“Oh, sweetheart,” I murmured, pulling her close. “I know it’s hard sometimes, seeing other families. But it’s you and me. We’re a team. We take care of each other.”Â
She leaned into my shoulder, voice muffled. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone strong, like Jason, to take care of us too?”Â
I closed my eyes, swallowing the tears that burned hot. How could I explain?Â
How could I tell a six–year–old that her father was more than strong, he was untouchable. That his world was built on rules and power, and I’d never fit in it. That he’d chosen that world over me.Â
“Maybe someday,” I lied, the words bitter. “But for now, let’s get you better first. And when you do, I’ll get you that toy rabbit you wanted.”Â
“The one with the floppy ears?” she asked, face serious.Â
“The one with the floppy ears,” I promised.Â
She nodded, satisfied, and her little body relaxed into the pillows. Minutes later, she was asleep, her breathing steady, peaceful.Â
I sat there in the growing dark, watching her chest rise and fall, and tried not to think about pine and leather, or the way green eyes had always undone me.Â
Jason POVÂ
As I made my way to the hospital a few days later, I thought about what happened at that pediatric ward again.Â
That woman, the little girl–it rattled me in a way I hadn’t been rattled in years. I had been thinking about Laila a lot after seeing the stranger mother and daughter, more frequently than I had already been.Â
I wondered if my daughter would be this age if she was still alive.Â
The emergency call had come just right after dinner today.Â
What I thought was just my father still being upset with the prospect of me finding my child was actually his heart condition acting up, requiring immediate intervention.Â
When I walked in, he was awake, looking stronger than he should’ve, considering the wires and machines surrounding him.Â
“There you are,” he said, voice dry but steady.Â
“How’re you feeling?,” I muttered, dropping into the chair beside his bed.Â
“Like I’m about to have someone cut into my chest,” he shot back. “But that’s not what I want to talk about.”Â
My Mother glanced up from her knitting. That knowing look on her face always put me on edge. “Your father’s been thinking,” she said.Â
Which meant trouble.Â
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Chople tÂ
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He leaned forward, expression hard. “The pack elders are restless. They want to see you settled. Brittany’s been waiting long enough.”Â
“I know,” I said, rubbing the spot between my brows. The headache had been there since I heard about Laila and the child. “I’m thinking about it.”Â
“You’ve been thinking about it‘ for six years,” he snapped. “She’s your fated mate. The goddess herself chose her.”Â
“The goddess also gave me free will,” I bit out.Â
“Jason, you’re more distracted than usual,” Father observed, his voice sharp.Â
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “Just pack business. The northern negotiations aren’t smooth.”Â
“Don’t lie,” Father said, voice sharp as a blade. “I know when you’re hiding something. This isn’t about politics.Â
The room went quiet except for the monitors beeping steady. Both of them watching me, waiting.Â
Finally, I let out a breath. “Brittany’s not right for Luna. She’s impulsive. Vindictive. She’s already stirring up trouble with her attitude.”Â
Father waved that off like it was nothing. “Those things can be managed.”Â
“Can they?” I snapped. “She’s driven wedges among the pack wives, treats young members like servants. You want that to represent us?”Â
Mother and Father exchanged a look I couldn’t read.Â
“There are other factors,” he said carefully. “Her bloodline. The alliances we’d secure. Expectations. And most importantly, she is your fated mate, and you know you cannot simply reject her without any consequences.”Â
“Politics,” I muttered bitterly. “Always politics.”Â
“That’s leadership, son. You’ve known since you were a boy.”Â
I had known. I’d accepted it long ago. So why now did it feel like chains around my throat?Â
His eyes narrowed, voice dropping lower. “Is this because of the news about Laila and her child?”Â
