Chapter 16

Cora's POV

I try not to think about him.

That’s the problem, I’m failing.

It starts small. The way my chest tightens when I hear his voice before I see him. The way my attention drifts, uninvited, whenever he enters a room. I tell myself it’s gratitude. Respect. Safety.

But gratitude doesn’t make my pulse jump.

Eric Williams is careful with me.

Not distant, just measured. Like he’s aware of every step he takes around me, every word. And somehow that makes it worse. It makes every glance feel intentional. Every quiet moment charged.

Hannah notices before I do.

She’s sitting across from me at breakfast, swinging her legs under the table, watching me poke at my food without eating much.

“You’re doing it again,” she says casually.

“Doing what?”

She grins. “That thing where you pretend you’re not staring.”

I nearly choke. “I’m not staring.”

“Mm-hmm.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve looked at my brother seven times in the last two minutes.”

Heat floods my face. “That’s not—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts, clearly delighted. “He’s objectively attractive. I’ve accepted that.”

“I don’t like him like that,” I insist.

She raises a brow. “You don’t have to lie to me, Cora.”

I push my chair back. “I’m going to train.”

“Sure you are,” she sings.

Training doesn’t help.

Eric corrects my stance, his hand hovering near my waist before pulling back, choosing distance instead of contact. The restraint in that single motion does something sharp and confusing to my chest.

“You’re distracted,” he says quietly.

I swallow. “Sorry.”

His gaze lingers a moment longer than necessary. “Focus on your breathing.”

I do. Or I try to.

Later that night, Hannah drags me to my first pack party.

It’s loud. Warm. Alive.

Music pulses through the air, laughter echoing between pack members who move with easy familiarity. Someone presses a drink into my hand before I can protest.

Hannah beams. “You’re twenty. It’s time.”

I eye the glass suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Something mild,” she lies.

It burns on the way down.

The second one tastes better.

The third makes everything fuzzy and light.

I laugh more than I mean to. Dance when I normally wouldn’t. The world softens around the edges, and for once, I feel free, I feel like my age.

I see Eric across the room.

He’s watching me.

Not in an Alpha way. Not in a protective way.

In a way that makes my stomach flip.

I wave at him.

Immediately regret it.

He smiles anyway.

Hannah appears at my side minutes later, eyes sharp despite her relaxed posture. “Okay, that’s enough for you.”

“I’m fine,” I slur.

“You’re adorable,” she corrects, steering me away. “But very drunk.”

The walk home blurs. The night air feels cool against my flushed skin. By the time we reach the stairs, my legs feel like they belong to someone else.

“I can do it,” I insist, trying to climb.

I trip.

The world tilts.

And suddenly I’m not falling.

Strong arms catch me mid-stumble, pulling me upright with ease. I blink up, disoriented.

Eric.

His hands are firm at my waist, steady, grounding. He smells like the forest and something warm beneath it.

“Careful,” he says softly.

I giggle. “You’re very… tall.”

Hannah snorts. “I’m going to pretend I don’t see this,” she says cheerfully, backing away. “Goodnight!”

“Wait—” I start.

She’s already gone.

Eric sighs quietly. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“I can walk,” I insist.

“You almost didn’t.”

He helps me up the stairs slowly, patiently. Every step feels monumental. When we reach the landing, I turn to him, suddenly serious.

“You’re very nice to me,” I say.

His expression softens. “You deserve kindness.”

I frown, thinking hard. “You say that like it’s obvious.”

“It is.”

Emotion swells unexpectedly, hot and overwhelming. “No one ever thought so before.”

He goes very still.

Before I can stop myself, I lean forward and kiss him.

It’s clumsy. My first kiss. Soft. Unplanned.

His breath catches.

For half a heartbeat, he doesn’t move—then his hand comes up, cupping my cheek, grounding me even as he gently pulls back.

“Cora,” he murmurs. “You’re drunk.”

“I know,” I say honestly. “But I wanted to.”

His thumb brushes my skin, feather-light. “I want you to remember this.”

I nod, suddenly sleepy. “I think I will.”

He helps me to my room, tucks me into bed like I’m something precious instead of broken. As he turns to leave, I catch his sleeve.

“Eric?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you found me.”

His smiles.

“So am I,” he says.

And for the first time since everything fell apart

I fall asleep smiling.

I wake up with a headache.

Not the sharp, stabbing kind, more like a dull throb that pulses behind my eyes every time I move. For a few blissful seconds, I stay still, cocooned in warmth, staring at the ceiling while my mind drifts lazily.

Then memory crashes in.

The party.

The drinks.

The stairs.

Eric.

Oh gods.

I sit bolt upright, clutching the blanket to my chest as heat floods my face. My heart starts racing like I’ve just shifted mid-sprint.

I kissed him.

I kissed Eric.

My brain helpfully supplies every horrifying detail.........how close he was, how his hands felt steady and warm, how I leaned in without thinking. How soft his mouth was before he pulled back.

I groan and drop back onto the bed, pressing my hands over my face.

What was I thinking?

The answer is obvious and deeply embarrassing.

I wasn’t.

I stayed in my room longer than necessary, hoping.......ridiculously.......that if I didn’t leave, the moment would somehow erase itself. That Eric would forget. That Hannah wouldn’t remember. That I wouldn’t have to face the consequences of my own reckless heart.

Eventually, hunger forces me up.

I dress quickly, avoiding mirrors, and slip out into the hallway like a criminal. Every sound makes me jump. Every scent makes my pulse spike.

I make it halfway down the stairs before I sense him.

Not hear. Not see.

Feel.

My steps falter.

“Cora.”

I freeze.

There’s no irritation in his voice. No teasing. Just calm certainty—like he already knows I’m trying to disappear.

I turn slowly.

Eric stands at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed loosely, green eyes focused on me with quiet intensity. He looks… normal. Composed. Which somehow makes this worse.

“I was just......” I begin, then stop, because lying feels pointless. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For last night,” I blurt. “I shouldn’t have....... I was drunk, and I crossed a line, and I totally understand if you want to pretend it never happened.....”

“Cora,” he interrupts gently. “Breathe.”

I do. Barely.

“I’m not upset,” he says. “But you’ve been avoiding me all morning.”

My cheeks burn. “I thought it would be easier.”

“For who?”

I don’t answer.

He gestures toward the sitting room. “Come sit with me.”

I hesitate, then nod.

We sit across from each other, the space between us charged but not uncomfortable. He doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t rush. Just waits.

“I like you,” he says finally.

The words hit me harder than the kiss did.

“I’ve liked you for a while,” he continues. “And what happened last night didn’t upset me. But I won’t pretend it didn’t matter.”

My fingers twist together in my lap. “I didn’t mean to make things complicated.”

“They already were,” he says quietly. “And that’s okay.”

I risk a glance at him. His expression is open. Honest. There’s no pressure in his gaze—just patience.

“I know you’ve been through something with your mate,” he adds carefully. “I’m not here to replace that. Or rush you. Or expect anything you’re not ready to give.”

My throat tightens.

“But,” he says, meeting my eyes, “hiding from me won’t help either of us.”

I swallow. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never… liked someone like this before.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “That makes two of us.”

I blink. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

"But your mate......."

"We weren't like that. it's complicated. I'll tell you later"

Silence stretches, but it’s softer now.

“I think,” I say slowly, choosing my words carefully, “I might have a crush on you.”

His smile this time is unmistakable.

“That’s usually how it starts,” he says.

My heart stumbles. “You’re not… disappointed?”

“Not even a little.”

Relief floods me so fast it makes me dizzy.

“We can take this slow,” he continues. “No expectations. No pressure. Just honesty.”

I nod. “I’d like that.”

He stands, offering me his hand—not demanding, just there. I take it, surprised by how natural it feels.

“How do you feel about dinner?” he asks. “Just the two of us. Somewhere quiet.”

“A date?” I ask, half-teasing, half-terrified.

He smiles. “If you want to call it that.”

I hesitate only a second before nodding. “I think I do.”

Something warm settles in my chest—not the blazing pull of a bond, not the ache of rejection.

Just hope.

And for the first time in a long while, that feels like enough.