Chapter 51 IRREVERSIBLE
Jake's POV:
The old man didn’t look surprised to see me again.
That alone told me everything was about to get worse.
He didn’t even bother looking up when I walked in.
Not when the door creaked open.
Not when my shoes hit the floor.
Not even when I stopped right in front of him.
He just sat there - calm as ever- arranging those stupid little wooden puzzles on his table. Sliding pieces around like my entire world wasn’t currently upside down.
That… riled me up.
A lot.
I stood there for a few seconds, waiting. Expecting something. A glance. A smirk. A “Told you so.”
Nothing.
His attention stayed glued to the puzzle in front of him, fingers moving slow and deliberate, like time bent around him differently than it did for the rest of us.
“You’re not even going to pretend to be surprised?” I asked finally, irritation bleeding into my voice.
Still nothing.
He adjusted a piece. Tilted his head.
Hummed softly to himself.
I clenched my jaw.
“Seriously?” I snapped. “I walk all the way back here, and you’re just going to sit there like I’m invisible?”
That did it.
Not because he reacted—
—But because he didn’t.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look guilty.
He simply picked up one last piece, studied it, then placed it down with a soft click.
Only then did he lift his eyes to me.
Dark. Knowing, and annoyingly calm.
“You came back,” he said mildly, like I’d just returned a borrowed book.
I scoffed. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t come back because I wanted to.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You never do.”
That made my teeth grind.
I glanced down at his table before I could stop myself. The puzzle - now complete - wasn’t anything impressive. Just a circular pattern, lines interlocking, symbols carved deep into the wood.
My wrist pulsed.
I stiffened.
“Stop doing that,” I muttered.
He raised a brow. “Doing what?”
“Acting like this is all normal,” I snapped, gesturing sharply at him. At the room. At everything.
“Like I didn’t just walk in here with my entire understanding of fate blown to hell.”
He leaned back in his chair slowly, folding his hands over his stomach.
“Sit, Jake.”
“I’m not sitting.”
“You’re already pacing,” he pointed out.
“Might as well do it from one place.”
I hated that he was right.
I dragged a hand down my face and dropped into the chair across from him, legs stretched out, posture rigid.
My wolf paced inside me, restless and uneasy, like it recognized this place as dangerous ground.
“Start talking,” I said. “Now.”
The old man studied me for a long moment. Really looked at me this time.
His gaze flicked - briefly - to my wrist.
Then back to my face.
“The mark manifested,” he said calmly.
“That’s not talking,” I shot back. “That’s stating the obvious.”
“It manifested,” he repeated, unfazed,
“Where it shouldn’t have.”
My chest tightened.
“So, I didn’t imagine it,” I said flatly.
“Good to know I’m not losing my mind.”
“Not imagining,” he agreed. “But you are still in denial.”
I laughed—short, sharp, humorless. “Oh, don’t start.”
“You wanted the bond gone,” he continued, ignoring me completely.
“You pushed against something older than pack law. Older than tradition.”
“I wanted justice,” I snapped. “Clara didn’t deserve to be trapped—”
“—by fate she had already accepted,”
he cut in gently.
That stopped me.
My throat tightened.
He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You didn’t just reject the bond, Jake. You challenged it.”
I swallowed.
“And fate,” he went on, “Doesn’t like being challenged.”
The room felt colder suddenly.
“So what?” I demanded. “It redirects? Picks a random replacement and calls it balance?”
His eyes sharpened. “Nothing about this is random.”
My stomach dropped.
I thought of the bar.
The tension.
The pull I refused to acknowledge.
The way my wolf had gone quiet the moment denial stopped working.
“You’re telling me this is my fault,” I said slowly.
“I’m telling you actions echo,” he replied. “Sometimes louder than intentions.”
I leaned back, letting out a shaky breath.
“So, what now?”
He studied me again, longer this time.
“Now,” he said, “You stop running.”
I scoffed. “I’m not running.”
He smiled faintly. “You came back, didn’t you?”
I had no answer for that.
My wrist pulsed again—stronger this time.
And for the first time since this mess began, a terrifying thought settled in my chest.
My laugh came out rough.
Unsteady.
Then it snapped.
“So what?” I barked, pushing up from the chair so fast it scraped loudly against the floor. “What are you saying exactly?”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even look at me.
My frustration exploded.
“You’re telling me I should just - what - accept this?” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.
“Accept being mated—” I cringed even saying it, the word sour on my tongue,
“—to a man?”
My wolf stirred.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Just… alert.
“That’s insane,” I went on, pacing now, hands running through my hair.
“This isn’t normal. I’m not wired like that. I’m straight. I’ve always been—”
Still nothing.
No interruption.
No argument.
He just went back to his puzzle.
Sliding pieces.
The sound of wood against wood felt louder than my heartbeat.
That somehow made it worse.
“Say something!” I snapped. “Argue with me. Deny it. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Silence.
My chest heaved.
The anger drained out of me all at once, leaving something raw behind.
Fear.
I swallowed hard and forced my voice down, the edge cracking despite my effort.
“…Is there a way,” I asked quietly, “to take it back?”
His fingers stilled.
Just slightly.
“Is there something I can do?” I pressed, desperation seeping in now.
“Some way to appease the Moon Goddess. A trial. A price. Anything.”
I laughed weakly.
“Because this—this doesn’t make sense. It’s not normal. I’m not—” I shook my head, “—I’m not supposed to be this.”
That’s when he finally spoke.
“Are you?”
The question was soft.
Too soft.
I frowned. “Am I what?”
He lifted his gaze slowly—this time not to my wrist, but to my face.
Straight through me.
“Straight?” he said.
Something about the way he said it made my skin prickle.
My jaw tightened. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He leaned back, steepling his fingers.
“Have you ever wondered,” he asked calmly, “why your past relationships never lasted?”
My breath caught.
I opened my mouth to snap back—then stopped.
Because I already knew the answer.
They hadn’t mattered enough.
I’d liked them. Cared. Wanted them.
But I’d never fallen.
Never burned.
Never felt that gut-deep certainty everyone talked about.
He chuckled softly, like he could hear my thoughts.
“You mistook comfort for connection,” he said. “Interest for intimacy.”
“That’s not—” I started.
“You never loved them,” he interrupted gently. “Not truly.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“Because you hadn’t met your mate.”
I swallowed. “I love Clara.”
The words came out fast. Defensive.
Real.
The old man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“You loved the idea of her,” he said.
“What she represented. What she spared you from becoming.”
My fists clenched.
“That doesn’t erase it,” I said hoarsely. “It doesn’t mean this—” I gestured angrily at myself, at the mark, at everything— “—is permanent.”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he spoke, voice low and final.
“The bond doesn’t change who you are,” he said. “It reveals it.”
My breath stuttered.
“You were never limited by gender,” he continued. “Only by absence.”
The room felt too small.
Too tight.
“Once a mate is found,” he said quietly, “the soul adjusts. The wolf already knows this.”
As if on cue, my wolf stirred—pleased.
Satisfied.
Traitor.
I shook my head, backing away. “No.
That’s not—this can’t be irreversible.”
The old man’s eyes darkened.
“It is,” he said simply.
The word hit harder than any shout.
“You didn’t become something else, Jake,” he added. “You became complete.”
Silence swallowed the room.
My wrist pulsed - warm, steady, undeniable.
And for the first time, I realized the truth wasn’t just terrifying—
It was final.
Denial hadn’t just failed.
It had run out of time.