CHAPTER 8

JAYDEN

We stepped into our room and I closed the door behind us.

For a second, I couldn’t even look at her.

I turned my back, stared at the wall, and tried to keep the rage down. Tried to find air in lungs that felt like they’d been crushed for hours.

And all I could see… was Gabriel holding my son.

My son.

The same boy who’s never clung to me when I left for business.

Who never smiled when I came home after long days.

Never ran into my arms like he missed me.

Like I was just... there.

A presence in the house. A figure in the background.

Like I was a stranger to my own son.

The one who looked at another man and said Daddy—and meant it.

I clenched my fists so tight it felt like my bones would crack.

“Jayden,” she said carefully, behind me.

I exhaled once. Then turned.

“You remember that night,” I said quietly. “After you brought Abriel home from the mall.”

She frowned slightly. “What about it?”

“I heard the conversation you had with him that night. In his room. I heard... everything.”

Her face froze.

“I heard him call Gabriel Daddy. And I waited for you to tell me. I thought you would.”

“But you didn’t,” I said. “And I let it go. I let it slide because I thought maybe you were hurting. Maybe you were confused. Maybe you didn’t want me to hurt me.”

I took a breath. “And I understood that. I did.”

Her lips parted. She didn’t speak.

I swallowed, jaw clenched. “I then watched him in Gabriel's hands like… like Gabriel was the one he trusted. Like Gabriel was the one who held him through the worst nights.

Her eyes filled, but I wasn’t done.

“Do you know how hard I worked just to make that boy smile?” My voice cracked. “How many times I stood outside his room, praying to the Moon Goddess he’d make a sound? A word? A damn giggle?”

I laughed bitterly. “He finally speaks… and it’s not for me. It’s not me. It’s Gabriel.”

Her voice broke. “Jayden—”

“No,” I cut in, voice sharp. “I held it in. I said nothing. I told myself it was a mistake. Maybe he was confused. Maybe it was just a word. But now… after tonight? You expect me to believe this is all a coincidence?”

She stepped closer. “I don’t know what to believe either. I’m trying to—”

“He vanished, Catriona,” I snapped. “Vanished into an elevator, showed up two towns over, in Gabriel’s house. Alone. Unseen. Like a damn ghost. I don’t care what kind of magic we think we understand—this is something else.”

Her lips trembled, and for the first time tonight, she didn’t fight back.

“I don’t want to be this guy,” I said, softer now. “I don’t want to be the angry alpha, or the jealous mate, or the father who yells when he’s hurting. But you have to understand what this feels like for me.”

I sat on the edge of the bed again, resting my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it might give me answers.

“I’m scared, Catriona.”

The words barely made it out of my throat.

“I’m scared I’m losing my son. And I’m scared I already lost you.”

She knelt in front of me, her hands trembling as they rested on my knees.

“You haven’t lost me,” she said, voice raw. “You haven’t. And if you’re scared… then we face it together.”

I looked at her.

Her eyes—gods, those eyes—held nothing but the truth.

But truth didn’t fix what I felt.

My son called another man Daddy.

And a part of me shattered.

Catriona sat beside me on the bed, close enough for her warmth to bleed into me, but I still couldn’t look at her.

“I know where this is coming from,” she said quietly.

I didn’t speak.

She took a breath, shaky but controlled. “Abriel… he’s been having dreams. Not nightmares. Not the normal kind. The old guardians—those that used to visit me—they’ve been coming to him.”

I turned to her slowly, unsure I heard her right.

“Wait—what?”

“They’ve been talking to him in his sleep,” she said, eyes on her hands. “One of them’s been telling him that Gabriel is his father.”

My stomach twisted.

“But,” she added quickly, “my instincts… they’re screaming that it’s not the same old guardian that used to visit me. It feels… off. Like someone is pretending to be one of them. Someone who wants to separate us. Someone who doesn’t want us to be together. I just… I don’t understand why they’d plant lies in my child’s head.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because the thought had already crossed my mind—and worse.

What if it’s not a lie?

What if the spirits knew something we didn’t? Something buried, hidden? They weren’t bound by time or emotion. They didn’t protect feelings—they told what was and what would be.

And that’s when the fear came crawling back in.

What if they were right?

What if I’d been loving a boy that wasn’t mine?

I didn’t say it.

I didn’t have to.

She saw it on my face.

“Don’t even think about that, Jayden,” she snapped, sharp and certain, like she’d ripped the thought right out of my skull. “Abriel is your son. He’s our son. Yours. And mine.”

Her voice cracked.

She stood up, pacing in front of me.

“Why do they always do this?” she hissed, voice rising. “Why do they have to ruin everything I touch? I thought they were gone, Jayden. I thought they left. But no—they didn’t just hover over me anymore. They circled around my son. They whispered lies into his mind like he was theirs to manipulate.”

She turned toward me, her whole body trembling now, and her eyes were glossy and broken.

“I should’ve told you everything,” she whispered.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to put that weight on you. I thought I was protecting us—protecting you—but I only made it worse.”

She sank to her knees in front of me again, hands on my thighs, her forehead leaning into my chest.

“I swear to you,” she cried, “I didn’t go back to him. It wasn’t like that. I ran into him by accident. I didn’t want to see him, Jayden. You have to believe me. I didn’t want to feel anything. I didn’t even want to look at him. Because all I’ve ever wanted was you. Just you.”

I looked down at her.

This woman—my mate.

Torn open. Crying. Still trying to protect me even while she bled guilt at my feet.

I could feel every ounce of her pain as if it were stitched to my own chest.

I reached out—slowly—and brushed a tear from her cheek with my thumb. She leaned into the touch like it was the first bit of air she’d had all night.

The woman I loved with every piece of me was breaking.

And all I could think was…

How do I put her back together… when I’m broken too?

She was shaking against me, her fingers curled in the fabric of my pants, her forehead pressed to my chest like she wanted to crawl inside and disappear.

The woman I’d kill for.

The woman I’d die for.

Falling apart like this because of me.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I slid off the bed and dropped to my knees, leveling with her. My hands cradled her face, and I lifted her tear-streaked gaze to mine.

“I believe you,” I said softly.

Her lips trembled. Her breath hitched.

“I believe you,” I repeated. “And I’m sorry too.”

That was all it took.

She surged forward into my arms, burying herself in my chest, wrapping around me like she was drowning and I was the only thing keeping her from slipping under.

We stayed like that for a moment. Breathing. Reconnecting. Rebuilding.

And then the shift.

That familiar pull.

That magnetic burn that always lived between us.

Even after everything.

Especially after everything.

Her lips brushed my neck—barely a whisper—but it lit something inside me. Something feral. Something ours.

I pulled back just enough to see her eyes.

She nodded.

And that was all I needed.

I kissed her.

Hard.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was desperate. Bruised. A plea and an apology wrapped in every flick of tongue and clash of teeth.

She kissed me back like she was starving.

My hands slid down her back, gripping her hips as I lifted her effortlessly, standing and pressing her against the wall. Her legs wrapped around me without hesitation, and her breath hitched as our bodies aligned like they always had—perfectly, dangerously, beautifully.

“I need you,” she whispered against my mouth.

“You have me,” I growled.

I carried her to the bed, laying her down like she was something sacred. And maybe she was. Maybe this—this fire, this pull, this love—was the only sacred thing I had left.

Clothes came off in pieces—rushed, frantic, like they were in the way of something bigger.

When I entered her, she gasped like she’d just been pulled from deep water.

I stilled.

“Look at me,” I said, voice hoarse.

She did.

Eyes locked. Souls bared.

We moved together slowly at first. Letting the heat simmer beneath the pain. Letting the tears and anger melt into each roll of hips and soft moans.

But then it built—fast, consuming. Our rhythm turned primal. My hands gripped her thighs tighter. Her nails scored my back, dragging cries from her lips that only I’d ever heard.

No one knew this part of her. No one could.

She was mine.

And I was hers.

Always.

Our bodies crashed again and again, and when her release came, she broke beneath me, sobbing my name into my skin like a prayer.

I followed—groaning into her neck, every pulse of pleasure grounding me in her. In us.

When it was over, we didn’t move.

We lay tangled in sweat, breathless and silent, our hearts still racing. Her head rested on my chest, one hand drawing lazy circles over my ribs.

I ran my fingers through her hair and closed my eyes.

For now, at this moment, everything was still.

Everything was okay.