DID YOU FEEL IT TOO

CHAPTER 30

I could have lied.

Instead, with my wolf rising inside me like a tide, I whispered the only honest thing I had.

"Yes."

Roman closed his eyes.

It lasted half a second. When he opened them, something in his expression had changed.

"Yes," he repeated.

"Yes."

"You're certain?"

"I'm certain about what I felt." My voice shook. "I don't understand it. But I felt it."

He released a long, unsteady breath.

"I thought I was losing my mind."

"You were standing in a garden at two in the morning without a coat."

"I noticed that, too."

A laugh escaped me, but it caught in my throat.

"How long?"

"Since this evening. Since Sable gave us the results." He rubbed his jaw. "I told myself it was stress. Everything we've discovered, Edric disappearing, the possibility that someone deliberately brought you here."

"So did I."

"And?"

"It didn't work."

"No." A faint smile touched his mouth. "It wouldn't."

I watched him carefully.

He was holding himself with the same restraint I'd seen when he wanted to take control of a situation but knew I wouldn't allow it.

"Do you regret asking me?" I asked.

"No."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly. I'd rather know what you're feeling than have you hide it from me."

He looked directly into my eyes.

"But I won't pretend knowing makes everything easy."

"I wouldn't believe you if you did."

"Good."

The garden fell quiet around us.

My wolf wasn't quiet.

She had stopped pushing against my ribs and settled into a stillness that felt more certain than anything I'd experienced since arriving at Blackthorn.

Mate.

I swallowed.

"Roman, is it real? Or is it something you want it to be?"

His expression tightened.

"Mira"

"Please. I need an honest answer."

He didn't interrupt again.

"You've been alone for a long time," I continued. "I know what grief can do to someone. I know how easily a person can reach for something warm when everything else hurts."

"You think that's what this is?"

"I think it's possible."

He considered the question rather than dismissing it.

"I considered it, too."

The admission hurt, although I'd asked for it.

"And?"

"I've been lonely before. I know what that feels like." He glanced toward the darkened windows of the mansion. "Loneliness makes you want company. It makes you want someone beside you when the house feels empty."

He looked back at me.

"This feels different. I don't know why. I don't know whether it's the bond your wolf is sensing, something connected to your Moonborn nature, or something neither of us understands yet."

My throat tightened.

"But I know I don't want to dismiss it simply because I'm afraid of getting it wrong."

I stared at him.

"That's still not an answer."

"It's the truest one I have."

I drew a breath.

"Then there's something else you need to understand. I won't be a replacement for Lyra."

He went very still.

"I won't stand beside you while you're still trying to turn me into someone you lost. I won't compete with a memory I can never change."

"You're not a replacement for her."

"You say that now."

"Mira"

"I need you to understand what I'm asking."

I forced myself to meet his eyes.

"I know you loved her. I know she died, and I know that loss is still part of you. I'm not asking you to erase her. I'm asking whether there's room in your life for me to be someone different."

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he answered.

"I loved Lyra. That doesn't stop being true because of what happened tonight."

The words hurt exactly as much as I'd feared.

"I won't insult you by pretending I've finished grieving," he continued. "I haven't. I don't know whether grief ever disappears completely."

He stepped closer, then stopped when he saw my shoulders tense.

"But what I felt for her doesn't decide what I can feel for you. I don't want to confuse the two, and I don't want you to believe you have to compete with her."

I searched his face.

"Then what are you saying?"

"That I don't have everything figured out. That I'm afraid of hurting you. And that I don't want fear to become an excuse for pretending this isn't happening."

I looked away.

"That's not tidy."

"No."

"It's not what I wanted to hear."

"I know."

"It's also not a lie."

"I wouldn't lie to you."

My wolf stirred.

He is afraid.

I knew that already.

What frightened me was how much I wanted him to stop being afraid and tell me exactly what I wanted to hear.

"You haven't said what we are," I whispered.

His shoulders tightened.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to name something I don't fully understand just to make tonight easier."

"That's not the whole reason."

He looked at the ground.

For a moment, he seemed to be fighting with words he wasn't accustomed to saying.

"There's a difference between what I feel and what I can promise you," he said finally. "I know I'm drawn to you. I know I care about what happens to you. And I know I don't want to use the bond or whatever this is as a reason to rush you into something you're not ready for."

"And what about what you're ready for?"

He looked at me.

"I'm still working that out."

At least he didn't pretend otherwise.

"Fine," I said quietly. "Then tell me what happens now."

"I don't know."

I gave him a tired look.

"That's it?"

"That's it." He spread his hands. "I don't know what the council will say. I don't know what happens to our contract if we discover the selection process was manipulated. I don't know how to navigate this connection while I'm still grieving."

He paused.

"But I know I won't use the bond to demand anything from you."

The words settled between us.

"That's terrifying," I admitted.

"It is."

"You're supposed to be the one with a plan."

"I know."

He almost smiled.

"I'm beginning to suspect you prefer me when I have one."

"I prefer you when you don't act like every problem can be solved by giving an order."

"Fair enough."

The small exchange eased something inside me.

I wasn't ready to forgive every mistake he'd made. I wasn't even sure I understood what was happening between us.

But for once, I didn't feel as though I had to pretend to be less frightened than I was.

"I'm not going to ask you to say it," I told him.

His expression softened.

"You don't have to."

"I want you to. But I'm not going to ask."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet."

"I'm not." He hesitated before holding out his hand, palm upward. "Mira."

I looked at it.

"I'm not asking you to make a decision tonight," he said. "I just don't want you to feel that you have to face this alone."

"A hand?"

"A hand."

I placed mine in his.

Warmth traveled up my arm.

His fingers closed around mine carefully, almost reverently, and my wolf settled again.

"I'm scared," I admitted.

"So am I."

"What if tomorrow everything falls apart?"

"It might."

I stared at him.

"That is a terrible reassurance."

"It's an honest one."

His thumb moved over my knuckles.

"Things have already changed. We can't undo what we discovered, and we can't pretend we didn't feel what we felt. But we don't have to answer every question tonight."

"We don't?"

"No."

He glanced toward the moonlit sky.

"We can stand here for a minute without trying to solve our entire future."

"Without arguing?"

"Without arguing."

"That's ambitious."

"I've been told I have ambitious tendencies."

This time, my laugh came more easily.

"One minute," I said.

"One minute."

We stood together in the cold garden, neither of us pretending the future was simple.

For the first time that night, I allowed myself to feel the connection without immediately trying to explain it away.

My wolf curled into a quiet, watchful stillness.

Then something changed.

A sudden pull tightened through my chest.

I gasped.

Heat flooded my veins, bright and unfamiliar, as though a door inside me had opened without warning.

"Mira?"

Roman's hand tightened around mine.

"Something's happening."

"What is it?"

"I don't know."

I pressed my free hand against my chest.

The warmth spread beneath my skin, moving faster than I could follow. It wasn't pain, exactly. It was closer to recognition something responding to a call I hadn't heard.

My wolf rose.

Not frightened.

Awake.

"Mira." Roman's voice sharpened. "Look at me."

I lifted my head.

He was staring at my face.

"What?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

"Roman?"

His expression had lost every trace of composure.

"Your eyes."

I blinked.

"What about them?"

"They're changing."

I stepped back instinctively.

"Changing how?"

He released my hand, not roughly, but with the care of someone afraid that the smallest movement might make something worse.

"Look at me," he repeated.

I did.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then I caught my reflection in the dark glass of the nearby window.

My eyes were silver.

Not the ordinary reflection of moonlight in brown irises. The silver seemed to come from within, faint at first, then brightening until the color was unmistakable.

I stumbled backward.

"No."

Roman caught my arm.

I pulled away, staring at the glass.

"That's not possible."

"I know what I'm seeing."

"It's a trick of the light."

"The moon is behind you."

My breath came too quickly.

I touched my face, then looked at my fingers as though they might explain what was happening.

Nothing.

Only skin.

Only me.

Except my eyes were no longer the eyes I'd known all my life.

"Is it the mate bond?" I whispered.

"I don't know."

"The Moonborn blood?"

"I don't know that either."

I turned toward him.

"How can you not know?"

"Because neither of us has ever seen this happen before."

His honesty frightened me more than a confident answer would have.

The silver light faded slightly, but it didn't disappear.

My wolf remained awake, watching from somewhere deep inside me.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

Roman looked at me as though he were trying to memorize every detail.

"I don't know," he said again. "But I don't think we should ignore it."

Before I could answer, a howl split the night.

It came from beyond the garden wall.

I froze.

The sound wasn't a familiar Blackthorn call. It was deeper, longer, and strangely deliberate.

Another howl answered it from farther away.

Roman moved in front of me, his attention fixed on the darkness beyond the estate.

"Stay close," he said, then stopped himself.

He glanced back at me.

"Will you stay close?"

The question caught me off guard.

"Yes."

He nodded and turned toward the wall.

The first howl came again.

Closer this time.

My wolf lifted her head inside me.

And beneath the fear, beneath the confusion, I felt something I couldn't explain.

Recognition.

Not of the voice.

Of the warning.

Someone or something had come to Blackthorn.

And whatever had awakened inside me, it had not gone unnoticed.