Page 28 of Primal (The Prey Drive #1)

Chapter 27

Noa

B y the time we get home to the manor, I’m pretty sure I’m being held together by a piece of chewed bubblegum and a whisper of hope. Neither of which are known for their structural integrity. And, honestly, I don’t even know what part of today was supposed to give me that ridiculous emotion in the first place. It sure as hell wasn’t my conversation with Zora, I can tell you that much.

And there are pieces I really wish I didn’t know.

I’ve started putting the puzzle together, thanks to Zora, but there are still missing parts. And some of what I’ve managed to uncover? I selfishly wish I could have stayed blissfully in the dark about.

Like the part where Seren might have known.

I’m fortunate in a lot of ways, I know that, but I’ve also had more than my fair share of things ripped out from under me. Not lost…stolen. And through it all, I thought if nothing else, I could count on my trust in my best friend to hold. Unshakable. Incorruptible.

A part of me doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear it out loud. I’m already too worn out to take on the weight of betrayal from the one person I thought I had left to count on. But I have to know. Seren’s lived through a rejected fated bond, she knows firsthand how it works. Which makes it really damn hard to believe she didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t say those words back to him. Even if some naive, desperate part of me, the part that’s been white-knuckling it since we left Pack Fallamhain’s gates, still wants to believe otherwise.

I wait for the soft click of the cellar door to shut behind Siggy. Count to ten—Mississippi style—in my head, just to be safe. She’d said she wanted to head down to her nest for a little while, claimed she needed to unwind after today, which makes sense. Facing her home. Her mother. Carly’s mother. That’s more than enough to send anyone retreating into their safest space.

And if anyone deserves peace right now, it’s Siggy.

I sent her down with a mug of hot chocolate—yes, her second of the day—and told her I’d be close by if she needed me. But this conversation? This one doesn’t belong anywhere near her ears. She’s got enough to carry without adding my shit to the pile. Seren’s her friend too. Someone she leans on. And Siggy needs every ounce of support she can get if she’s going to keep healing. I won’t be the reason she starts questioning one of the only people she’s started to trust.

So, I wait.

Then I turn away from the kettle, turning off the burner as I do, because I had zero intentions of drinking any tea. I just needed something to do with my hands while I waited for Siggy to quickly catch up with Seren before excusing herself.

Also? I’m officially tea-ed out.

It’s felt like the last few days that every time I’ve turned a corner or just sat down, Seren, or even Rhosyn, was there offering me a new cup of tea. Canaan didn’t bother with tea, he just continued on with his campaign for protein shakes. Yeah, no thanks, dude. I think I’d rather just sip on my own hot tears at this point. He didn’t listen when I told him that just because there’s a chocolate chip cookie decorating the bottle, it does not mean that chalky shit is going to taste like a baked good.

I gaze at the familiar kitchen before my eyes land on Seren. She’s perched on the antique workbench we use as an island, her pale blue gaze already locked on to me. Not a surprise. Her empathic charmer gift probably picked up on my spiral the second I pulled into the driveway.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask me a question or pry for answers. She waits.

I hate how long it takes me to get the words out, but finally I manage to push them out, proud that I’m able to avoid infusing them with the riot of emotions warring within me.

“Did you know?”

Seren’s brows knit in confusion, her head tilting slightly. “Know what, babe?”

I swallow against the tight, aching knot in my throat. My next words come out softer, raspier, some of my resolve slipping.

“Did you know what would happen to me if I didn’t reciprocate his rejection?”

Her face drains of color. Her mouth parts, but no sound comes out. And then her eyes fill with regret so thick it nearly chokes me. Her chin wobbles, and she blinks hard before turning away.

I should have told her sooner. I never should have kept it from her. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

Her agonized voice floats through the tense air between us, coiling up like a dark fog of despair in my mind. Before I have time to comment on it, she opens her mouth and says aloud, “Yes…I knew.”

The betrayal I was anticipating slams into me. My already broken body feels like it might buckle under the weight of it. My knees ache from holding me up.

“ Why? ” The word rips out of me, rough and raw, before I can stop it.

Seren shakes her head, and tears start to fall.

“Amara…” she says, voice cracking.

Of all the names she could’ve said, that’s the one I never saw coming.

“What?”

“Amara told me not to,” she explains. “She said it was part of the plan when I tried to ask her about it…after. And I knew how much you and Thalassa, especially, trusted her. I was trying to do the same, Noa. I swear I was. I thought she was right.” She looks me over then. I can feel her gaze cataloguing the damage. Every hollowed-out piece. Every unraveling thread. “I tried to tell you in the clearing. That day. I tried, but she told me not to. And I listened. I shouldn’t have. If I knew it would go this far—if I knew you’d suffer like this—I would’ve told her to go to hell.”

My trembling hand rises to my temple, fingers pressing into my skull like the pressure might somehow soothe the pounding ache that’s taken up residence there.

“I don’t…” My voice trails off, the words dissolving into the air as I try to make sense of yet another puzzle piece I never wanted to find. “I don’t understand. What fucking plan is she talking about?”

Seren sits up straighter, the familiar fire lighting behind her eyes. “Yeah! That’s what I wanted to know too. Which is why I marched my happy little ass over to her house today while you were out with Siggy. Actually, I went over there to rip her a new one, because whatever this ‘endgame’ is, it’s bullshit. It’s not working, and I’m done playing along.”

That sharp, protective edge I’ve always associated with her pours off her in waves. It fits her better than the version who kept this from me. That other Seren—the one who sat on something this big—I don’t know who she is. But this? This I recognize. This I still trust.

“She told me it wasn’t even her plan,” Seren continues, eyes wide with frustration. “She said it wasThalassa’s.Your mom’s. And of course she was vague as hell about it. But she said your bond to Rennick was ‘the key to undoing her binds.’ Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

Why does it feel like everyone around me has answers I don’t? Like I’m the only one fumbling in the dark while they play along with rules that were never explained to me?

And why does everything always lead back to the same two people?

Rennick and Mom.

Seren might not understand what Amara meant, but I do. If what Zora and I pieced together is right—if my mother really did bind my wolf, tamper with my memories, leave behind these vague dreams like cryptic instruction manuals—then what Amara said wasn’t just a riddle. It was confirmation.

“Whatever Mom did to my wolf and my memories, I think…”I drag my fingers through my hair, breathing hard through my nose. “I think she tied it to him. To the bond. I think accepting Rennick, completing the bond, is the only way to undo what she did. To get it all back—my wolf, my memories, everything she took.”

Seren stares at me, stunned, her mouth parting, but no words coming. The confusion and guilt swimming across her face say enough.

“I beg your finest pardon ?”

Oh, yeah . Right .

She didn’t know.

“I’m really fucking mad at you, Ser,” I snap, hands dropping limply to my sides, the weight of it all dragging me down. I know I need her help more than I need to cling to this grudge. I’ll come back to it later, let the anger breathe when it’s safe to. But right now? I need to get this shit out.

All of it.

“I know,” she whispers, wincing. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah…” I sigh, lowering myself onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Seems to be a lot of that going around lately.”

She doesn’t ask what I mean. She doesn’t need to.

She just nods.

And I inhale, steadying myself, ready to lay it all out. Everything I know, everything I don’t and everything in between. Because I can’t carry this alone. And despite her lie, I still want it to be her who helps me hold the pieces. She’s my person, and we don’t get a lot of those in life.

“You have to tell him, Noa.”

Seren’s voice rings in my head, just as desperate and afraid as it had been in the kitchen many hours ago when she first said it.

She’d said it after I spilled everything—every twisted, tangled thread Zora helped me pull free. I told her Rennick had been right. That Mom had used her weaver magic to bind my wolf, to twist my memories of those final days in Pack Fallamhain, making me believe we were exiled because I was latent. I told her that more memories, especially the ones tied to Rennick, had been tampered with too. And how I’m almost certain now that Mom knew he was my fated mate even then, that something must’ve happened, something big enough to make her tear us apart.

It wasn’t just the shifting she stole when she bound my wolf. It was my designation, my charmer gifts, everything that made me me.

Her eyes had nearly fallen out of her head when I told her I’m an oracle.

“ Well, fuck, I should have guessed that when you said you were hearing voices,” she’d offhandedly commented with an apologetic grimace. “Probably a bit of a relief to know you’re not actually losing your noodle, huh? Not to freak you out, though, but it’s probably going to start feeling like you’re part of a psychic group chat that you were added to against your will. And there’s no silencing your notifications. Buckle up, buttercup, shit’s a wild ride.”

Then I explained how being near Rennick after all these years cracked the first fissure in the binds, and how every second I spend around him weakens them further. Because like Amara had told her, he is the key.

Whether I want him to be or not.

That was enough to shake her. But it wasn’t what broke her.

What broke her was the rest.

I laid out what comes next. That when the binds lift completely, my suppressed omega instincts won’t just resurface, they’ll crash down all at once in what Zora called a “super heat”. Which is possibly the most horrifying combination of words anyone’s ever said to me. Seven years’ worth of suppressed cycles, all detonating at the same time.

And with my body this weakened, already breaking down, there’s no surviving something like that.

That’s when the fear in Seren’s face turned into full-on panic. Her calm cracked. She looked at me like I was already dying. I could see it sinking in, just how close I might be to leaving her.

When I told her there was one thing that might give me the strength to make it through the intense heat and stop the slow decay—a completed mating bond; his mark—her expression changed again. It lit up. With that pesky little bitch hope .

Hope I crushed immediately.

She stared at me like I’d lost my damn mind.

“You’re not thinking clearly, the pain and hurt from the rejection is fucking with your mind. He has to know, Noa. You have to tell him so he can help you,” she pleaded, tears spilling down her face. “His bite will get you through it. It will save you. You have to see that.”

I took her hands in mine, voice hoarse and low. “I was already a sacrifice Rennick was willing to make. I won’t allow myself to become an obligation he’s bound to as well.”

You can’t get wrecked by rejection if you never put yourself in the position to be rejected in the first place. And even if I could set my pride aside and resign myself to being an obligation, how the hell am I supposed to look that man in the eye, tell him I probably won’t survive this, and then hand him the solution like it’s his responsibility to save me?

How do I trust him with my life, with my heart, with the last fraying pieces of my soul when he’s the reason they’re broken to begin with?

She tried to argue. Of course she did.

But I reminded her that Rennick chose his duty. Chose his omegas. And I, of all people, can respect that kind of choice.

That’s when she snapped, jumping up from her chair.

“You’re almost as bad as he is,” she seethed. The fury in her voice didn’t quite match the heartbreak leaking from her eyes. “You’re a stubborn twat, Noa Alderwood, and it’s going to get you killed.”

Then she left to pick up Ivey from Edie, leaving me to carry my crumbling body and my many emotional wounds up two flights of stairs to my attic bedroom.

I decided I was done for the day.

I thought sleep might give me something. A break. Maybe my mother would send another dream, another clue she’d embedded in the tangled mess of my mind. But sleep is a petty little shit and refused to come. I lay there for hours, sifting through every thought, every revelation, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

Now it’s hours away till sunrise. I’m curled up on the chaise lounge in the garden that is basically a glorified outdoor bed, wrapped in two blankets, thick sweats, and not one but two hoodies. One of them being Rennick’s green one. At this point, I’ve basically turned into a child dragging around her emotional support blankie. And yeah, I know how pathetic that sounds. I just don’t have it in me to care.

This spot, on the back edge of our fairly large backyard, was one of my mother’s favorite places. She’d lie out here during the warm months, sun on her face, plants blooming all around her. She looked so peaceful.

But now that I know about her weavings, about her lies, about the drastic steps she took to take me away from Pack Fallamhain and Rennick, I have to wonder if she ever knew what peace was.

Did she spend our years here waiting for all her intricately placed threads to unravel?

She knew it would all fall apart one day, though, that’s why she left the fail-safe in her spell by making Rennick the key.

That thought has been eating at me for hours.

If reuniting with my mate was always part of her plan, if she knew I’d find him again and complete the bond, then who was she really trying to keep me from? Because if it wasn’t him …what the hell was she so afraid of?

I lean my head back and stare up at the sky. The clouds are still heavy and gray, churning like they’re thinking about snowing but haven’t made up their mind yet. The cold in the air says it’s quickly becoming a stronger possibility, that if it were to drop a few more degrees, the flurries would begin.

My fingers, hidden deep in the oversized pocket of Rennick’s hoodie, are slowly going numb, joints locking up in the cold. My nose is already a lost cause, numb and burning all at once. But I let the chill in. Welcome it, even.

It suits me.

My insides have been frozen since the second that bond tore itself from my chest. The rest of me is just catching up. Cold, aching, empty. It’s a kind of pain I’ve gotten used to. And that’s probably the saddest part of all this, how quickly I’ve adapted to hurting.

I breathe in through my nose, hoping to catch the scent of the oncoming snow, but the air is blank. My senses are dulled. Even the familiar trace of him on this hoodie is almost gone now.

Some part of me mourns it, quietly heartbroken, but it’s like it expected the loss. Knew it’d be like everything else that’s been fading lately.

My eyes close, lashes brushing against wind-chilled skin. I don’t think. I just lie here. Just breathe. Just exist.

And then I hear it.

Crunch.

A step. Subtle, but distinct. A crunch against the dry grass somewhere near the trees that sit around the fence line.

The sound snaps me upright. My body stiffens, aching muscles dragging into motion on instinct. The rational part of my brain reminds me there’s no real reason to panic. If anything had made it past Ashvale’s borders, the coven or Lowri’s pack would’ve dealt with it, or at the very least, someone would have warned me.

At this, my icy fingers slip into my sweatpants pocket and curl around my phone. I leave them there, knowing it’ll vibrate if anyone tries to reach me, because there’s another part of me that’s been quietly preparing and anticipating the day one of our Nightingale’s—old and new—might lead the past or darkness they’re running from right to our doorstep.

My body, numb just moments ago, jerks with a wave of shivers. Heat moves across my skin, sudden and unfamiliar, pushing back the cold I’ve gotten used to. For one breath, I let myself feel it, the absence of that constant, aching emptiness.

That’s when I see him, standing about fifteen feet away, just beyond the edge of the garden, half hidden by the shadows cast by the trees.

A wolf. Massive. Still. Attention locked on me.

His fur is black and silver, but from here I can’t make out many distinctive patterns. Only that his legs, muzzle, and spine seem to be where a lot of the darker fur is concentrated. It’s his eyes I’m focused on anyway. The silver-blue seems to glow in this lighting, even though I know it’s not possible. It’s a ghostly shade I recognize.

I don’t need his scent. Or his voice.

I know.

Rennick.

My breath catches, lodged somewhere between my ribs and my throat, like breathing alone might have the power to erase him. To make the dark, daunting shape vanish into smoke and float away in the cold breeze. That maybe I’ve finally snapped under the strain, and this is my mind playing some cruel, desperate trick on me. That the empty space where the bond used to live is still raw, bleeding, and it’s been screaming for him for days. Maybe it got loud enough to conjure him.

I blink once. Twice. Three times.

He doesn’t fade. Doesn’t flicker or disappear. He’s still there, solid, unmoving, a massive shape carved out of the shadows, with those pale eyes I know too well. And the way he’s watching me, quiet and unblinking, I almost wonder if he’s questioning my reality the same way I’m questioning his.

It isn’t until I finally let go of the breath I’ve been holding hostage that he moves.

And that’s when I know he’s not a fragment of my imagination.

I don’t let myself wonder how or why he’s here. The fact that he is, is already too much.

His gaze softens. His head dips, and the sharp points of his ears ease back, not pinned in aggression, just angled low in something that feels like caution. The shift in his posture is subtle, but the energy around him changes. There’s no threat in the way he moves, only soundless tension, like even he’s nervous to be here. Unsure of how I’ll react.

He lifts a massive paw—I’m not being dramatic when I say it looks like it’s as big as my face—and takes a step toward me. It’s hesitant. Cautious. Measured in a way that doesn’t match his size.

I sit like a piece of stone.

He moves like I might bolt. Every step careful and deliberate like he knows one wrong move could send me running. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I should be afraid. I should feel the urge to turn and get as far away from him as possible.

But I don’t.

The wolf inside me, still bound, still pressing against the thinning walls of whatever spell my mom used to trap her, doesn’t want to run. She’s alert but not panicked. Not warning me to flee from him.

She’s reaching.

I feel her straining forward with something between desperation and joy. Like she knows the creature in front of us didn’t break us— he did. The man inside. The one who was too consumed by his sense of duty to choose us.

She knows him and she wants this. Wants him. Always has.

Because even if my memories of Rennick were altered, some part of her never forgot him. She longed for him, kept her distance from other men, loyal in a way I didn’t fully understand until now. Loyal to the man. Loyal to the wolf. Always.

I can't tell if Rennick is in control of what’s happening right now, or if his wolf has taken the reins completely. Is he just along for the ride, his wolf taking the lead while he hangs back from somewhere deep inside? Did he surrender control willingly, or did his wolf take it from him?

If this animal in front of me staged a coup against Rennick, I swear to the Goddess, how will I ever be strong enough to stay away from him myself?

But the thought fades as he steps over the low hedge that separates us, his huge frame cutting through the space with careful grace. It shouldn't be possible for someone built like him to move so delicately. He approaches slowly, not once breaking eye contact, until he’s standing right in front of the lounge chair where I’m curled up like something fragile and fading.

Up close, he’s even bigger than I remember. I wonder, if I were to stand up, would our eyes be level? I’d bet money on it. I’ve mostly been around omegas and she-wolves for years. My wolf’s very obvious and sometimes visceral reaction to the male population influenced me to keep my distance. I must’ve forgotten how large alpha males really are when they shift. Or maybe it’s just him .

He holds my gaze without flinching or yielding, but there’s no pressure in it. Just quiet patience. The choice is mine, and he won’t take it from me. When I don’t move, still locked in place and unsure how to breathe, he releases a low, almost pleading whine. The sound hits somewhere beneath my ribs, striking a place that’s already too exposed to protect. Then, slowly, he lowers his head and rests it in front of my crossed legs on the cushion like an offering. Like he’s waiting to be accepted and willing to wait forever if he has to.

Still, I don’t move. I want to, but the uncertainty coursing through me has me hesitating.

So, he shuffles forward, closing more of the space between us, and nudges my shin with the tip of his nose. A touch that’s gentle, tentative. A question that doesn’t need words to be asked.

My hand trembles as I pull it free from the warm cocoon of my pants pocket. The cold hits instantly, sharp and biting, like it’s punishing me for leaving the comfort of warmth behind. My fingers hesitate, stiff and unsure, curling in toward my palm before slowly stretching out again.

I don’t know what I’m expecting—rejection, maybe, even in this form—but the stillness of him, the quiet patience, nudges something in me that I can’t keep ignoring.

So I give in.

I let my hand settle gently on top of his head, fingertips slipping into the thick fur between his ears. It’s warm. Dense. Softer than I imagined. My fingers twitch, overwhelmed by the simple contact. Before I can fully register what he feels like beneath my touch, he makes a sound that steals the air from my lungs.

A low, steady rumble vibrates through him. Quiet but undeniable.

A purr.

He’s purring. Because of me.

No. For me.

The sound ripples through me, reaching some long-buried, long-silent part I didn’t realize was still listening. Something locked deep inside me opens its eyes and stretches. The warmth of it is immediate, like sunshine on a frozen winter morning. My own wolf, trapped and quiet for too long, stirs with elation. She recognizes this. Recognizes him.

I move slowly, fingers tracing the space between his eyes. His lids flutter closed, breath catching in what sounds almost like relief. I glide over the fuzzy points of his ears, and they twitch under my touch, the reaction pulling a small smile from my mouth before I can stop it. It’s not a forced smile, one I feel like I have to fight for. It’s real.

My hand moves down, fingers sinking into the thick fur of his scruff. I can feel the rhythm of his heart beneath all that muscle and strength. It’s steady, content.

And as I sit here, touching him— really touching him—I realize something I didn’t expect.

I’m not hurting.

The heat that flourished from his first rumbling purr has spread, the warmth pooling into all the crevices I didn’t realize were also hollow. The cold retreats. The ache loosens its grip. The constant weight pressing down on my thoughts eases just enough to let me breathe. For the first time since the clearing, I don’t feel broken. I don’t feel gone. I feel here. Present. Alive.

I can breathe and it doesn’t feel like a task. Doesn’t feel like I have to earn it.

Tears slip down my cheeks before I know they’ve started, they sculpt paths down frozen wind-chilled skin. I don’t try to stop them. I don’t wipe them away. I just let them fall, like a symbol of my pain leaving my body.

He lifts his head, like he can sense the shift in me, the quiet way I’ve come undone. His nose twitches, no doubt scenting the salt from my tears, and without missing a beat, he leans in and licks them from my face.

I jerk back slightly, caught off guard. The sound that escapes me is something between a yelp and a laugh. It sticks in my throat for a second, but then another one follows, softer this time, a little unsteady, but genuine. It’s my first true laugh since the clearing, and it feels good.

He watches me, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. Then he lets out a soft, questioning whine before leaning in again, this time pressing his face into the curve of my neck.

My heart skips a beat when he inhales deeply, breathing my scent in directly from the source like he’s trying to drown himself in it. Like he’s been waiting an eternity to do so.

I bring both hands up, sinking them into the thick fur along his neck, holding him there without a word while he breathes me in like he’s trying to memorize every piece of me.

Maybe it’s delusional. Maybe it’s temporary. But I let myself believe it. I stay still and let myself feel him against me. If this is what peace feels like—this warmth, this quiet, this stillness that doesn’t ache—I’ll take it. Even if it’s only for a minute.

I keep my hands moving, slow and steady, stroking through the thick fur along his neck and shoulders, down the side of his broad back. Every part of him that I can reach, I touch. My fingers sink into warmth and softness, anchoring me to this moment and to him.

He stays quiet, except for that low, rumbling purr. It never stops. It vibrates against my cold skin, seeps into my heavy bones, and injects a quiet calm straight into my nervous system. A sedative wrapped in the shape of my would-be mate.

The exhaustion I’ve been fighting for hours, the one I longed for earlier tonight but had run from me, starts to press in. It dulls my senses, makes the edges of the world go quiet. I try to fight it. Not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t want to lose this. The weight of him pressed against my chest and shoulder. The heat he radiates like a furnace. The way his presence is stitching pieces of me back together just by existing near me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, a soft vibration against my thigh. I don’t move.

It’s probably Lowri or Amara, letting me know that someone made it past the wards. That there’s been a breach. But I already know. He’s here.

Which I’m sure they already know, too.

But he’s also not a threat. At least not in the way they’re worried about.

Physical danger isn’t what he brings with him. Emotional damage? That’s still up in the air, a lingering possibility that nags the fuzzy parts of my fading mind. But I’m too tired to care right now.

He pulls back from my neck slowly, like he’s reluctant to leave. I feel the last brush of his breath before he steps back and pushes off the ground in a clean, quiet motion. He lands beside me on the lounge with barely a sound. He doesn’t lie down, not yet, instead he nudges me with is snout. Not roughly, not urgently. Just enough to make a point.

I get it.

I ease down until I’m lying back, limbs sinking into the cushion. He curls along my side with one large paw resting across my hips like a weighted blanket I never knew I needed. His warmth surrounds me, so full and steady that I almost forget what it feels like to be cold.

When he rests his head on my chest, something inside me exhales.

It’s not a dramatic release. Not some whimsical undoing. Just a small, quiet shift. One I don’t try to stop. My hand moves slowly, brushing along his jaw, over the edges of his ears, across the soft fur at his temple. His purr deepens, thrumming through my chest like a lullaby made just for me.

I can feel sleep pulling me under now, heavier with every breath. My eyes fight to stay open, but they’re losing. I let them. My last thought before the dark takes me is a selfish one. I wish this could last.

I wish he was mine to keep.

I wish I could stay whole.