Chapter 22
1105words
Before I knock, the door opens. Kieran stands there in dark jeans and a charcoal shirt that fits his broad shoulders perfectly, hair damp, smelling of pine and spice.
For a moment, he simply looks at me, his eyes widening slightly.
"You look beautiful," he says finally, his voice lower than usual.
Heat rushes to my face. "Thank you. Thea insisted on the dress."
"Remind me to thank her." He steps aside, gesturing me in. "Please, come in."
His quarters are larger than I expected—a spacious living area with comfortable furniture, a small dining table set for two by a window overlooking the forest, and doors leading to what I assume are a bedroom and bathroom.
"Wine?" he offers, moving to a small bar cart.
"Please." I take in the space, noting the personal touches—books stacked on side tables, a worn leather jacket draped over a chair, framed photographs on the walls.
I move closer to examine one—a younger Kieran with a woman who has his eyes and smile. "Your mother?"
"Yes." He hands me a glass of red wine. "That was taken about a year before she died."
"You look like her." I accept the wine, careful not to let our fingers touch. "How did she die? If you don't mind me asking."
"Hunter attack." His voice is matter-of-fact, but I catch the old pain beneath it. "Silver bullets. I was twenty-two."
"I'm sorry."
He nods, then gestures to the table. "Hungry?"
Dinner is surprisingly relaxed. The food is delicious—steak cooked rare, roasted vegetables, fresh bread. Kieran is an attentive host, keeping my wine glass filled, asking questions about my preferences.
"Did you cook this?" I ask, impressed.
"I did." He looks pleased at my surprise. "I enjoy cooking when I have the time."
"Another hidden talent."
"One of many," he says with a hint of a smile.
As we eat, the conversation flows easily. He asks about my life before Marcus—my childhood in a small coastal town, my work as a marine biology student before being turned, my dreams of returning to research someday.
"You could do that here," he says. "We have connections with the university in the next town. Several pack members work there."
The casual way he includes me in future plans makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "Maybe. Once things settle down."
"They will." His confidence is reassuring.
"What about you?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Did you always know you'd be alpha?"
"In a way." He refills our glasses. "As my mother's only child, I was raised with that expectation. But I didn't take over immediately after she died."
"No?"
He shakes his head. "I left for a few years. Traveled. Learned from other packs."
"What brought you back?"
"Responsibility." His eyes meet mine. "And the realization that home isn't just a place. It's people. Pack."
The simple sincerity in his voice touches something deep inside me. "I haven't had that in a long time. A home."
"You do now." His hand moves across the table, not quite touching mine. "If you want it."
The moment stretches between us, charged with possibility. Then he pulls back, clearing his throat.
"We should discuss the ceremony," he says, his tone shifting to something more formal. "There are traditions you should know about."
I nod, both relieved and disappointed by the return to "pack business."
As he explains the ceremony details, I find myself watching his hands, his mouth, the way his eyes catch the light. The wine has warmed me from within, lowering my usual defenses.
"Selene?" His voice breaks through my distraction. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Sorry." I blink, focusing. "What was that?"
A smile tugs at his lips. "I asked if you had any questions about the blood sharing."
"Oh. No, that part seems straightforward."
"Good." He studies me for a moment. "You seem distracted."
"Just... processing everything." I take another sip of wine. "It's been an eventful few days."
"Too eventful?" There's genuine concern in his voice. "We can postpone the ceremony if you need more time."
"No." My response is immediate. "I want this. To be part of the pack."
He nods, something like satisfaction in his expression. "I'm glad."
After dinner, we move to the couch with our wine. The formality of earlier has faded, replaced by a comfortable ease that surprises me. Kieran sits close enough that I can feel the heat of him, but not so close as to be presumptuous.
"Can I ask you something personal?" I say, emboldened by wine and the intimate setting.
"Of course."
"Why aren't you mated?" The question has been on my mind since Thea mentioned Lyra's interest. "Someone in your position... I would have thought..."
"That I'd have chosen a mate by now?" He finishes when I trail off.
I nod, watching his reaction carefully.
Kieran is quiet for a moment, considering his answer. "I came close once, years ago. It... didn't end well."
"What happened?"
"She wasn't what she seemed." His voice is carefully neutral. "She was using me to get to the pack. To our territory."
"I'm sorry," I say softly, understanding the betrayal such a discovery would bring.
He shrugs, but I can see the old hurt beneath the casual gesture. "It taught me to be cautious. To put the pack's needs above my own."
"But that's lonely," I observe before I can stop myself.
His eyes meet mine, something vulnerable in their depths. "Yes. It can be."
We sit in silence for a moment, the admission hanging between us.
"What about you?" he asks finally. "Before Marcus, was there someone?"
"No one serious." I look down at my wine. "I was turned young—twenty-three. Still figuring things out."
"And now?" His voice is quiet. "What are you figuring out now?"
The question feels weighted with meaning. I look up, finding his eyes on me, intent and searching.
"Who I am without fear," I answer honestly. "Who I could be, given the chance."
Something shifts in his expression—a softening, a warmth that makes my breath catch.
"I think," he says slowly, "that person is already emerging. And she's remarkable."
Heat rushes to my face at the simple compliment. "You barely know me."
"I know enough." His hand moves to cover mine, the touch sending electricity up my arm. "I know you're strong. Brave. Loyal."
"Those are survival traits," I protest. "Not virtues."
"They're both.” His thumb caresses the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. "And they're just the beginning of what makes you who you are.”
