She exhales slowly, a deep breath that seems to settle something inside her. Her gray eyes study me, calm but determined, as if she’s preparing herself for the weight of her own words.
"Do you not remember meeting me months ago?" she asks.
Because I should say no.
I don’t remember meeting her.
At least, I shouldn’t.
But something holds me back.
Because for months, she’s been there. In my dreams, in the flashes of memory that don’t make sense. I remember the way her skin glowed under the moonlight, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the way my pulse thundered in my ears.
And I remember teeth.
Biting.Heat.I shove the memory away, forcing myself back to the present.
She watches me closely, as if waiting for recognition to flicker across my face.
"Well," she continues, voice steady, "we did. You bit me. We’re mates."
I blink, staring at her like she’s lost her damn mind.
"I’m sorry, what?" The words slip out before I can stop them, laced with genuine confusion.
She doesn’t flinch.Instead, she holds my gaze, unwavering. Unshakable.
"You’re my mate, Cameron Anderson."
The way she says my name, the certainty in her voice—it does something to me, something I don’t like.Something warm and almost familiar unfurls in my chest, wrapping around my ribs like a vice.
I shut it down. Immediately.
This is insane. She’s insane.This is some kind of trick, some elaborate ploy—though I can’t, for the life of me, understand why. I rub the back of my neck, trying to steady myself.
"Listen," I say carefully, forcing an even tone. "I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength right now."
Her expression flickers—not with anger, but something worse.
Understanding.Like she’s just figured something out,she tilts her head slightly, studying me like a puzzle that suddenly doesn’t fit together the way she expected.
"Do you at least know about wolves?" she asks.
"The animal?" I say, my brows furrowing.
And that’s when her entire demeanor shifts. Her posture stiffens. Her fingers tighten slightly against the table.
She looks at me like I just told her the sun doesn’t rise in the east.
Or worse—like she’s looking at something broken.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling like the room is suddenly too small, the air thick and pressing against my chest.
Her gaze doesn’t waver. It’s heavy, like she’s trying to look through me, past the layers I’ve carefully built, straight into something I don’t even understand myself.
She sighs again, like I’m a child who just doesn’t get it, and leans forward slightly, her voice softer this time but edged with frustration.
"I’m a wolf. You’re a wolf. We’re mated."
She says it slowly, like that’s supposed to explain everything.
Like that’s supposed to make sense.
"Uh-huh..." I reply, dragging out the sound, nodding slightly as if I’m humoring her.
But inside, my brain is screaming, What the actual hell?
I glance toward the door, calculating the steps it would take to get out of here without looking like a complete lunatic. She’s clearly insane.
She straightens her posture, her gray eyes locked on mine, unwavering.
"We’re essentially bonded... uh... no... married. You and I."
Okay. That’s it. She’s completely lost it.
I exhale sharply, pushing my chair back slightly, ready to leave.
"Listen to me, lady—"
She cuts me off with that single word, her name landing between us like a challenge.
I hate that it sounds perfect.
I hate that it fits her so well, sharp and soft all at once, like everything about her.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge whatever weird fog has settled over my thoughts.
"Well, Lenora," I say, my voice tight with irritation, "I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not your—"
I don’t even get to finish the sentence.
A hand clamps over my mouth.
I jerk back instinctively, adrenaline surging, muscles tensing as I try to react, but the grip is too fast, too strong.
I struggle, my reflexes kicking in, but the hand doesn’t budge.
"I’m really sorry about this, Anderson," Adrian’s voice says smoothly, far too close, like he’s been right there the whole time.
How the hell did he get to me so fast?
I try to say something, demand an explanation, but my words are muffled, swallowed by the pressure of his hand.
Everything goes black.
The last thing I see before the darkness swallows me whole is a pair of storm-gray eyes, wide with something I can’t place—regret, maybe.
When my body goes limp, the only thing I feel is the faint echo of that name in my head.