Teleporting

Teleporting
I'm still sitting against the tree trunk, feeling sorry for myself and contemplating whether it's possible to die from emotional devastation, when I hear footsteps approaching through the forest.

Great. Perfect. Exactly what I need right now—some random pack member discovering me having a breakdown in the woods and asking uncomfortable questions about why the Beta's daughter is crying alone in the forest instead of at home preparing to reject her vampire mate like a good little werewolf.

I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve, trying to erase the evidence of my spectacular emotional meltdown, and look up to see who's about to witness my latest moment of personal destruction.

It's Rowan.

Of course it's Rowan.

Because apparently, the universe has decided that my life should be a supernatural romantic comedy where the love interest shows up at exactly the right moment to catch the heroine at her absolute worst.

He's standing about ten feet away, hands in his pockets, watching me with an expression that's part concern and part something I can't quite identify. His hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it, and he's wearing a different black t-shirt than he had on this morning, which makes me wonder if vampires have extensive wardrobes or if they just own multiple versions of the same outfit.

"Hey," he says softly, like he's approaching a wounded animal that might bolt if startled.

"Hey," I reply, my voice coming out rough and scratchy from crying. "How did you find me?"

"I could smell your distress," he says, taking a cautious step closer. "Even from across the lake."

Right. Vampire senses. Of course he could smell my emotional breakdown from miles away. That's not embarrassing at all.

"So you just... followed your nose to my personal crisis?" I ask, aiming for sarcasm but probably landing somewhere closer to pathetic.

"Something like that," he agrees, settling down on the forest floor next to me like sitting in dirt and leaves is a perfectly normal vampire activity. "Want to talk about it?"

I look at him sideways, taking in his perfect profile and the way the filtered sunlight makes his pale skin practically glow. Even sitting in the dirt next to my tear-stained disaster of a person, he manages to look like he should be on the cover of a supernatural romance novel.

It's deeply unfair.

"Not really," I say, because explaining that I just lost my best friend because I'm too selfish to reject him seems like the kind of conversation that could go very badly very quickly.

"Julia," he says gently, and the way he says my name makes my chest tighten with emotions I don't want to examine too closely. "You're sitting alone in the woods crying. Something's clearly wrong."

"Maybe I just really like trees," I suggest weakly.

He gives me a look that suggests he finds my deflection amusing but not particularly convincing. "You're in distress. I can smell it, remember?"

Right. Vampire senses strike again.

"It's complicated," I say finally, because everything in my life is complicated and this is no exception.

"I have time."

I stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out how to explain that our entire relationship—if you can call two days of supernatural chaos a relationship—is currently destroying every other relationship in my life.

"Amy hates me," I say finally, because it's the simplest way to summarize the disaster that just occurred.

"Your friend?" Rowan's brow furrows. "Why would she hate you?"

"Because I'm apparently willing to risk everyone's lives for a vampire I barely know," I say, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

Rowan goes very still beside me. "She knows about us?"

"She knows I'm supposed to reject you tonight to save my family from being executed for treason," I clarify. "And she knows I can't do it."

The silence that follows is loaded with implications I don't want to think about.

"Can't?" Rowan asks quietly. "Or won't?"

"Can't," I repeat firmly. "I literally cannot force myself to reject you. I've tried to convince myself that I could, but every time I think about it, my wolf..." I trail off, not sure how to explain the visceral horror that floods through me at the thought of severing our bond.

"Your wolf what?"

"Screams," I admit. "Like, actually screams. Inside my head. It's... unpleasant."

Rowan nods like this makes perfect sense to him, which is more than I can say for my own understanding of the situation.

"Mate bonds aren't meant to be severed," he says simply. "Trying to force a rejection goes against every instinct you have."

"Yeah, well, not rejecting you goes against my family's survival instincts," I point out. "So I'm kind of stuck between a rock and a very stabby place."

"A stabby place?"

"It's like a hard place, but with more potential for violence," I explain, which probably doesn't clarify anything but makes me feel slightly better about my current predicament.

Rowan is quiet for a moment, and I can practically see him thinking, working through the implications of what I've just told him.

"What did Amy say?" he asks finally.

"That I'm selfish," I say, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "That I'm choosing my own feelings over everyone's lives. That she can't be friends with someone who's willing to get her killed for a boy she's known for two days."

"And?"

"And she's right," I admit, the confession feeling like swallowing glass. "I am being selfish. I am choosing my own feelings over everyone's safety. I just... I can't seem to stop myself."

Rowan turns to face me fully, his gray eyes intense in a way that makes my stomach flutter despite my current emotional devastation.

"Julia," he says seriously, "mate bonds aren't about selfishness. They're about survival. Your wolf recognizes me as essential to your existence. Asking you to reject that bond is like asking you to stop breathing."

"Try explaining that to Amy," I mutter. "Or my parents. Or the pack that's going to execute all of us when they find out."

"Maybe we don't have to explain it to them," Rowan says softly.

I stare at him. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, he stands up and extends his hand to me. "Come with me."

"Come with you where?"

"My house. You look like you could use some time away from pack politics and family drama."