Chapter 294 Book 2 ~ Chapter 59
Chapter 294 Book 2 ~ Chapter 59
Jake’s POV
The second Leo leaves the cabin feels wrong.
It’s quieter and colder, even though the fire still crackles softly in the corner. Rain still taps steadily against the roof, and Poppy is still standing only a few feet away from me.
But something shifted when he left. I felt it immediately, and apparently, so does Poppy. She wraps her arms around herself tightly, staring at the closed door for a second too long before forcing herself to turn away from it.
“Are you okay?” I ask carefully.
“I’m fine,” she answers instantly.
I stare at her, and she stares back.
“Right, sorry,” she lets out a soft sigh. “I forgot you’re annoyingly good at this.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth despite everything. “At lying detection?”
“At existing.”
That one catches me off guard enough that I actually laugh. The sound seems to ease something in her too, because her shoulders loosen a little.
My eyes track her as she moves back toward the couch, picking up the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape. Her movements are slower than normal.
She’s clearly exhausted, but underneath that exhaustion, there’s something else pulsing through the fragile bond now. A longing ache that wasn’t there before.
It’s normal for separated mates to feel that, but not this fast; he’s only been gone a few minutes. It’s concerning as hell, but also interesting. I file it away automatically, the same way my brain catalogues symptoms and patterns without permission.
The bond reacted when Leo left. Poppy reacted when Leo left. And if I’m being honest?… So did I, and I don’t particularly enjoy that revelation because I’m pretty sure that isn’t normal; he is not my mate.
Poppy settles back into the corner of the couch, pulling the blanket around herself before finally looking at me properly.
“You’re doing it again.”
I lean against the dining table. “Doing what?”
“Thinking loud enough that I can practically see it.”
Shit. That probably means my ‘doctor’ face is back. Which is not what she needs right now. She needs a mate, not an assessment.
“Sorry, I was trying to work out patterns,” I admit.
“Am I one of your science experiments now?”
“Only slightly.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I hold out my hands innocently.
“You’re offended now, but wait until I discover something groundbreaking and name it after you.”
Her mouth twitches again. Good. Humour means breathing room, and I need breathing room right now because my mind keeps replaying what happened at the clinic over and over again.
The shadows in her blood, the voice, the fact that Ronnie looked genuinely afraid. Every instinct I have keeps searching for a treatment plan, and I hate that I can’t find one.
That’s the part nobody understands about being a healer. People think the hard part is the blood, the injuries, the deaths, but it isn’t. The hard part is standing in front of someone you care about and realising your hands might not be enough this time.
Poppy studies me quietly for a second before speaking again.
“You’re scared.”
It’s not a question.
I exhale slowly. “A little.”
That earns me a soft snort. “Liar.”
Fair.
“A lot,” I correct.
Something vulnerable flickers across her expression then. It’s as if a part of her needed to hear that she wasn’t the only one struggling to hold herself together.
Rain smacks harder against the windows suddenly, and Poppy flinches. My body reacts before my brain catches up. I’m beside her almost instantly. Her eyes widen slightly as I crouch in front of the couch.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
She blinks. “Sorry. It’s stupid.”
“No, it isn’t.”
The storm outside intensifies for a second, the wind rattling the cabin walls softly. Poppy’s breathing changes immediately. Becoming faster and shallower. And then the lights dim for a split second.
Her eyes snap to mine. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I know.”
Another pulse flickers through the lights, making my stomach tighten. But I’m starting to recognise the pattern: emotional distress triggers instability. The question is whether the power reacts to her emotions, or whether something inside her does.
I reach for her before I can think too hard about it, one hand wrapping gently around her wrist, checking her pulse whilst trying to give her some comfort.
Her heartbeat is elevated, but as my thumb rests on the inside of her wrist, it begins to slow slightly. Interesting.
Poppy notices my focus immediately. “You’re doctoring me again.”
“Occupational hazard,” I shrug.
Her gaze drops to my hand still holding her. Neither of us pulls away, and the air between us shifts slowly. My wolf stirs beneath my skin.
Mate.
The word rolls through me, low and possessive, but tonight it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels certain. Poppy swallows hard.
“You calm it too,” she whispers suddenly.
I frown slightly. “Calm what?”
“That feeling.” Her eyes lift back to mine. “The pressure. The noise in my head. It gets quieter when you touch me.”
Something swells in my chest.
Goddess.
I slide onto the couch beside her, close enough that our legs brush beneath the blanket.
“Better?” I ask softly.
She nods and slowly turns toward me more fully, her knee pressing against mine now beneath the blanket.
“You know what the worst part is?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head.
Her fingers twist nervously together in her lap.
“When I was away, a part of me was starting to get used to it.”
My pulse picks up into tachycardia territory.
“The voice?”
She nods slowly. “Not because I liked it. I didn’t. I don’t. But it was the only constant I had, and now, when it goes quiet…” She hesitates. “I notice the absence.”
Shit, that’s not good. That’s really not good. I force myself to stay calm externally, even as every protective instinct inside me spikes violently.
“Poppy…”
“It’s not controlling me,” she says quickly, like she already sees the concern on my face. “At least I don’t think it is.”
That’s not reassuring at all. Before I can think of anything useful to say, her expression suddenly shifts, and her body goes still beside me. Too still.
“Poppy?”
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move for what feels like forever.
Then, very softly, she whispers, “It’s watching you.”
Every muscle in my body locks, and I have to fight every instinct to flee, because that’s creepy as hell.
“What?” I manage, my voice coming out too high-pitched to fool anyone that I’m not terrified.
Her eyes remain fixed somewhere over my shoulder, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Poppy.” I keep my voice steady with effort. “Look at me.”
Slowly, her gaze drifts back to mine, and for one horrifying second, her pupils aren’t her own. They’re too dark, too wide, like shadows are bleeding beneath the green.
My heartbeat slams hard against my ribs. Then she blinks, and it’s gone.
Poppy’s breathing catches sharply. “Jake?”
I grip the back of the couch hard enough that the wood groans softly beneath my hand.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
Confusion flashes across her face instantly. “Why? What happened?”
Shit, she doesn’t even know. That’s somehow worse. I try to steady my breathing before answering, but I’m pretty sure I fail because her expression shifts toward panic immediately.
“Jake.”
I should tell her. I know I should. But looking at how terrified she already is, I can’t force the words out. Not yet. Instead, I cup the side of her face carefully, grounding myself as much as her.
“You’re okay,” I say quietly. “You’re exhausted; you just zoned out for a second.”
A lie. But the second my hand touches her skin, she leans into it instinctively, her eyes fluttering closed briefly as if the relief physically hurts her, and something inside me cracks a little.
Because I understand her now. Her fear, her exhaustion, and the desperate need to feel safe again.
My thumb brushes slowly across her cheekbone, and she opens her eyes again, looking at me with an expression so open and vulnerable it nearly steals the air from my lungs.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispers.
My whole body goes heavy, and a lump forms in my throat.
“You won’t be.”
Poppy twists, swinging a leg over my lap to straddle me. My hands land on her hips automatically. She clings to me as if I’m the only thing stopping her from losing herself, and with Leo gone, maybe I am.
“I’m ready, Jake,” she whispers, her voice steady enough to sound sure, but I still catch the slight tremble beneath it.
My body reacts before my brain fully catches up to what she’s saying. Need surges through me instantly, hot and overwhelming, but it collides hard with doubt.
Is this what she truly wants? Or is this panic talking? A desperate attempt to reclaim control after everything she’s seen and felt tonight? After what I just witnessed in her eyes?
My hands tighten slightly against her hips as I force myself to look at her properly instead of getting lost in the feeling of her straddling my lap. Because I need to know this isn’t fear. I need to know it’s her.