Free Web NovelChapter 61: Declaration
The door opens silently beneath my hand, and I step inside the office without announcing myself. The space smells like him, it speaks of sleepless nights and obsession. Papers are scattered across every surface, maps marked with red circles and lines connecting dots I can’t begin to understand.
Screens glow with what looks like surveillance footage, grainy images of faces I don’t recognise. This isn’t just work. It’s consuming him from the inside out, has been eating away at him while I’ve been gone.
As I cross the threshold he stiffens, massive shoulders going rigid even though he doesn’t turn around. The bond between us might not be complete yet, but it’s strong enough that my presence affects him on a visceral level.
Strong enough that even weeks of distance hasn’t dulled the awareness we have of each other. I can see it in the way his hands pause over the keyboard, in the way his breathing changes, in the subtle shift of his body as he braces for impact.
Words feel inadequate right now, too small to bridge the chasm that’s opened between us. I move toward him slowly, giving him time to tell me to leave if that’s what he wants. He doesn’t. Just sits there, frozen, while I close the distance between us.
When I’m finally standing behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to smell the exhaustion clinging to his skin, I reach out and place my hands on his back.
The contact sends electricity through both of us. He flinches, muscles jump beneath my palms, and I think he’s going to pull away. He stays perfectly still while I run my hands up the broad expanse of his back, feeling the tension coiled in every muscle, the knots of stress buried deep in tissue that should be relaxed.
His body’s a map of everything he’s been carrying alone, and my heart aches at the evidence of how much he’s been suffering. My fingers trace the path of his spine upward, moving slowly and deliberately, giving him time to adjust to my touch. When I reach his neck I feel the grumble start deep in his chest, a low, territorial sound part warning and part need. It vibrates through him and into me, and the wolf inside me responds with a whine of her own, desperate to soothe her mate.
I slide my fingers into his hair, the dark strands thick and soft between my fingers, and begin massaging his scalp with gentle pressure. His head drops forward slightly, just a fraction of movement, but it’s enough to tell me he’s not rejecting this. Not rejecting me.
Finding the tension points at the base of his skull, I work my fingers through his hair, soothing the places where stress has settled and hardened into something painful. The grumbling in his chest continues, but gradually it starts to shift.
The warning edge fades, replaced by a sound close to contentment. Relief. The tension begins to bleed away, his body slowly relaxing under my ministrations despite whatever walls he’s built around himself during our separation.
Minutes pass in silence while I just touch him, my hands moving in slow circles, my fingers working through knots and easing the rigidity from his muscles. The office is quiet except for the hum of his laptop and the sound of our breathing gradually synchronising.
Outside the windows the afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the floor, but inside this space it feels like we exist in our own world. A world where nothing matters except this moment, this connection, this desperate attempt to find our way back to each other.
Finally, when I feel like he’s relaxed enough to actually hear me, I speak.
"Why haven’t you been to see me?" My voice comes out softer than I intended, but there’s steel underneath the gentleness.
I need answers, deserve answers. Weeks of silence, of wondering if I’d done something wrong, of missing him so much it physically hurt, all of it demands an explanation.
"Busy."
Just a single word dropped with an outward ripple of hurt that tightens my chest. That’s all he has to say to me? That’s the explanation I get for why he couldn’t spare even a few hours to visit, to call, to do anything except send those brief, impersonal text messages that told me nothing except that he was still alive?
Part of me wants to pull away, to protect myself from the rejection implicit in that dismissive response. I don’t stop touching him, keep my hands moving, my touch gentle and grounding, and let the emotion I’ve been holding back for weeks spill into my voice.
"I’ve missed you so much," The words crack on the way out, raw and vulnerable and completely honest.
I’ve missed him in ways I didn’t know it was possible to miss another person. I’ve missed his presence, his touch, the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. I’ve missed the sound of his voice, the weight of his body against mine, the feeling of safety that comes from being near him.
Missed him so much that some nights at the lodge I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest, couldn’t do anything except lie awake and wonder if the distance meant he’d changed his mind about wanting me.
He doesn’t reply. The silence stretches between us, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I refuse to let them fall. Refuse to break down when I came here for answers, for understanding, for some kind of resolution to this terrible ache that’s been living in my chest since the day I left.
I take a breath and keep going, my hands never stopping their soothing motion through his hair.
"I know you’re struggling with control," I say quietly. "Can feel the guilt radiating off you. I just don’t understand why."
My fingers find another knot at the base of his skull and work it gently, feeling the tension there, the way his body holds onto stress like armour.
He remains silent, his breathing carefully controlled, and I wonder if he’s going to answer me at all, if he’s going to keep hiding behind walls and distance and that single dismissive word.
But I keep touching him, and eventually I feel something shift. His shoulders drop ever so slightly, his breathing changes. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
When he finally speaks, his voice is rough with emotion he’s been holding back. "I need to find them,"
The words are quiet but laced with the dark and dangerous. A promise that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up even as my wolf perks up with interest.
"The ones who nearly got to you," he continues, and I can hear the rage building in his voice now, feel it vibrating through his body and into my hands. "Can’t rest. Can’t function. Can’t be present until all of them are destroyed. They weren’t working alone. Someone sent them, targeted you. Need to find out who and make sure they never get another chance."
The tension floods back into his body as he speaks, his muscles going rigid under my palms, his entire frame vibrating with barely contained violence.
His voice drops lower, becomes something feral and terrifying when he talks about what he’ll do when he finds them. About tracking them down, about making them pay, about ensuring that anyone who even thinks about threatening me understands exactly what kind of mistake they’ve made.
The protective rage pouring off him is overwhelming, and I understand now why he’s been distant. Why he couldn’t come see me. Because if he had, if he’d let himself be near me while carrying this much fury, he might have lost control completely.
I don’t try to argue with him or tell him he’s wrong to feel this way. Don’t try to convince him that vengeance isn’t the answer or that he should let it go. I understand. Understand that this is how he loves, fiercely, protectively, with a possessiveness that borders on obsession. I understand that the thought of someone hurting me, of someone getting close enough to even try, is something his wolf can’t tolerate.
So instead of arguing, I just keep my palms pressed against his neck, my presence steady while the rage vibrates through him.
We sit like that for a full minute, maybe longer, just existing in the tension together. Me maintaining physical connection, him vibrating with fury, both of us breathing in the same space and trying to find our way through this.
When I feel like the moment is right, when I feel like he might actually be able to hear me, I say the words I’ve been holding back.
"I love you."
