Chapter 9

THERESSA’S POV

The strange thing about fear is how quietly it lingers.

You imagine it will leave once the danger is gone—after the shouting stops, after the threat disappears, after the person who hurt you walks away. But fear doesn’t obey logic. It slips into the cracks of your thoughts and waits. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it shouts.

And sometimes… it becomes the silence between your breaths.

That’s what today feels like.

A quiet kind of fear.

A fear I’m trying to ignore.

A fear I’m pretending I can handle.

But Lyon sees everything too clearly.

As the motorcycle speeds through the cool afternoon air, I can’t help gripping his jacket tighter than I intended. My arms are wrapped around his waist like I’m afraid of falling—even though I know he would never let that happen.

It’s humiliating how safe I feel.

I hate it.

I need it.

I don’t know what to do with it.

His voice cuts gently through the wind.

“Your heartbeat’s fast.”

Of course he’d notice.

I look down at his back, cheeks heating. “It’s the wind.”

“It’s not,” he says simply.

Annoyingly direct.

Annoyingly accurate.

I rest my forehead lightly against his shoulder to avoid answering. He doesn’t say anything after that, but I can feel the way his body shifts—the almost imperceptible tightening of his grip on the handlebars, the subtle awareness rolling off him in waves.

Like he’s silently telling me it’s okay to feel whatever I’m feeling.

I hate that he can read me.

I hate that he can hear what my heart refuses to hide.

But I also… don’t want him to stop.

---

When we finally arrive at the parking lot near my house, Lyon cuts the engine. Everything goes still except for the heavy sound of my own breathing.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t turn around.

He’s waiting for me to let go first.

My arms loosen slowly, reluctantly, and I step off the bike. The moment my feet touch the ground, I feel strangely unsteady, like leaving the safety of his hold has disrupted something inside me.

Lyon gets off the bike and stands in front of me. The fading sunlight catches in his eyes—stormy gray, focused, unreadable. He studies me for a moment, not with judgment, but with a calm intensity that makes my lungs tighten.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he says.

I try to laugh it off. “Am I ever ‘not quiet’?”

“Today is different.”

He takes a step closer—not enough to invade my space, but enough to make my heart react before my brain can think.

“Did someone say something to you again?” he asks.

“No.”

“Someone looked at you wrong?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” he presses softly.

I swallow.

Because the truth is… it’s not the girls.

Not the whispers.

Not Brian.

It’s the bond.

It’s him.

The way being near him makes everything sharper and softer at the same time. The way my body reacts before I consciously choose what to feel. The way his presence wraps around me like something I didn’t ask for but can’t push away.

But I can’t say that.

Not without sounding pathetic.

Not without admitting too much.

So instead, I look away.

“Everything just feels… heavy,” I whisper. “That’s all.”

Lyon’s expression softens. Slowly. Carefully.

He lifts his hand as if to touch my shoulder, then hesitates—giving me time to pull back.

I don’t.

His fingertips brush lightly against my arm, barely there, but warm enough to send a shiver up my spine.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” he murmurs. “You know that, right?”

I inhale shakily. “I’m trying to.”

“I know,” he says. “But you don’t need to try so hard.”

My chest tightens. I force myself to meet his gaze.

“I don’t want to depend on you,” I say quietly.

He blinks once, as if my words catch him off guard.

“Why?”

Because I don’t want to be weak.

Because I don’t want to lose myself.

Because I don’t want to need someone who could break me with a single decision—even if he swears he never will.

But mostly…

Mostly because I’m terrified of what I already feel.

I chew my bottom lip. “Because it’s dangerous.”

“For who?” he asks gently. “You? Or me?”

The question sinks into my skin like a needle.

I don’t answer.

He sighs softly, dropping his hand. “You won’t become weaker by letting someone care about you, Theressa. If anything… it makes you stronger.”

“Not if I’m the only one who feels it,” I whisper.

His eyes darken. “You think I don’t care?”

I freeze.

The wind moves through the trees.

A dog barks in the distance.

Everything else is silent.

“You’re my mate,” he says quietly. “I feel everything.”

My heart stumbles in my chest.

I take a step back, shaking my head. “Don’t say it like that. Don’t make it sound like my feelings are predetermined—like I have no choice.”

His expression shifts—pain flashing through it so quickly I almost miss it.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, that’s what it sounds like,” I say, heat creeping into my voice. “Like I’m supposed to accept all of this just because some goddess decided it.”

“It's not about fate alone,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s about us. About what we—”

“No,” I cut in, voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady. “You always say ‘mate’ like it cancels everything else out. Like you don’t have to earn my trust. Or my feelings.”

A long, tense silence settles between us.

Lyon looks down, jaw tight, as if he’s processing my words with more care than anyone ever has.

And when he lifts his gaze again, something inside him has changed.

Softened.

Shifted.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

The apology shocks me more than any growl or glare ever could.

“I don’t want you to choose me because of a bond,” he continues. “I want you to choose me because you want to. Because being with me feels right. Because I make you feel… safe.”

My lips part.

He takes a breath, steadying himself before saying something even softer—

“And I want you to know that your fear doesn’t push me away. It makes me want to be better for you.”

Something warm, sharp, and overwhelming spreads through my chest so fast I have to look away.

Because if I look at him too long…

I’ll give in.

I’ll fall.

And I’m not ready for that.

He notices my silence and steps back, giving me space I didn’t know I needed until he offered it.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he says. “Same time.”

I nod weakly. “Okay.”

“Rest, Theressa.”

He turns away, heading back to his bike. But before he gets on, he glances over his shoulder—just briefly, just enough that our eyes meet one last time.

There’s no anger there.

No frustration.

Just a quiet protectiveness that feels dangerously close to something deeper.

When he finally rides off, the silence around me feels too big.

Too empty.

And the strangest part?

I miss him before he even turns the corner.

---

Back in my room, I collapse onto my bed, pressing a hand to my chest.

My heart still races.

Not from fear.

Not from Ryan.

Not from the whispers.

But from him.

From the way he said I want you to choose me.

From the sincerity I didn’t expect.

From the vulnerability I never imagined an Alpha could show.

I close my eyes.

This bond…

This pull…

This feeling…

It isn’t going away.

If anything, it’s growing louder.

And even though I’m scared,

even though I keep telling myself I shouldn’t fall—

a quiet part of me wonders what would happen if I stopped fighting it.

If I let myself trust him.

If I let myself want him.

If I let myself choose him.

The thought terrifies me.

But the possibility?

It warms me more than anything has in a long, long time.