Page 47 of The Cuddle Clause

“I love her,” I said. “Maggie. She’s not a ‘pack-approved match’ or part of some magic-strengthening scheme. She’s chaos and color and absolutely nothing like I was told I should want. And she’s everything to me.”

He let out a long breath. “So what do you want, Roman?”

“I want her. I want the city. I’ll help the pack, because I still care, but the idea of taking on the role of beta crushes my soul.

It’s not who I am. And the thought of rushing Maggie into a mating bond she isn’t ready for is something I’m not interested in.

She comes first. Then the pack. I’ll do anything else. But not that.”

I went on before he could interrupt. “I’m not a leader. I’m the one who sees the cracks before they spread. I notice when someone hasn’t shown up for dinner three nights in a row. I recognize when someone’s pretending to shift because they’re too ashamed to admit they can’t. That’s who I am.”

Lucien leaned back, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.

“I don’t want the power,” I said. “I want the connection. I want to live a life that actually feels like mine.”

He studied me for a long beat, then set his glass down beside the still-sickly glow of the tracker. “And that,” he said, “is exactly why I carved out a role for you two seasons ago.”

My brow furrowed. “What role?”

“Pack Integration Officer,” he said like it was obvious.

“A liaison between wolves like you—estranged, displaced, disillusioned—and the core pack structure. A bridge. A buffer. A translator between the old ways and the modern world. It’s not a seat of power.

It’s connection. You’d help wolves acclimate to life off-pack.

Get them housing, help with employment, teach them the rhythms. Paperwork, therapy, friendship.

You’d keep them from falling through the cracks. ”

“You want me to be the pack’s social worker?”

“I want you to be the glue,” Lucien said simply. “You’re already doing it without realizing it. You notice when someone’s missing. You recognize when they’re struggling. You see patterns before they turn into problems. That’s not weakness, Roman. That’s leadership most alphas can’t fake.”

I swallowed hard. “And you’d really trust me with that?”

“I would,” he said. “But first we have to make sure there’s still a pack to protect.”

He set his glass down, the tracker’s dim glow catching his eye again. His voice was quieter when he said, “And right now, connection is the one thing we don’t have. These readings are lower than they were this morning. I’ve failed my pack, Roman.”

Something in my chest went still. “You haven’t failed.”

“Haven’t I?” He tapped the side of the tracker. “All these new bonds sealed, and the ley lines don’t give a damn.”

And just like that, I knew. That morning when Maggie showed up in my hoodie, smelling like my bed, handing me breakfast with that easy smile. The spike on the tracker had been so sharp it nearly knocked me back. The hum of the magic had matched the steady beat in my chest.

It wasn’t the bond status that had done it. It was her. Us. Real. Unscripted.

“Lucien,” I said slowly, “I think I know what’s wrong.”

His gaze sharpened. “Go on.”

I told him about the spike. About Maggie. About how the device hadn’t reacted like that before or since. “It’s not about sealing a bond. The ley lines don’t care about performance. They respond to what’s real.”

His jaw ticked, and I knew he was already running that thought through the filter of his own history.

The pack hadn’t been the same since Philip died years ago.

In many ways, he’d been the one who kept us united, connected, full of hope and life.

He was the heartbeat in the middle of the chaos, the one who fostered true and lasting relationships between wolves who otherwise might never have trusted each other.

Lucien had always been a great alpha—strong, sharp, strategic—but those things weren’t his strong suit. Not like him.

And as much as he was probably right about fated mates’ magic lasting eternal, he’d never been the same either. Since losing her, he’d flitted from interaction to interaction, all charm and quick wit, never letting anyone see how empty he felt underneath.

Which was exactly why this mattered. If anyone understood the difference between the shell of a connection and the real thing, it was Lucien.

He studied me for a long moment. “You’re saying—”

“I’m saying if we want the wards stable, we can’t fake it. Not in ceremony, not in politics, not in bed. It has to be a real connection, real trust. The magic knows the difference. All of these forced bonds are a Hail Mary that the magic isn’t accepting.”

He sat back, considering.

“I want you to get the pack together tomorrow night,” I said. “Not for a mandate update. Bring them to the perimeter. No posturing. No pairing off because they’re told to. Just… connection. Talking. Sharing. Co-regulation. Remembering who we actually are to each other. All of us. You in?”

His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re asking me to throw a Kumbaya.”

“I’m asking you to give them a reason to care about each other again,” I said. “If I’m right, the magic will do the rest.”