Page 19

Chapter 18

Horace

A fter spending the whole night wrapped up in my mate, I wake to an empty bed.

Panic grips me instantly, a sharp, visceral thing that has my Bear raking claws through my insides.

“Carina?” My voice is hoarse, rough from sleep.

From last night, really.

From the way I whispered her name like a prayer against her skin while I claimed her.

Silence.

My pulse thunders, my instincts screaming find her .

My entire is body primed to hunt her down if I have to.

The bond between us is fresh, but already, I know—I can't exist without her.

Before I lose my mind, I finally catch her scent and follow it, stalking through the penthouse until I find her in the kitchen.

The sight of her roots me to the floor.

She’s standing at the island, her back to me, humming softly to the music playing from the built-in tablet.

The sleek screen extends from a metal arm, tilted just so, but she isn’t looking at it.

She’s focused on the stovetop, moving with an easy, natural grace as she hums softly and prepares breakfast.

My mate. In my kitchen.

Is there anything better?

She looks so perfect in it. So effortlessly right.

That realization slams into me like a wrecking ball to the chest.

She belongs here.

Not just for a night, not just as some fleeting moment of passion, but permanently. In my space. In my life.

In my heart.

The memory of my father and his agonizing heartbreak at the hands of the human woman who ultimately rejected his claim fills me for one moment.

But no. That will not be me.

I just know it.

Carina is not like the cold woman who bore me.

She is a sweet, gentle soul.

Strong. Courageous.

Everything I need.

Everything I want and more.

The rich, comforting aroma of coffee swirls through the air, mingling with the mouthwatering scent of eggs, toast, and something sweet— maybe pancakes.

But none of it holds a candle to her.

The subtle difference in her scent, altered by my mating bite, is a brand imprinted on my soul.

She smells like mine now.

Like us .

Like something more intoxicating than anything nature could have conjured up on its own.

I take a step closer, barely breathing.

My chest is tight, my Bear prowling just beneath my skin, restless with the need to pull her into my arms and keep her there.

She steals the air from my lungs, and I don’t even want it back.

“Hey,” she says, smiling as she leans up on tiptoe to kiss my lips.

“Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet.”

“Not at all. I missed you in bed,” I say and nuzzle her neck, wrapping my arms around her from behind.

So soft. So warm.

She has one of my shirts on, and the hem brushes against her thighs as she moves.

She’s so tiny compared to me.

Cute as fuck.

“I like you in my clothes,” I tell her, and she giggles.

“I had no choice. Someone ripped my dress,” she says and flips the pancakes over.

“Sorry about that,” I murmur, letting her go reluctantly so she doesn’t get burned while she cooks.

I could never let her get hurt.

My Bear chuffs his agreement.

I pull two dishes down from the cabinet and pour our coffee while Carina fills our plates with pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

The smell alone is enough to make my stomach tighten with hunger, and as if on cue, it growls loud enough to make her laugh.

“Guess we worked up an appetite,” she teases, cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink as she flicks me a glance over her shoulder.

I smirk, enjoying the way her blush deepens. “Guess so.”

We settle in at the island, eating together like we’ve done it a million times before.

It all feels so natural.

Comfortable.

Like being with her last night. The way she fit me. The way my body instinctively pulls toward her even now.

Mine.

She talks about the pizzeria and her sisters, her voice alive with warmth and laughter as she describes the sheer chaos of family dinners—the shouting over who gets the last slice, the lovingly brutal way her sisters tease each other, the way her sister MJ always manages to make way too much food and then insists she box leftovers and brings it to the nearby shelter, like they do with their daily leftovers from the pizzeria.

She tells me about their book club, and I’m intrigued to learn it’s not the high-brow literary kind I expected, but a full-blown paranormal romance appreciation society.

“Wait,” I interrupt, trying not to sound too amused. “You and your sisters read about things like Dragons, Werewolves?” I ask and yes, I am fishing for info.

She laughs, taking a sip of coffee. “Oh yeah. Werewolves, Vampires, all kinds of Shifters. Even a Kraken one time. Our group chat is basically just unhinged discussions about book boyfriends with fangs, claws, or wings.”

Interesting.

Mental note: Find out which books she likes best and prove to her that reality is way better than fiction.

She moves on, telling me more about the pizzeria, about the elderly customers who try to bribe her for extra garlic knots. Sometimes they offer with actual cash.

But more often with guilt-tripping stories about their grandkids or conveniently “forgetting” to count how many she’s already put in their bag.

Some shamelessly tell her she could use a sugar daddy investor to help her with her business.

I try not to get jealous. I really do.

But this busload of people from a local retirement community comes for an early lunch every second Thursday.

A busload. Of older men. Flirting with her. Every two weeks.

Probably flashing their sweet old-person smiles while charming her into giving them extra knots, like some kind of Garlic Knot Mafia.

Second mental note: Be at the pizzeria on Thursday mornings. Every Thursday morning.

For purely business reasons, of course.

Of course, she doesn’t just want to talk at me while we eat. Carina expects conversation.

In turn, I tell her more about my company, and she listens—really listens, not just politely nodding along.

But then she pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as she sets down her fork.

“I cannot believe you signed up for a corporate account and didn’t even tell me,” she says.

There’s no bite to her words. No real anger.

Just mild exasperation and surprise.

I can tell because I’d know if she was mad.

I’d scent it in the air between us, thick and undeniable.

I sip my coffee, amused. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. The company is my name , after all. Vanderbilt Systems. Horace Vanderbilt. ”

She huffs, stabbing at a piece of pancake. “I thought it must be a coincidence since you ran from the pizzeria like your pants were on fire.”

Her words are teasing, but I see it—the flicker of something deeper beneath them. A wound she tried to hide from me.

My chest tightens, and before she can retreat behind walls I never want between us, I reach for her hand, closing my fingers around hers. With a gentle tug, I urge her up from her seat, and when she’s close enough, I pull her into my lap.

She lets out a little gasp, startled but not resisting, her hands resting on my shoulders for balance.

Her legs straddle me, her weight settling over me in a way that feels right—so impossibly right that my Bear rumbles with approval inside me.

But I have to focus. Because what I’m about to say could change everything.

“Carina, I have to tell you something important,” I say, my voice steady even though my heart is hammering. “Something you might not understand at first?—”

Her eyes widen. “Oh my God. Are you married?”

“What? No!”

“Involved? Do you have a girlfriend?” she demands, her tone sharp as she presses her palms against my chest, pushing.

I don’t let her go. I can’t.

“Nothing like that. I swear!” I say quickly, my grip firm but gentle.

“Please, Sweetheart, just listen.”

She stops shoving at me, but her body is still tense, her muscles locking up like she’s bracing for impact.

Like she’s already preparing for something awful.

I hate that she feels that way.

“Okay,” she finally says, tilting her chin up, determination flickering in her warm brown eyes. “Just spill it then.”

I swallow hard. I owe her this. I owe her everything.

“Last night was the best night of my life,” I begin. “But you should know—I knew it would be.”

She tilts her head, brow furrowing slightly. “You knew that if we had sex, it would be mind-blowing?”

My lips twitch, and I chuckle. “Yes. But only because I knew you were made for me the second I met you.”

She blinks. “The day you ran away?”

I sigh, giving her a pointed look. “Are you gonna keep interrupting me?”

She bites her lower lip—hell, she has no idea what that does to me—and nods, eyes twinkling. “Probably.”

I shake my head, amused despite the weight of what I’m about to tell her.

She wraps her arms around my neck, leaning in close, and God, I don’t deserve this woman, but she’s mine anyway.

Mine. Mine. MINE.

“Well, interrupt if you want, but it’s the truth,” I say, brushing my fingers up and down her spine, grounding myself in her warmth. “I knew right from the start you were the only woman for me. Because you see, Carina, destiny, magic, soulmates—those things are all real.”

She leans back a little, giving me a skeptical look. “What are you, some kind of hippie?” she jokes, sitting up straighter on my lap.

But beneath her teasing, I feel her confusion.

The way her body tenses just slightly, as if she’s trying to make sense of what I’m saying but can’t quite fit it into the reality she knows.

I cup her face in my hands, stroking my thumbs over her cheeks. I need her to hear me.

Really hear me.

“No,” I say softly, steadying myself for the words that will change everything.

“I’m not a hippie, Sweetheart. I’m a Bear Shifter. And you are my fated mate.”