Page 29

29

MAGNOLIA

I don’t run—I flee.

The night air is sharp in my lungs, Colt’s rich scent unwanted and unwelcome, drowning me. The bond stretches as I put distance between us, pulling taut like a wire about to snap—but it doesn’t. It won’t.

Because even now, after everything, he’s still there, still woven into me.

I hate it.

I hate him.

I don’t know how I make it home. One second, I’m at the chapel, my heart breaking in real time, and the next, I’m slamming the door behind me, my breath ragged, my body trembling. The house is quiet, the pack settling in for the night. My parents’ bedroom door is closed. Kate’s too, Lucy sleeping soundly in my parents’ room. I think River’s still up, the sound of a radio playing from inside his room…but no one sees me like this.

No one sees me breaking apart.

Good.

I don’t stop moving until I reach my room, until I sink onto the edge of my bed, my fingers curling into the quilt. It’s old, patched at the edges, a relic from when I was small enough to believe that love could fix everything.

My stomach turns.

I press my palm flat against it, my breath catching.

Oh God.

A sob climbs up my throat, but I swallow it down. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe, forcing myself to push past the chaos screaming in my head.

He knew.

He knew the entire time. When he kissed me. When he touched me. When he marked me. I was so confident, telling everyone we could trust him…and we never should have because he’s a bad man, just like my mother told me.

My fingers graze over the bond mark at my throat, and a violent shudder rips through me.

He let me love him while keeping this secret. While knowing that if I ever found out, it would destroy me.

And it has.

My whole body trembles as I curl in on myself, gripping the quilt so tightly it might tear.

I should tell someone. I have to tell someone.

Reyes. Tilda. My mother.

But the words won’t come.

If I tell them, it makes it real. If I tell them, they’ll decide for me, they’ll strip this choice from my hands, and I can’t bear that—not when the bond between us still hums in my chest, not when my wolf refuses to let go.

That’s the cruelest part.

Even now, even after everything, I can’t make myself hate him.

I want to. God, I want to. But my wolf howls for him, still longs for his touch, still believes in him despite the betrayal that cuts me raw.

My breath shudders out of me as I press a shaking hand to my stomach.

My future felt so certain just hours ago. So right.

And now?

I don’t know anything.

Except one thing.

I am his. And he is mine.

And no matter how much it hurts, that hasn’t changed.

My whole body trembles as I curl in on myself, gripping the quilt so tightly it might tear.

I should tell someone. I have to tell someone.

Reyes. Tilda. My mother. The pack could be in danger. Peaches could be in danger.

The thought claws through me, violent and urgent. The Gulf Pack hired him. They sent him here, to us. What if this was never just about Peaches? What if it was always bigger than that?

My stomach twists. I know what I have to do. The pack needs to know. Peaches deserves to know. Every second I keep this to myself is a second too long, a second where something could go horribly, irreversibly wrong.

And yet?—

I can’t force myself to move.

I clench my jaw so tightly it aches, but still, my throat locks up, trapping the confession inside me.

If I tell them, it makes it real.

If I tell them, they’ll decide for me. They’ll take this choice from my hands, and I can’t bear that—not when the bond between us still hums in my chest, not when my wolf refuses to let go.

That’s the cruelest part: even now, even after everything, I can’t make myself hate him. I want to. God, I want to. But my wolf howls for him, still longs for his touch, still believes in him despite the betrayal that cuts me raw.

What if I tell them, and they exile him? What if I tell them, and he never comes back?

A soft knock at my door makes my breath catch.

I scrub a hand over my face, trying to steady myself, trying to school my features. But it’s useless. She already knows.

“Starshine?”

Her voice is gentle, but it sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over me, undoing the fragile grip I have on myself. I don’t answer. I can’t.

The door creaks open anyway.

I force myself to sit up, to smooth my hands over my thighs, to breathe past the tightness in my throat. I’m fine. I have to be fine. I can’t let her see me like this. I can’t let anyone see me like this.

My mom doesn’t say anything right away. She steps inside, closes the door behind her, and just looks at me, brow furrowed. I hate that look…the quiet, searching gaze, the one that says, I see you, Maggie, the one that makes it impossible to pretend.

I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice stead. “Hey, Mom. What’s up”

She tilts her head. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically–too fast to be honest.

She doesn’t call me on it, but that just makes it worse. Instead, she steps closer, lowering herself onto the bed beside me, her hands settling in her lap. “You’re home early,” she says lightly, like we’re just having a normal conversation, like I’m not sitting here feeling like my world just collapsed under me. “I thought you were spending the night at Colt’s again.”

I nod. “I just…thought it would be easier to get ready for work from here. It’s nothing.”

Why am I covering for him? I need to tell someone, it could literally be a matter of life or death. Colt could be calling his allies in the Gulf Pack right now, telling them everything they need to know about the den’s weaknesses…

I don’t realize I’m shaking until Mom reaches out, smoothing her hand over mine. The lump in my throat grows too thick, too unbearable. My chest aches with the weight of everything I haven’t said. I should swallow it down. I should keep it in, press it into some deep, dark place where it can’t touch me, where no one can see it. That’s what I do. I take things and carry them and never let them show.

Because I’m the one who holds it together. I always have been.

I can’t fall apart now.

But then Mom squeezes my hand, and her voice is so soft, so full of knowing when she says, “Starshine, you don’t have to lie to me.”

And just like that, I break.

The first sob comes out so suddenly it startles me, my hand flying up to slap over my mouth like I can shove it back inside. But it’s too late.

The floodgates open, and I can’t stop it.

I gasp, shaking, my whole body curling in on itself, and suddenly, my mom is there. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t press me for words I can’t force out. She just pulls me in, tucking my head beneath her chin, wrapping her arms around me like I’m still small enough to hold like this.

And I let her.

I don’t fight it. I don’t push her away.

I just cry.

“Mom,” I sob, curling my fingers in her nightgown. “You were right. I was so stupid, I should have never…”

“Enough of that,” she interrupts, pulling my face up to look me in the eye. “Magnolia, you are a smart and capable woman. I’m not here to judge you. I just want to help.”

I shake my head, my throat so tight it hurts. “You can’t help,” I whisper. “No one can.”

Mom exhales slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face, her touch careful. “Tell me what happened, starshine.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Because how do I say it? How do I make it real?

But it is real. No matter how much I wish I could undo it.

“I messed up,” I choke out. “Mom, I—he—” My breath catches, another sob breaking loose before I can stop it.

She just waits, but her grip on me is firm, unshakable.

So I force myself to say it.

“He was hired to find Peaches.” The words tumble out, too fast, too raw, my voice breaking over them. “The Gulf Pack sent him here. That’s why he came. That’s why—” My stomach twists violently. “That’s why he found me.”

I let out a ragged breath, my hands twisting into the fabric of her nightgown like it’s the only thing holding me together. My mother holds me tighter, like she can pull the broken pieces of me back into place with sheer will alone.

But then she exhales, long and slow.

“That bastard,” she murmurs, and it sends another shudder through me. Not because she’s wrong. But because hearing it from her makes it more real.

I press my face into her shoulder, my breath still shuddering. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

She eases back, just enough to make me look at her.

“He lied to you,” she says. “He came here under false pretenses, and I don’t give a damn how much he claims to love you now—that’s not something you just forgive.”

I swallow hard.

She keeps going, her fingers brushing some of the damp strands of hair from my face. “But listen to me, Peaches is safe.” She waits, letting the words sink in. “If he was going to betray this pack, he would have already. If he was going to take Peaches, he wouldn’t have wasted time putting down roots, marking you—” Her voice hitches. “He wouldn’t have touched you if this was just a job to him.”

I flinch.

She sighs, shaking her head. “I hate that you had to find out like this.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers curling into my palms. “I don’t know what to do,” I whisper again, voice hoarse. “I know I have to tell Reyes. I know I have to?—”

She nods. “And we will.”

I blink up at her.

“We’re going right now.”

My breath catches.

“Magnolia, this isn’t something we wait on,” she says firmly. “If there’s any risk, if there’s even the slightest chance the Gulf Pack is still a threat to this den, we don’t sit on it.” She cups my face, her voice gentler, even as the urgency lingers beneath it. “I know this is killing you. I know what this means for you. But this is bigger than just you and him.”

Tears burn at my eyes.

“I know,” I rasp. “I know, I just?—”

She hushes me, smoothing my hair. “You don’t have to justify anything to me, starshine. You love him. That’s not a crime.” Her voice lowers, steadier now. “But you also love this pack. You love Peaches. And that means we handle this now.”

I nod, my throat too thick with emotion to speak.

Mom squeezes my hands, pressing them between her own, her grip solid. Reassuring.

“We’re going to Reyes,” she says. “And you are not doing this alone.”

A sharp, shaky exhale leaves me.

And this time, I don’t argue.