Chapter 16 016
“You blocked him? You actually blocked Felix Garrity?”
Amanda’s voice was a mixture of awe and horror through the phone. It was Sunday morning, and I was still in bed, the events of yesterday—the garden, the estate, the office, the kiss—playing on a loop behind my eyelids.
“It felt like the right thing to do,” I said, pulling the blanket up to my chin. The phantom sensation of Leo’s lips on mine was a brand I could still feel.
“The right thing? Chloe, that’s a national treasure you just digitally threw away! For a man who… okay, yes, is devastating and apparently has a family crest and a penthouse. But still! A principle!”
“It wasn’t a principle. It was a choice.” I finally understood the difference. Felix was an option. Leo was a direction. “And I chose.”
Amanda was quiet for a beat. “The kiss was that good, huh?”
A helpless smile spread across my face. “It wasn’t just a kiss, Mandy. It was… a conclusion.”
“Ugh, you’re going poetic. That’s how I know it’s serious.” She sighed. “Alright. So, what’s next? Are you, like, mated now? Do you have to howl at the moon?”
“Very funny.” I sat up, looking at the sunshine streaming through my window. “I have no idea what’s next. He said he’d teach me.”
“Well, your first lesson is at my place in an hour. I’m making brunch, and you are going to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Starting with the weight of that ring. Was it heavy? Did it feel cursed?”
An hour later, I was at Amanda’s temporary hotel suite, picking at a plate of waffles while she grilled me with the intensity of a lawyer. I told her about the bamboo grove, the cold manor, the office, the ring. I left out the part about the bond feeling like a compass—that felt too private, too sacred to share even with her.
“So he’s basically a duke,” she concluded, tapping her chin with a syrup-coated fork. “A duke in exile, who’s chosen you, a commoner, thus sparking a potential war with the other noble houses. This is literally a historical romance. I love it.”
“It’s not a game, Amanda. It’s real. And it’s scary.”
“The best things are,” she said, her expression softening. “Look, I tease, but I see it. You’re different. You’re not anxious-Chloe, overthinking every text. You’re… resolved. It’s a good look on you.”
My phone buzzed on the table. A new number.
UNKNOWN: Good morning. Did you sleep?
My heart did a familiar, happy leap. Leo.
ME: Surprisingly well. You?
UNKNOWN: I did not. The compass was… insistent.
A blush heated my cheeks. Amanda peered over. “Is that him? What does he say?”
“He’s poetic too,” I said, typing back.
ME: Insistent how?
UNKNOWN: It points to your door. I am standing outside it. There is a breakfast delivery that is getting cold.
I gasped, nearly knocking over my orange juice.
“What? What is it?” Amanda demanded.
“He’s at my door. Right now.” I was already scrambling for my purse.
“Go! Go!” She made shooing motions. “The commoner must attend her duke!”
I half-ran back to my building, my mind racing. He was at my door. On a Sunday morning.
When I got to the third floor, he was there, leaning against the wall beside my door, looking completely at ease. He held a large, elegant paper bag in one hand. He was dressed casually again, but on him, even jeans and a simple black t-shirt looked like a statement.
“You’re here,” I said, stating the obvious, my key poised at the lock.
“The compass does not observe weekends,” he said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “I brought sustenance. I assumed you had not eaten properly.”
“I was at Amanda’s.”
“Ah.” A slight frown. “Then you have eaten waffles. This is inferior.”
I unlocked the door and let us in. My apartment felt instantly smaller with him in it, charged with his presence. He went to my small kitchen island and began unpacking the bag with the same efficient grace he did everything. Artisan pastries, perfect berries, two porcelain cups of what smelled like exquisite coffee.
“This is too much,” I said, hovering.
“It is the correct amount,” he replied, setting out a plate for me. “Sit. Eat the berry, if not the pastry.”
I sat, picking up a fat, glistening blackberry. He sat across from me, watching me eat it. The silence was comfortable, domestic in a way that felt wildly new.
“You said you’d teach me,” I said, after swallowing. “Where do we start?”
He considered, sipping his coffee. “We start with the foundation. My family, our… organization… is built on a hierarchy. It is not unlike a corporate structure, but it is based on lineage and innate… capability. At the top is the Alpha. Currently, my father.”
“And you’re the heir.”
“I am. Beneath him are the Betas—trusted seconds, heads of various branches—security, business, diplomacy. Then the pack at large.”
“And where does a… mate… fit in?” I asked the question carefully.
His gaze intensified. “The mate of the Alpha stands at his side. Equal in respect, if not in the same kind of command. She is the heart. The stabilizer. Her strength is his strength. To challenge her is to challenge him.” He set his cup down. “This is why they will see you as a weakness. A human with no knowledge of our ways, who holds the Alpha’s heart. You will be tested.”
The word ‘tested’ sent a chill through me. “How?”
“In ways that seem human. Social challenges. Business dealings. Perceived slights. They will try to make you stumble, to prove you cannot stand in our world.” He reached across the island, his hand covering mine. “But you will not stumble. Because I will be there. And because you are stronger than they can possibly imagine.”
His faith in me was a tangible thing, a cloak of armor he was trying to place on my shoulders.
“What about the… other part?” I asked, my voice dropping. “The not-quite-human part. You’ve told me about the structure, but not about… you.”
He went very still. This was the line, the one he’d drawn around the true nature of his machine.
“That part,” he said slowly, “is simpler, and more complex. It is instinct. Scent. A different way of processing the world. Heightened senses. A need for physical control, for territory, for a clear hierarchy.” His thumb stroked the back of my hand. “And a drive, for one person, that eclipses all else. That is the bond. It is biological. Spiritual. Inescapable.”
“And you feel that? For me? Already?”
“From the first moment your scent cut through the sterile hallway,” he said, no hesitation. “It was not a choice. It was a recognition. The choice was whether to act on it. To upend my life, and now yours, for a truth I could not deny.”
He was laying himself bare, piece by terrifying piece. I thought of my own feelings—the attraction, the deep curiosity, the sense of rightness that had grown despite the fear. Was that a bond? Or was it just me, falling for a complicated, beautiful man?
“I don’t have those instincts,” I said quietly.
“You don’t need to.” He lifted my hand, pressing my palm flat against his chest, over his heart. I could feel the strong, steady beat under my fingertips. “You only need to accept that I do. That this,” he said, holding my hand firmly against him, “is yours. Always.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, connected by my hand on his heart. The world narrowed to that single, powerful rhythm.
The moment was shattered by the sharp, sudden buzz of the intercom from the building lobby. We both jumped.
I pulled my hand back, confused. “I’m not expecting anyone.”
Leo’s posture changed instantly. The open, vulnerable man was gone, replaced by the alert, protective Alpha. His head tilted, as if listening to something far away. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in his chest.
“Leo?”
He stood, his movements fluid and silent. He walked to my door and looked through the peephole, though the person would be in the lobby.
The intercom buzzed again, insistently.
“Don’t answer it,” he said, his voice a command.
“Who is it?”
He turned to look at me, his face a mask of grim resignation. “It’s my father.”