Fate Picked Me, the Alpha Passed, and I Felt Nothing novel · Chapter 20 of 24

Chapter 20: The Words

On Tuesday it rained, and nothing else was special about it at all.

That was why I picked it.

There was no moon.

There was no pack, no hall, no keeper in a grey shawl, no Hume in a tweed jacket, no vote.

I had a half-hung door on sawhorses in the shop and a pot of cold coffee.

At four in the afternoon I texted him:

Come to the shop.

He was there in nine minutes with his coat dark with rain.

He stopped inside the door and looked at me, and I watched him understand.

"It's Tuesday," he said.

"It is."

"Rue."

"Lock the door."

He locked it, and turned the sign, and walked across the sawdust until he stood a yard from me.

His hands were hanging at his sides.

They were shaking.

"I'm not going to ask," he said. "I'm going to stand here."

"Good."

"If you say no, or not yet, or you changed your mind, I'll."

"Dray."

"Yes."

"Shut up and give me your hand."

He gave me his right hand.

I turned it over.

His palm was pale and rough and criss-crossed with old scars.

I held it flat in mine and looked into his eyes.

I'd practiced this at the bench for two days, and now I did not need any of it.

"I wasn't asked," I said. "The moon named me, and you refused, and I woke up and nothing was left."

His throat moved.

"I was free. I walked around in my own head for five weeks and found out what was in it."

"What was in it?"

"You."

"So I'm going to say this once. I'm saying it of my own will. No moon, no pack, no one watching."

I took a breath.

"I was named to you. I name you myself. I take the bond, and I take it back."

For one second nothing happened.

Then my left palm lit.

A silver crescent opened in it, bright and cold, and across from me the same silver flared in his.

Our hands burned.

Then the heat went up my arm.

I felt it hit my chest.

I made a sound I didn't know I could make.

It was all of it.

It was his heart, going so hard it shook my own ribs.

It was fear, a clenched cold animal in the middle of me.

Under the fear a roar of wanting so deep and wide that I staggered.

It was the shop, from his side, the smell of sawdust, my skin, my hair, my wrist.

It was five weeks of missing me, held in a closed fist that was suddenly my own.

I had never felt anything like it.

He caught me by the elbows.

"Rue," he said. "Rue. Breathe."

"Hold on."

"I've got you. Are you."

"I can feel you."

His eyes opened, wet and wide.

"Everything," I whispered. "I can feel everything. You're terrified."

"Yes."

"You're so scared I'll say it was a mistake."

"Yes."

"And you want me so much it feels like you're on fire."

"Yes. God. Yes."

"And you love me."

His face broke.

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