Chapter 42: Anxiety

Chapter 42 Lenora I keep my distance. Not because I want to—but because he needs it. My mate is relearning the world like a newborn pup. Everything is new to him. His senses, his instincts, the very way his feet touch the ground. He’s stumbling through a rebirth he didn’t ask for. And I know from experience—some things can’t be helped along. They have to be felt. We haven’t had a real conversation since that night. I can feel him though—goddess, I feel him. Our bond hums like a second heartbeat, stronger now, more rooted. Sometimes I can’t tell where his emotions end and mine begin. But what keeps hitting me hardest isn’t desire. It’s the anxiety. The uncertainty. The homesickness that keeps threading through the bond like a cold wind. I thought he was warming up to life here. I thought... I exhale and cut into the steak I was preparing. My appetite is gone, the motion just something to keep my hands busy. He prefers his steak a little more cooked. I leave it rare anyway. He doesn’t notice. That’s how I know he’s really not okay. After dinner, he disappears to the bedroom without a word, and I don’t follow. I slip outside, onto the porch, curling my fingers around the wooden railing as I stare out at the trees. The wind carries the scent of nightfall—pine and earth and something older, deeper. Something I grew up in. Something he’s still trying to understand. I know what I have to do. After he’s steady, after he can stand on both human and wolf legs... I’ll do the only thing I can. Later, I take a quiet walk into the heart of town. The gravel crunches beneath my boots. The night is warm, familiar. It smells like wood smoke and sugar bread from the bakery on the corner. I greet the baker—he’s been here since before I was born. A few pups playing in the alley yelp greetings, and I ruffle one of their heads as I pass. Even the lewd comments from a few unmated wolves don’t sting like they used to. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s home. And the ache in my chest tells me it might not be mine much longer. By the time I get back to the cabin, my face is dry again. I pretend I wasn’t crying. Cameron eats the steak I left on the counter—underdone by his standards—and doesn’t complain. That tells me more than anything else could. After the plates are cleared, I return to the porch and sit. The moonlight makes the grass shimmer silver. I stare into the woods absentmindedly, trying to breathe through the quiet dread pooling in my stomach. A shadow moves beside me, and then a familiar voice: "Let’s go for a walk." My father. He’s been more active lately. Spending time with Cameron. Helping him adjust. Answering his questions. Teaching him how to be. But I know the truth. This is the final spark before the light goes out. And his light is flickering. We walk in silence, deeper and deeper into the woods. Past the edge of our lands, to a place quiet enough that even Cameron’s sharp ears wouldn’t catch every word. "So," he says finally. "You’ve made your decision." I close my eyes for a moment before nodding. "He’s unhappy here, Dad." He watches me carefully. His gaze is heavy—not with judgment, but with love. "And you? Are you okay?" I pause. That question hits deeper than I expected. I’ve been bracing for everything but that. "I’ll be fine," I whisper. He doesn’t look convinced. "It’s not a relationship if not compromise," I add, voice steadier than I feel. He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself fold into him like I’ve done since I was a child. These arms have been my shelter. My anchor. Soon they’ll be gone. "How much longer?" I ask against his chest. He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I’m sorry," he says softly. Guess I have my answer. * "Is this anger normal?" Cameron asks, voice tight like he’s trying to keep a lid on a boiling pot. His fists are clenched at his sides, and I can feel the heat of his frustration bleeding through the bond like steam. I can’t help it—I chuckle, a low laugh escaping before I can swallow it down. "No. No, it’s not," I admit, and instantly, his anxiety crackles like static across our connection. I glance at my father, silently asking for backup. He meets my gaze, then turns to Cameron. "For the average wolf? Sure. There’s some aggression. But this?" He gestures to Cameron’s twitching fingers and tense jaw. "Not like this." "What now?" Cameron mutters. "I’m a defective wolfman?" He sounds like he’s trying to make it a joke, but it lands heavy. I lower my gaze, suddenly very interested in the pebble near my boot. My dad sighs, stepping in the way only he can when someone’s spiraling. "It’s because you’re like me," he says. "An alpha wolf." Cameron stares at him. "God, that sounds cringe," he groans. I let out a snort-laugh, unable to hold it back. It’s stupid, but I’m so damn relieved he’s still him under all of this. That somewhere between claws and chaos and whatever cosmic rewrite we just lived through, Cameron Anderson is still sarcastic and awkward and trying to find his place. Bless Ronan and his human sitcom education. Cameron shifts awkwardly. "So what, do I have to do something now? Like—do alpha wolves get a handbook or something?" My dad’s grin sharpens. "It’s not that serious." "It’s really not," I chime in quickly, shooting my father a subtle look. Don’t dump it on him yet. He’s still reeling. Still trying to figure out if he even wants this life. Dad shrugs, walking ahead. "It just means your wolf’s got a little extra bite. That’s all." "Great," Cameron mutters. "I’m a spicy werewolf." He turns toward a nearby tree and presses his hand to the trunk. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, shhhrrkkk—his claws slide out, unbidden, and a thick strip of bark peels clean off the trunk like it’s nothing. He stares at the gouged wood. "Okay. That’s... mildly terrifying." I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. He whips around to glare at me. "You’ll get the hang of it," I say, brushing sawdust off his arm. "Eventually."