07

Kai

I walked out of the bathroom before I could say anything else I'd regret.

The strange thing was, I'd gone in there with no real plan. Drew had mentioned she was awake and mobile, and something in my chest had tightened at the thought of her wandering around the compound in her condition. So I'd made up some excuse about checking on her recovery and walked straight into her bathroom like I had any right to be there.

I didn't even know her name then.

That was the part that bothered me most. In my twenty eight years, I'd never felt this pull toward someone I didn't know. Women weren't something I'd ever given much thought to, they were just people who existed in the periphery of my life. Necessary for continuing bloodlines, maybe, but not for me. Not for anything that mattered.

So why couldn't I stop thinking about the way she'd tried to cover herself? Why could I still see the fear in her eyes when she'd realized I was there?

I sat at my desk and tried to work, but it was useless. The paperwork blurred together. I couldn't focus on anything except the image of her in that bathroom, wet and vulnerable and somehow still defiant.

"Your father's here to see you."

I looked up at Drew, who stood in the doorway looking uncomfortable. Of course he was. My father's visits never ended well.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked.

Drew hesitated, which was answer enough. My father didn't wait for invitations. He did what he wanted, consequences be damned. That was the problem with him.

The door to my office burst open so hard it banged against the wall. I didn't even flinch.

"Easy on the furniture," I said flatly. "Some of us actually take care of our property."

My father laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that made my skin crawl. He dropped into the chair across from my desk like he still owned this place. Like he still owned me.

"Son," he started, and I already knew this was going to be a waste of time. "When are you going to settle down and find a mate? You're not getting any younger. This pack needs an heir."

There it was. The same conversation we'd had a hundred times before.

"I'm doing fine on my own," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "The pack is stable. We don't need an heir yesterday."

"You're not thinking about your future. What happens when you're old? What happens when someone stronger comes along and tries to take what you've built?"

My father had built nothing. He'd spent most of my childhood drunk, leaving me to figure out how to be an alpha on my own. And now he wanted to lecture me about responsibility? About securing the pack's future?

"A mate isn't a business transaction, Dad. And frankly, the last thing this pack needs is me forcing a bond with someone just to produce an heir."

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Then I'll give the title to your brother. He's been waiting for his chance, and frankly, he'd probably do a better job than you're doing."

The threat hung in the air between us. I could feel my wolf rising in response, angry, possessive, unwilling to back down. But I kept my voice steady.

"Is that all?"

"Think about it," he said, standing up. "You have a year. Find a mate, produce an heir, or lose everything you've worked for."

He left without waiting for a response, and I was left sitting in the silence of my own office, wondering when my life had become so complicated.

The paperwork still didn't make sense. I pushed it aside and tried to think. My father had been threatening to hand over the pack for years. It was an empty threat, mostly. But with a mate and an heir, at least there would be no argument. At least he'd have to stop trying to control me.

The idea of taking a mate made my skin crawl. But the alternative, losing the pack I'd spent the last five years building into something stable and strong, that wasn't an option.

"Send her in," I told Drew when he appeared in my doorway again.

I wasn't entirely sure why I said it. Part of me wanted her out of this house, out of my head, back to wherever she'd come from. But another part of me, the part I was trying very hard to ignore wanted to see her again.

When she walked into my office, I understood why I'd been so distracted.

She moved carefully, like she was still in pain, but there was a strength in the way she carried herself. Even with the bandage wrapped around her head and the hospital gown replaced with clean clothes, there was something about her that commanded attention.

"You look better," I said, keeping my tone professional, and old. "Once you're fully recovered, you should go. I've done my part. You're alive. We're even."

She twisted her hands together, and I noticed they were shaking slightly.

"Actually," she said, her voice steadier than her hands, "I was wondering if I could stay here for a while. Just until I figure out where to go next. I can help with chores or"

"No." The answer came out harsher than I intended, but I didn't correct myself. "I don't need anything from you. You need to leave."

"I want to repay you"

"You can't." I cut her off, standing up and moving to the window. Looking at her was making it harder to think clearly. "I didn't save you because I wanted payment. I saved you because that's what I do. I take care of people in my territory. But that doesn't mean you get to stay here."

I could feel her watching me, waiting for me to look at her. I didn't.

"Look," I said, turning back but keeping my gaze on the desk rather than her face, "you seem like a decent person. And whatever you're running from, I get it. But I can't have you here. You're a complication I don't need right now."

The truth was more complicated than that. I didn't need her here because being around her made me want things I'd spent years convincing myself I didn't want. Because every time I looked at her, I felt that strange pull again, that inexplicable sense of recognition that made no sense.

"Drew will help you get set up in one of the safe houses on the edge of pack territory," I continued, finally meeting her eyes. "You can stay there while you recover. Once you're strong enough to travel, you're free to go wherever you need to."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she just nodded instead.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and something in her voice made my chest tight.

"Don't thank me," I said. "Just leave."

After she was gone, I sat alone in my office and tried to convince myself I'd made the right call. Having her here was impossible, complicated and everything I didn't need.

But as I stared out the window at the forest beyond my territory, I knew I was lying to myself.

She was already under my skin. And letting her go might be the biggest mistake I ever made.