Chapter 142: Memories

I hadn’t been a good mother; I had been completely lost, desperately needing a mother of my own during those dark months. If not for the unwavering support of my family, I never would have survived.

I sank onto the floor beside the box and looked up at Magnus, catching his dark, smoldering gaze. Once again, I was struck by just how imposing he was. Beside him, I felt utterly fragile. The mere sight of his broad, sculpted shoulders and thick arms straining against the fabric of his black shirt sent a shudder through me—his frame looked carved from solid marble, like the statues of ancient deities.

"Do you want to see?" I asked softly, lifting the lid from the box and pulling out a light-blue album filled with pictures of Matthias as a chubby-cheeked toddler with bright, button eyes.

"Yes."

Magnus rose from the armchair, completely ignoring my gesture to hand the book up to him. Instead, he dropped to the floor directly behind me, pulling his massive body flush against my back. His heavy arm wrapped securely around my waist, tugging the album into my lap. For a long second, the breath caught in my throat, and I forgot what I was about to say.

"This was when he was a month old," I said, pointing to a photograph where Matthias lay nestled on a plush pillow beneath a soft blanket, a tiny white cap on his head and a pacifier tucked into his mouth.

"He was so tiny... was that because of his illness?" Magnus traced a long, scarred finger over the infant’s face in the photo. The touch was impossibly gentle, as though he were trying to bridge the gap of five lost years through the printed paper.

"Not entirely. He was born premature and a bit underweight, but all infants start out small." I forced a small smile. "At first, I was so scared to pick him up––I truly believed I would break him. Adam had to bring him to me during the first week."

Magnus’s hand glided over my hip, his fingertips tracing slow, devastating tracks lower down my thigh. A ragged groan escaped my throat as my head fell back against his massive chest. It was sheer madness—a feral obsession. During all the years without him, my mate call had been dormant, untroubled, completely silent. Now, my body and soul were raw, exposed nerves throbbing for his touch. The phantom instinct coiled low in my belly, an ache so sharp that every cell in my body cried out his name.

"Magnus... if you don’t stop, I won’t be able to finish showing you."

He pressed a hot, bruising kiss into the curve of my neck, letting out a low, dangerous growl as he forced his hand back to my waist. Judging by his harsh, labored breathing, the restraint cost him dearly.

"You drive me fucking insane," he rasped against my skin. "One look at you and my head completely spins."

"You never acted like this back then," I whispered, my voice trembling. "What changed? I always thought... I thought I didn’t attract you as a woman. That the pack bond and mate instinct were forcing you to want me."

I tried to swallow, but my throat was bone dry.

"I’ve wanted you since the absolute first second," he growled, the vibration rumbling through his ribs and into mine. "You were breathtaking. I took one look into your eyes, and I was gone. And then your scent hit me... Back then, it was just a faint trace, but it was enough to drive me out of my mind. Now that your bond-mark is open and your scent is fully bloomed, I’m terrified I won’t be able to control myself."

His confession stunned me. I had been so convinced that I annoyed him back then—that if he didn’t feel outright revulsion toward me, it was something painfully close. I shifted sideways in his grip, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. Liquid mercury. Pure, deep ice. I had always believed his gaze could freeze a person to death, but now I knew it burned just as easily.

The five years apart had altered him drastically. He had grown taller, broader across the shoulders—more lethal. Years ago, he had been like a sudden, volatile explosion; now, he felt like a dormant volcano. The sense of danger rolling off his scent was far sharper now, tangible enough to feel against my skin.

Every trace of the youth he once was had been erased. The male sitting before me was a dominant Alpha wolf in his full prime—striking, powerful, coveted by many. Yet his eyes anchored solely on me.

"Find something interesting on my face?" Magnus murmured, resting his palm on top of my head. His fingers stroked down to gently massage the nape of my neck before resting heavily against my skin, his breath hitching. "God, what are you doing to me..."

"I’m not doing anything," I murmured, carefully placing the album back on my lap to redirect his focus to little Matthias.

I flipped through the pages, showing him our son at different stages of his first year: clumsy smiles, ridiculous animal onesies, and the frame where Matthias had grabbed Askold by the nose with a triumphant grin, his toothless mouth wide open, followed by the picture of him wailing when Askold freed himself.

So many memories. Looking back, those moments were the only things that had kept me from shattering completely that year. Becoming a mother so young was hard—especially when you were unprepared, broken, and living in constant terror for your child’s life.

Magnus stared at the photographs with silent, consuming intensity. Sensing his focus shift, I quietly slipped out of his lap and resumed packing. My own bags were done, leaving Matthias’s collection of toys for last. That took far longer. As I folded his small clothes, my thoughts drifted to the aquariums—we had to take them with us. Matthias wouldn’t set foot out of this house without his fish, and that was non-negotiable.