Page 20 of When Two Worlds Collide (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #1)

“Your pack might fracture over this alliance,” I say quietly.

“Some will resist change.” Zane’s jaw clenches. “They’ll be convinced or they’ll be disciplined.”

“And if too many resist? If Marcus leads them?”

His silver eyes meet mine. “Then I face a challenge.”

The thought sends panic coursing through me. “Over helping settlements? Over preventing a massacre? ”

“Over allowing civilized influence to affect pack decisions.” His gaze holds mine. “Over the scent of the fire panther that clings to their alpha.”

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thin. Neither of us acknowledges what grows between us, yet it influences everything.

“This can’t continue,” I whisper. “Your position—your safety—depends on maintaining distance.”

“Distance.” He says the word like it tastes bitter. “When every instinct demands proximity.”

“Instinct doesn’t dictate duty,” I argue, though my body betrays me with its response to his nearness.

“Doesn’t it?” He moves closer, eliminating the careful space between us. “What drives your protection of settlements? What pushed you to race through darkness to warn Clearwater Crossing?”

“Responsibility. Compassion.”

“Instinct,” he counters. “The drive to protect what matters.”

“And what matters to you, Alpha Blackthorn?” I challenge, refusing to retreat, though my heart pounds against my ribs. “Your pack? Your territory? Your independence from civilization’s corruption?”

“All of those.” His voice deepens. “And increasingly, something else.”

The admission hangs between us, dangerous and exhilarating.

“We can’t,” I whisper, though I don’t move away. “This compromises everything—your authority, my credibility, the peace we’re building.”

“I know.” His hand rises, fingers stopping just short of touching my face. “Yet here we stand.”

The mate bond pulses between us, no longer a subtle suggestion but a demanding presence. My control fractures with each passing second.

“Your warriors will rebel,” I remind him, my voice unsteady. “The council will question every decision I make.”

“Politics,” he growls, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Always politics instead of truth.”

“The politics keep people alive,” I counter. “Keep your pack safe from Alliance forces. Keep settlements protected from bears.”

“And what keeps you safe, Ember?” His use of my name rather than title breaches another barrier. “What protects you from this?”

His hand finally makes contact, fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness. The touch ignites fire beneath my skin, the bond flaring like a supernova between us.

“Nothing,” I admit, the word barely audible.

We both know where this leads. We’ve been here before—that night in his tent, bodies pressed together, control shattered. But that was before the mate bond. Before we understood what drew us together with such violent intensity.

“We swore it was just adrenaline,” I whisper, even as I lean into his touch.

“We lied.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “Even then, we knew.”

“It’s worse now.” My voice breaks. “The bond makes it... impossible.”

“I know.” His other hand frames my face. “I’ve tried to forget. That night. The taste of you. The sounds you made.”

“Don’t.” But my hands are already gripping his wrists, not to push away but to hold him there.

“All these meetings. Negotiations. Neutral ground.” His forehead drops to rest against mine. “All of it pretense. All of it fighting this.”

“The pretense keeps people alive,” I argue weakly.

“The pretense is killing us.” His breath ghosts across my lips. “I can feel it in the bond. The pain of denial. Getting worse each day.”

He’s right. The ache has become constant, a hollow burning that intensifies whenever we’re apart.

“Last time we stopped,” I remind him. “We were strong enough to stop.”

“Last time we didn’t know.” His lips brush mine, barely a contact. “Now we know exactly what we’re denying. What we’re fighting. What it costs.”

“Knowing makes it worse,” I breathe against his mouth.

“Yes.”

This kiss is nothing like our first—no violence, no battle for dominance. This is surrender. Mutual destruction. We both know exactly what we’re doing, what lines we’re crossing, what we’re risking.

And we’re too exhausted from fighting it to care.

His mouth claims mine with desperate hunger, weeks of denial pouring into this moment. I moan into the kiss, my body recognizing its mate with painful relief. My hands tangle in his hair as he backs me against my desk, lifting me onto its surface.

“We can’t do this again,” I gasp when he moves to my throat, finding the spot where he almost marked me that night in his tent. “Last time almost destroyed your authority. The questions, the suspicions?—”

“Let them question.” He bites me down and I see stars. “I’m tired of pretending you’re just another diplomat.”

My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. “The council?— ”

“Fuck the council.” His hands slide under my formal jacket. “Fuck the pack. Fuck everyone who keeps us apart.”

The raw honesty breaks something in me. “I can’t be your mate,” I sob even as I arch into his touch. “I can’t give up everything I am.”

“I know.” He kisses me again, softer now, tasting the salt of tears I didn’t realize were falling. “I know, wildfire. Neither can I.”

The pet name—when did he start thinking of me that way?—shatters my last defense. We’re both breathing hard, hands roaming, bodies pressed together like we can merge through sheer will.

Then footsteps in the corridor. Reality crashes back.

I shove him away, sliding off the desk on unsteady legs. We stand apart, chests heaving, clothes disheveled, the taste of each other making everything worse.

“This changes nothing,” I lie, straightening my jacket with shaking hands.

“It changes everything.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Just like last time.”

“Last time we pretended it didn’t happen.”

“And how did that work?” He laughs bitterly. “I still feel your claws on my back. Still hear you calling my name. Still wake up reaching for you.”

“Stop.” I wrap my arms around myself. “Please. Just... stop.”

The footsteps pass by. We’re alone again, but the spell is broken.

“I should go,” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

“You always run.” There’s no accusation in it, just tired acceptance. “Just like that night.”

“Because staying means destroying everything.” I finally look at him—hair wild from my hands, lips swollen, eyes dark with the same desperate hunger eating me alive. “Your pack. My position. The peace we’re building.”

“I know.” He turns toward the door, then pauses. “But Ember? We can’t keep denying this. The bond won’t let us. We’re dying by degrees.”

He leaves before I can respond. I sink into my chair, touching my lips, feeling the echo of his mouth on mine.

We’ve crossed the line again. And this time, with the mate bond screaming for completion, I don’t know if we’re strong enough to keep running from what we both need.