Chapter Fourty Two

Chapter Fourty Two
Oliver had turned the thought over and over in his mind.

He wasn’t stupid. Slipping into Grey’s room that night had taught him more than he’d expected. Grey hadn’t forgotten—not after three years. The way his face had softened when Oliver’s scent leaked free, the way he’d whispered Ollie earnestly… it wasn’t love. It was guilt.
And guilt was such a fragile thing.
Oliver would nurture it. Feed it. Use it to lay the foundation of everything to come.

Oliver slowly gathered magic, threading it through his bloodstream with practiced ease. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Grey rise, adjusting his collar, muttering something sharp about Oliver needing restraint. The magic took hold, dissolving the remnants of the drugs in his blood as if they’d never existed.
Grey noticed none of it.

He turned to leave—and froze.

A familiar sweetness curled through the air, sudden and unmistakable, crashing into him and smothering reason. Then came the pheromones. For one terrifying second, instinct drowned thought. The scent didn’t belong to the present—it belonged to nights pressed skin-to-skin, to whispered promises he had never been brave enough to keep. It filled his lungs, warm and intimate, curling straight around his spine.

Impossible.

His fingers twitched, halfway between reaching out and bracing himself against the wall. “No,” he said under his breath, the word rough, fractured. “That’s—”

He didn’t finish.

Oliver hadn’t moved. He stood there like he belonged, like he had always belonged, watching Grey with quiet patience. As if he already knew the answer to every question racing through Grey’s mind. The pheromones leaked slowly once again.
Grey swallowed hard. His wolf surged forward, furious and aching, snarling at the leash Grey had kept tight for three years.

“Alpha, won’t you indulge me?” Oliver smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Just for tonight?”

Grey stared at him. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his expression crumpled—soft, helpless—and tears welled in his eyes. His shoulders shook as he stepped forward, hands coming up to grip Oliver’s shoulders as though afraid he might vanish. “Is it really you?” Grey whispered, voice breaking. “Oliver… Ollie?”

The sight froze Oliver in place.
For an entire minute, he forgot how to respond. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected the guilt to be so deep it dragged tears from an Alpha who had once ruled him with indifference. Grey shook him slightly, desperation sharpening his grip.

“Please,” Grey said hoarsely. “Answer me.”

Grey already knew. The mate bond still existed—thin, frayed, but unmistakable. It tugged at him now, aching and alive. And the scent—sweet, intoxicating, uniquely Oliver’s—flooded his senses, undeniable proof of the mate he had mourned for three years. Still, he needed to hear it. He couldn’t survive being given false hope again.

Oliver smirked inwardly.

So this is where the fun begins.

“Oliver?” he echoed, frowning as he sharply knocked Grey’s hands away. “Who’s that?”

He stepped back, irritation slipping easily into place. "Honestly, you know how to spoil the mood. Common courtesy means rejecting a sexual advance politely, but mistaking me for someone else? That's straight-up rude. I wouldn't have the person I'm sleeping with moaning another name."

Oliver turned as if to leave.

Grey’s hand shot out, closing around Oliver’s palm. The contact sent a jolt through them both—sharp, electric.

Grey’s wolf exploded into chaos. Mate! That is our mate—Oliver!

Warmth bloomed in Grey’s chest, spreading fast and fierce, drowning him in longing and regret. Fuck. Oliver stood right in front of him—and yet he looked like someone else entirely. His features had changed. His brown hair was now silver. His height. His eyes. Even his presence felt different, as though the soul he had once known had been reforged into something sharper. This man was Oliver. And yet… the way he spoke, the way he looked at Grey with that infuriating calm superiority belonged to the alpha of Iron Fang.

“I’ve been asking myself something since the moment you walked into my life,” Grey said quietly. His voice no longer shook with panic, but with something heavier—certainty settling in.

“Why a stranger knew too much.”

His gaze lifted to Oliver’s face, sharp now, searching. “You knew things no outsider should know. You knew what happened inside the pack. You knew about the jail.” His jaw tightened. “About the night I put Oliver there… three years ago.”

Grey exhaled slowly, like the truth hurt to breathe in. “At first, I told myself you were observant. Clever. That you’d learned things somehow.” A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. “But it never sat right. You knew details no report ever recorded. Things only we knew and even things I didn't know.”

No one knew that Oliver had been gang raped. No one except Alpha of Iron Fang.

His eyes darkened. “And now—now it makes sense.”

He stepped closer, careful, as though one wrong move would break the moment. “It’s because you’re Oliver.”

Grey swallowed. “That’s why you look at me like that. Why there’s anger underneath everything you say. Why you hate me.” His voice softened. “Because I was the one who hurt you.”

Silence stretched.
“And there was something else I kept asking myself,” he went on, his voice dropping. “Why I couldn’t feel anything for anyone after you. Not for Diana. Not for anyone—except the Alpha of Ironfang.”

His hand clenched at his side. “The bond never disappeared. It weakened, yes—but it never broke.” His eyes lifted again, raw and honest. “And your scent… you masked it. That’s why I didn’t recognize you. Why my instincts were screaming while my mind refused to listen.”

Grey let out a shaky breath. “When I put it all together,” he said, voice low, almost reverent, “there’s only one answer that makes sense.”

He looked at Oliver like he was afraid to hope.
“You’re my mate.”

Oliver’s expression cooled. “You’re wrong,” he said evenly. “I’m Alpha Theodore of Iron fang.”

Grey stilled.

“I’ve never set foot in Red Moon Park in my life,” Oliver continued, voice calm, precise—like a man stating facts, not defending himself. “So whatever memories you’re chasing, they aren’t mine. Don’t put someone else’s identity on me.”

The words landed hard.

He tilted his head slightly. “Yes, I feel something. A spark, maybe. But it’s inconsistent. Fleeting.” His gaze sharpened. “That’s not a mate bond. That’s instinct misfiring.”

Grey’s jaw tightened.

Oliver exhaled, clearly done with the conversation. “I am not your—”

Grey moved. He crossed the distance in a single step and crushed his mouth against Oliver’s, the kiss rough and unrestrained, all desperation and suppressed hunger breaking loose at once. It wasn’t tender. It wasn't soft. It was the kind of kiss that came from three years of guilt and denial snapping in half.

Oliver reacted on instinct. For a split second, he froze—then his hand slid up, fingers fisting in Grey’s collar as he kissed him back just as hard. Their mouths colliding, breath tangling, the bond flaring hot and unmistakable between them.

The bond surged.

Not imagined. Not fleeting.

Real.

Oliver pulled away first. He broke the kiss cleanly, palm pressing flat against Grey’s chest to keep him back. His breathing was steady when he spoke—too steady.his forehead resting against Oliver’s. His voice was hoarse, stripped bare.

“Now you know.”

“I did,” Oliver replied calmly. He wiped his thumb across his own mouth, not flustered, not shaken. “And that’s exactly why you’re wrong.”

Grey frowned. “What—”

“You kissed me,” Oliver continued, voice measured, reasonable. “You’re an Alpha. Your pheromones are overwhelming. Of course, my instincts responded.” He met Grey’s eyes evenly. “That doesn’t make me Oliver. It makes me biological.”

The bond still hummed—faint, undeniable.

Grey’s restraint snapped.

He surged forward again, silencing Oliver with his mouth—harder this time, more intent. Not a question. Not an accident. A decision. His hand slid to Oliver’s jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt his head back as if daring him to argue again.

Oliver stiffened—a split-second freeze—then melted into fire.

His fingers knotted in Grey’s collar, yanking him impossibly closer. The kiss turned savage, tongues clashing in a messy, breathless storm, teeth grazing lips until copper tinged the air. The mate bond roared to life between them, a scorching pulse that licked through veins like liquid flame, erasing words, drowning protests in molten need neither would name.

Grey ripped back just enough to drag in air, his voice a guttural rasp against Oliver’s swollen lips. “Stop. Fucking. Talking.” A growl rumbled from his chest, wolf clawing at the surface. “You’re lying. And I don’t care.”

Oliver’s laugh was low, wicked—a velvet blade that vibrated straight to Grey’s core. “Am I?” His eyes gleamed, dark with challenge, even as his body betrayed him, arching into the touch.

Grey didn’t answer. He devoured him again—slower now, torturously deliberate, savoring the hitch in Oliver’s breath. His hands roamed lower, rough and possessive, shoving aside shirts and belts like they were nothing. Fabric tore with a sharp rip, hot skin finally meeting hot skin. Oliver’s nails raked down Grey’s back, urging him on, slipping under his jacket to claw at muscle, pinning him there as hips ground together in a rhythm that promised ruin.

The scent—that scent—flooded Grey’s senses, sweet and intoxicating, stoking the bond until it burned white-hot. Oliver was his. Alive. Here. And Grey would fuck the lies right out of him.