You need help, Tasha,” I said softly, but she pressed her lips together and looked down. “I know,” she murmured, “but I’m scared of what will happen if I admit it.”
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand this time because we were both drowning in problems we couldn’t ignore. The silence between us stretched until it felt solid, filled with fear and guilt and everything we didn’t know how to fix. Finally she exhaled and said, “We’re both a mess, huh?” and despite everything, I laughed. “A big, complicated, werewolf-level mess,” I agreed, and she smiled weakly.
When we finally parted ways, I walked home slowly, my mind tangled between my own mistakes and Tasha’s confession. The evening air felt cold against my skin, but the necklace in my pocket felt warm like it carried a pulse of its own. Branden’s name circled in my mind like a whispered promise I didn’t know how to interpret. By the time I reached my house, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hide from the world or run straight into his arms again, and that uncertainty scared me more than anything else.