Chapter 478: Not worth it

Chapter 478: Seraphina

The bathroom door opens, and Marcus steps out with a towel slung low around his hips. His hair is damp. His skin is still warm from the shower. Droplets of water cling to his shoulders, catching the lamplight.

He smiles when he sees me. He always smiles when he sees me.

"You are still awake," he says.

"I was waiting for you."

He walks toward the bed. I watch him. His shoulders. His chest. The way he moves—confident, unhurried, familiar.

He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for me.

I do not move.

He pauses.

"Sera?"

"Where were you?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Tonight. Where were you?"

"I told you. I was with Theron. We were discussing the patrol routes."

"For four hours?"

He looks at me. His blue eyes are patient. Always patient.

"Yes," he says. "For four hours."

My eyes drift to his damp hair. His clean skin. The faint scent of soap that clings to him.

"Why did you shower?"

He glances at the bathroom. "I always shower before bed."

"You do not usually shower this late."

"I was dirty. It was a long day."

"You were dirty?"

He nods.

The knot in my chest tightens.

"What scent?" I ask.

He frowns. "What?"

"Your scent. You covered it. Why?"

He stares at me.

"I did not cover anything," he says. "I showered. That is all."

"You always smell like you. But now—" I lean closer. I inhale. Soap. Water. Him. But underneath... "There is something else."

"Seraphina—"

"Who was it?"

"What?"

"Who did you see? Who were you with? Who did you touch?"

He stands.

"Seraphina, what are you talking about?"

"You know what I am talking about!" My voice rises. "You come home late. You shower immediately. You smell different. You think I do not notice, but I notice."

He stares at me.

His face is a mix of confusion and hurt.

"I was with Theron," he says. "Your mate. I was not with anyone else."

"Then why do you smell like that?"

He lifts his arm and inhales. He frowns.

"I smell like soap," he says. "That is all."

"No." I shake my head. "There is something else. Something underneath."

He is quiet for a moment.

Then he walks toward me.

He stops in front of me.

He takes my hands.

"Seraphina," he says. "Look at me."

I look at him.

His eyes are steady and honest.

"There is no one else," he says. "There has never been anyone else. There will never be anyone else."

The tears come.

I cannot stop them.

"I am sorry," I whisper. "I am sorry. I just—I cannot stop thinking. I cannot stop feeling. Every time you leave, I think—"

"Shh." He pulls me into his arms. "I know."

"I hate it. I hate being like this. I hate—"

"I know."

He holds me, and I cry into his arms. I hate that I have become like this. I hate the paranoid, desperate creature I have turned into. I hate the way my mind twists everything into betrayal.

"I am not Rylan," he says. "I am not going to leave you. I am not going to betray you. I am not going to break the bond."

"You do not know that."

"I do."

I sniff. He pulls away to look at me. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. His touch is gentle.

"I cannot imagine a life without you," he says. "My mate, I will reassure you as many times as it takes."

I nod.

"I am sorry," I say.

"It is okay," he says.

He kisses my forehead.

***

Kai

I do not have time to be alone with my thoughts, or my mate will track me down. So it has been a week since Rylan told me.

I raise my hand, and the axe splits the wood. I can only do this to try to sort my thoughts. I hear the door open, and I keep splitting the wood.

"Dad, stop. You cannot do this."

"Oh, you think you are big now that you are a teenager, huh?"

I hear the conversation.

"I am an adult."

I hear Marcus scoff. I walk over to get another piece of wood when I see them.

No matter how my mate tried to say Ethan was our son—all of us—looking at them both, it is obvious they are a father-son duo.

Their hair shining in the light as Marcus ruffles Ethan’s hair and laughs.

It is a warm sound. A familiar sound. The sound of a father who loves his son.

He puts a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan leans into the touch. They stand there for a moment, framed by the doorway, and I can see it—the ease between them. The comfort. The love.

The scene hits me like a physical blow.

I think about Rylan’s words. About Diana. About the wolf who wants to be her mate. About the wolf who wants to be my son’s father.

If Diana accepts, she is leaving. And he will officially be the pup’s father.

How it might never be me.

How I might never have a scene like this in my life.

I have a son too. I held him when he was born. His small fingers curled against mine. His fur is like mine. His hair is like mine. He has his mother’s eyes, but he has my nose.

I look up. There is a bigger bird with a smaller one. The bigger bird is teaching the smaller one to fly. The smaller one stumbles. The bigger one catches it. They soar together.

I look to my left. There is a small squirrel with a smaller one running up a tree.

It is like the universe itself is mocking me.

Everywhere I look, there is a parent with a child.

I cannot do this.

I want to be there when he hunts for the first time. I want to be there when he shifts for the first time. I want to be there when he meets his mate. I want to be there when he laughs. When he cries. When he lives.

I do not want my son to call another wolf his father.

And... the mate bond is not worth missing a lifetime of my son’s life.