Page 6 of Shifting Hearts

SIX

The Weight of Fate

Ranger

I can’t stop hearing her voice. Stop deciding for me.

It cuts deeper than claws ever could. Deeper than Maddox’s fists, deeper than my father’s silence and disapproval when I walked away.

She doesn’t know it, but she’s right. I am deciding for her. Every second I’m here, every time I pull back when all I want is to give in—I’m choosing for her.

I tell myself it’s because she’s fragile. Because she needs to heal. Because if I touch her, I’ll lose control. But the truth? The truth is much simpler and uglier than that.

I’m terrified. Of her. Of the bond. Of what it means to want something so badly when I already know what it feels like to lose everything.

The bond hums like a curse in my blood, louder with every breath she takes. I can feel her even when I’m not looking. Her heartbeat, her scent, the restless dreams that keep her shifting in my bed.

My bed.

I scrub a hand down my face, pacing the cabin before dawn. The fire’s little more than ash, the sky outside bruising with morning light.

I told her I don’t believe in the Goddess anymore, and it’s true.

How can I, when She abandoned me? When She chose Maddox, golden boy, rightful Alpha, while I was left broken in the dirt? When She tied me to a pack that never wanted me, then laughed as my brother and my father cast me out?

Faith is for the blind. I’ve seen too much.

The only thing I believe in is survival. And bonds, but bonds are chains.

But then she moans my name in her sleep again. Then she looks at me with those storm-grey eyes like I’m not a monster but something worth trusting. And all my convictions start to crack.

I hear her moving before I see her.

The soft rustle of blankets, the uneven scrape of bare feet on wood. I spin, and there she is. Paris, pale but stubborn, pushing herself upright, swaying as she grips the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?” The words snap out sharper than I mean.

She startles, her wide eyes flicking to me. “I need… I need air.”

“You need rest.” I’m already crossing the room, my hand shooting out to steady her when she stumbles.

The instant my palm touches her waist, the bond ignites again. A rush of heat, of rightness, sears through me. Her body fits against mine like it was carved to. My chest tightens, my breath catching as she tilts her face up toward me.

“Ranger…” Her whisper is soft, fragile, but it wrecks me.

For one heartbeat, I almost give in. Almost dip my head, taste the lips that already haunt my dreams. My obscene erection is digging into her hip and making it even harder to concentrate.

I rip my hand back like she’s a flame.

“Don’t,” I snarl. It comes out harsher than I intend, but I can’t stop it. “Don’t push yourself. Don’t push me .”

Her expression shatters. Just like that.

She jerks away from me, wrapping the quilt tighter around her shoulders, her mouth trembling like she’s holding back words she won’t say. And I hate myself instantly.

I want to tell her the truth, that I pulled away because touching her feels too damn good, too dangerous. That I’m one second away from claiming her and never letting her go. That if I lose her after that, it’ll destroy me in ways even Maddox never could.

But I don’t. Because I’m a coward.

Instead, I turn, clenching my fists, forcing the beast back into its cage. “Sit down before you fall on your ass.”

She doesn’t answer. But the silence that follows is worse than any scream ever could be.

Her eyes drop, her lashes hiding the storm swirling there. She turns from me, moving stiffly back to the bed, her shoulders hunched under the weight of my words. The quilt slips, and I almost step forward, almost catch it, almost fix the damage I just caused….

But I freeze instead. Like a damn coward. She crawls back under the covers, curling into herself, her back facing me. Small. Alone. The faint tremor in her shoulders is a knife I can’t pull free.

I stand there for too long, my chest burning with words I’ll never say.

Finally, I force myself toward the stove, adding logs to the fire with more force than necessary. Sparks leap and wood splits. I tell myself the noise will drown out the sound of her breathing, the quiet sniffle I swear I hear.

But it doesn’t.

It echoes. Every broken inhale. Every silent tear I know she’s trying to hide from me.

I rake a hand through my hair, pacing again, my beast thrashing under my skin. Go to her. Fix it. Hold her.

But I don’t. I’ve ruined enough things by wanting too much.

Eventually, her breathing evens out, softening into sleep once more. The bond thrums, gentler now, tugging me back toward her like it always does. My feet move before I decide, and I end up at the edge of the bed again.

She’s curled tight, clutching the blanket like a shield. Her face is damp, her lashes clumped from tears. My gut twists. I’m a real fucking asshole.

Carefully, I sit beside her. Not touching, not close enough to wake her. Just… there.

Her scent wraps around me, clean now, faint traces of herbs and firewood mixed with something uniquely hers. It fills the hollow spaces inside me, the ones I swore no one would ever touch again.

I drop my head into my hands, elbows braced on my knees. The words scrape out of me in a whisper too quiet for her to hear.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not enough. Not close. But it’s all I have.

I stay there until my body aches from holding still, until sleep drags at my bones. The fire crackles low, shadows crawl along the walls, and still, I can’t make myself leave her side.

Because no matter how many times I tell myself bonds are chains, no matter how much I fight it…. I already know.

I’m hers.