Page 15 of Riding with the Rejected Wolf

“OK, let’s say I believe you,” she starts, her voice steady but low. “What does that even mean for me? For us? What happens if we ‘give in’?” Her eyes are wide, wary, but there's a flicker of curiosity too. Not quite the reaction I expected, but life’s one big surprise party.

“Accepting our bond means a lot of things,” I say, running a hand across the back of my neck as I create a bit of space between us. “For starters, it means a bond, stronger than anything you've ever known. It means you'll never be alone again, even when you want to be. It means feeling what I feel, knowing what I know, being part of my world—the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.”

Mika's eyebrows knit together as she processes my words. She chews on her lip, a habit I've noticed when she's deep in thought. "So, basically, it's like a lifetime of sharing my Netflix account with you?"

I can't help but chuckle at that. "Yeah, except more intense. Like... if Netflix could read your mind and suggest shows based on your deepest, darkest secrets. And, you know, the occasional life-threatening scrape or shifter drama.”

Mika groans, running a hand through her hair, making it stick up in defiant spikes. “Great. Just what I needed. Supernatural Netflix with no 'unsubscribe' button.” She moves to sit on the couch, dropping her weight on it with a huff of breath. “Is the whole MC like you?”

“They are. But we’re not all wolves. There are bears and panthers, cougars too.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Fantastic. A zoo on wheels.”

I huff out a laugh. “You get used to it. Plus, the benefits are pretty decent. Enhanced senses, strength, and a family that’s got your back no matter what.”

Mika’s eyes narrow, the wariness back in full force. “And what if I don’t want to be part of your supernatural circus? What if I just want to, I don’t know, live my life without having to worry about the people around me shifting into woodland creatures or reading my mind?” This is exactly what I was afraid of.

I sigh, dropping onto the couch beside her, though leaving enough space to give her the option to bolt if she needs it. "Honestly? If you don’t want this, you can reject our bond. It’ll hurt like hell, but you’ll be free, and you won’t have to ever see me—or sense me—again.”

Her eyes flicker with indecision, the inner turmoil practically radiating off her. "I don’t want to never see you, Silas,” she whispers, almost as if she's afraid the words will break something fragile.

I reach over and take her hand in mine, the relief of her touch grounding me. “I don’t want that either.”

She looks down at our joined hands. “But this is a lot to take in. I barely know who I am anymore, let alone what I believe right now.”

“I’d offer to shift in order to prove it to you, but I have a feeling that’s not what you need right now.”

She shakes her head, a small, bitter smile playing on her lips. “No, I think seeing you turn into a giant wolf would just about send me over the edge.”

I chuckle softly, squeezing her hand gently. “Fair enough. But we’ve got time, Mika. You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes locking onto mine. "I just... I need to know I’m safe. That he won’t find me."

My jaw tightens at the mention of her stalker, and I quickly pull her into a protective embrace. "He’s not getting anywhere near you, Mika. Not with me around."

She lets out a heavy breath. “OK. Then that’s all I need for now,” she says, slowly relaxing into me.

MIKA

Turns out Wolves Can Whittle

I’m not sure at what point I fell asleep, but when I wake up on the couch, I’m wrapped in my soft blanket and I’m alone. No Silas. Sitting up, I stretch my arms above my head, looking out the window at the fading light. Jeez, I’ve slept the day away. But I guess that’s what happens when you finally feel safe—even if safety is with a biker who’s also a wolf.

I pad over to the kitchen, eyes scanning for any sign of Silas. The place is eerily quiet, the kind that makes your skin prickle. On the counter, I spot a note scrawled in messy handwriting:

Had to deal with some club business. Food’s on the stove. Be back soon. S

I can't help but smile at the note, even though it's a little cryptic. ‘Club business’ probably means something straight out of a Sons of Anarchy episode. I shudder. I hope it doesn't involve too much blood…

Lifting the lid of the pot, I peek inside and find an actual meal—stew, maybe? It smells heavenly, and my stomach growls in response.

I ladle myself a bowl, noting how domestic this all feels. It's almost laughable. Me, playing house with a biker wolf. But damn, does it taste good. I sit back down at the table, savoring the warm broth as it slides down my throat.

As I eat, my mind wanders to Silas. The way he holds himself, that fierce protectiveness in his eyes whenever he looks at me. He’s like a grizzled knight, minus the armor but with a roaring Harley instead. And those tattoos—geez, do they tell a story or what? The guy's practically an anthology of badassery.

I’m midway through my bowl when the hair on the back of my neck prickles, and next thing I know, Silas is standing in the doorway. His boots are silent, but his presence? Not so much. It’s like I can feel him whenever he’s near. And I wonder if that’s part of that bond he was talking about earlier.

"Hey," I mutter through a mouthful of stew.

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