Page 16 of Riding with the Rejected Wolf

He grins, a lopsided smirk that somehow makes him look even more rugged. "Hey yourself," he replies, striding into the kitchen with that effortless grace that comes from years of dodging trouble. He takes a moment to wash his hands at the sink, the sound of running water punctuating the silence between us.

"So…club business?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to read him.

"Yeah." He shrugs, drying his hands on a towel. "Just had to remind some folks about the importance of keeping their word." There's a glint in his eyes—a mix of amusement and something darker.

I can't help but laugh, though it comes out more like a snort. "You say that like it's a walk in the park. What'd you do, bake them cookies?"

Silas chuckles, low and throaty. "Not quite. More like a friendly chat with some colorful language thrown in." He grabs a bowl from the cupboard and serves himself some of the stew. I watch him move around the kitchen like he owns the place. It's oddly comforting, like he's staking a claim on this domestic scene we’ve got going.

"So," he starts, spooning stew into his mouth with deliberate slowness. "I don’t really know how to ask this without being blunt, so I’ll just come out with it.”

“Please do.”

“How are you feeling about the fact you’re a fated mate to a wolf shifter?”

“Wolf shifter. Is that what you prefer to be called?”

He nods. “It is.”

I set down my spoon, feeling the weight of his question settling in the air between us. "Well," I begin, trying to keep my voice steady, "it's not exactly something you prepare for, you know? They don't teach 'What To Do When You Find Out Your Soulmate's a Wolf Shifter' in school."

Silas laughs, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Yeah, I imagine that’s not in the curriculum.”

“But seriously,” I continue, “it’s…a lot.” I gesture vaguely, encompassing all the craziness of my life. “Stalker. On the run. And now this whole wolf shifter thing on top.”

He nods, setting his bowl down and leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah, it’s a lot. And I get it if you're freaking out." His eyes soften, giving me a rare glimpse of the vulnerability he hides behind that tough exterior.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn’t," I admit. "But it's more than just the wolf thing. It's everything that my life has become. The constant running, looking over my shoulder every second. It’s like—I don’t know—living in a horror movie where I’m that character who’s always falling down.”

Silas steps closer, his presence filling the small room. “You’re no damsel in distress, Mika. You’ve been handling all this on your own like a badass.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Yeah, right. Badass Mika, always ready to trip over her own feet at the worst possible moment." I roll my eyes, but there's a small smile tugging at my lips.

Silas reaches out, and for a moment I think he's going to pull me into one of amazing hugs he gives. Instead, he gently lifts my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look him in the eye. His touch is warm and grounding, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he says, his voice low but steady. “And you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

I feel a strange mix of relief and uncertainty wash over me. "I know,” I admit in a whisper. “And even though I’m still processing the fact you’re a wolf shifter, I still want you to know that I’ve never felt as safe as I do when I’m with you. It’s kind of why I haven’t taken off yet. I trust you.”

He blinks, surprise flickering across his face before it settles into something softer, almost tender. "Trust me, huh? That's a big deal coming from you," he murmurs, his thumb brushing my cheek lightly before he pulls back.

I clear my throat, desperate to break the tension that’s suddenly thickening the air. "Don't get a big head about it," I quip, standing up and bumping the table with my hip. Classy.

Silas chuckles. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He collects our finished bowls and starts rinsing them off in the sink. The mundane action, so ordinary in its simplicity, feels surreal amid the storm of my life. I watch him for a moment, appreciating the way his shoulders move under his shirt and the flex of his muscular arms. It’s oddly comforting, like watching calm waves on a turbulent sea.

When he finishes, he dries off his hands again and starts for the door.

“Wait. You’re leaving again?”

“I’m just stepping outside for a bit,” he says, voice soft. “You look like you could use some space to think without my big head crowding the room.” He winks, and I can’t help but scoff.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he adds, opening the door and giving me one last reassuring look before he steps out onto the porch. The door creaks as it swings shut behind him, leaving me alone in the living area.

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. The small space suddenly feels enormous and empty without Silas's presence. My mind is a whirlpool of emotions, each one pulling me in a different direction. Part of me wants to scream, to tear down these walls and run until my legs give out. Another part longs for the safety that Silas seems to embody, even if his world is just as chaotic as mine.

The quiet of the room presses in, and it's almost stifling. I pace for a bit, my feet beating out a restless rhythm on the worn wooden floor. Every creak underfoot seems amplified in the silence, each sound an echo of my own fragmented thoughts.

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