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Instead, I open the browser app and type “studio apartments for rent” into the search bar for a different state. The results load slowly, or maybe it just feels that way through the fog of my grief.

A one-room studio downtown. A converted garage in the suburbs. A basement apartment with “lots of natural light,” despite the photos contradicting that claim. None of them feel like possibilities. None of them feel like home.

Home is with the alpha pack. That knowledge sits in my chest like a stone, immovable and painful. I can run as far as Iwant and rent whatever apartment I can afford, but my heart, my body, my very being knows where it belongs.

Kane

Each breath is painful as I watch Mia through the kitchen window of the cottage she’s staying in.

Even from this distance, I can see she’s been crying—her face puffy, her movements slow and disjointed, as if she’s sleepwalking. The bond between us pulses with her pain, amplifying my own until it’s nearly unbearable. Two days without her scent, her touch, her presence in our den, and my wolf is going mad, clawing at my insides, demanding I reclaim what’s ours.

“She looks like hell,” Jace murmurs next to me. “We all do.”

He’s right. I haven’t slept since she left. I haven’t eaten anything substantial. My body feels hollowed out, my mind a chaos of instinct and reason at war. Part of me, the primal alpha self, wants to break down that door, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her back to our home, where she belongs. The man in me knows that would destroy any chance of earning her trust again.

Finn stands silently watchfully on my other side, his face impassive except for the muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Her friend left for work twenty minutes ago,” he says, his eyes never leaving the cottage. “She’ll be gone for at least eight hours. It’s now or never.”

I nod, unable to form words through the knot in my throat.

“Are you sure about this?” Jace asks, looking over at me. “She was pretty clear about wanting space.”

A growl builds in my chest, vibrating through my ribs. “I’m sure.” The words come out rougher than intended, my voice raw from disuse. “I need to see her. I need to explain. At least try.”

Through the window, I watch as Mia attempts to make coffee, her hands shaking so badly that she spills coffee beans across the counter. The sight of her struggling with such a simple task twists something painful in my chest. This is my fault. I did this to her- with my arrogance, my secrets, my need to control everything around me.

“If she tells us to leave, we leave,” Finn says, the statement more command than a question. “We respect her choice, Kane. No matter how much it hurts.”

I drag a hand down my face, feeling the stubble of two days without shaving scratch against my palm. “I know.” And I do know, even if my wolf rebels against the very concept.

We watch as Mia suddenly crumples to the floor, her back against the kitchen cabinets, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shake with sobs I can’t hear but can feel, each one echoing through the bond like a physical blow.

My knees nearly buckle at the intensity of her grief.

“She’s hurting as much as we are,” Jace observes, his voice thick with emotion. “The bond goes both ways.”

“She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her,” I say, my heart aching as I prepare to move.

“Slow down,” Finn warns. “Don’t overwhelm her.”

The morning is cool, the scent of approaching rain heavy in the air. I register these details mechanically, my focus entirely on the omega inside, on what I’ll say when I see her, and on whether she’ll even listen.

The short path to the front door feels miles long. Each step requires conscious effort as I fight both the urge to run to her and the fear that she’ll reject me outright. My heartpounds so hard that I’m sure Finn and Jace can hear it, the rhythm frantic and uneven.

“What if she slams the door in our faces?” Jace asks, voicing the fear none of us wants to acknowledge. “What if she tells us to go to hell?”

“Then we respect her wishes,” Finn answers for me, knowing I can’t form the words around the lump in my throat. “And we find another way to protect her and the pup without invading her space.”

I nod, grateful for Finn’s steady reasoning when my own is clouded by desperation and need. We reach the door, a simple wooden barrier between me and my love.

Holding my breath, I knock on the door. Three sharp raps. The sound seems to reverberate through the quiet morning and through the bond itself.

Seconds stretch into eternities. I hold my breath, my lungs burning, palms sweating, every muscle tensed for flight or fight. I’ve faced down rival alphas, hunted dangerous prey, and defended my territory against threats that would make ordinary men run screaming. None of it compares to the terror of this moment—standing vulnerable before the one person with the power to destroy me completely.

The door opens.

Mia stands at the threshold, wearing clothes that don’t belong to her, her face puffy from crying, dark circles shadowing her eyes. Her honey scent hits me like a physical blow, tinged with the saltiness of tears and something else—something new. The pup. My pup. Growing inside her, subtly changing her scent in ways only a father would notice.