Page 37 of My Fated Mate

He moves with a focused intensity, his face a mask of concentration. The sight of him, powerful and in control, sends a familiar flutter to my heart.

Suddenly, our eyes meet. A jolt shoots through me, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. A flicker of something crosses his features – surprise? Displeasure? It was gone so quickly, I couldn't be sure.

He looks away, his voice sharp as he barks another command.

Disappointment claws at me.

Is he deliberately avoiding me?

The thought stings, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Just as I'm about to turn away, I notice Viktar approach Thorne, a playful glint in his eye. He mutters something under his breath, and Thorne's stoic facade cracks for a fleeting moment.

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips before he schooled his features back into their usual seriousness.

There it is again – a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened exterior.

A man who, perhaps, craves companionship just as much as I do.

Suddenly, I have an idea.

The next morning, I wait strategically near the training grounds, a basket brimming with freshly baked bread rolls clutched in my hand. It's not much, but perhaps a small gesture of peace offering will be enough to break the ice between Thorne and me.

As the familiar morning bustle begins, I spot Thorne emerging from the pack house. He looks weary, dark circles smudging the skin beneath his eyes. But before I can approach him, a commotion erupts from the training grounds.

"Looks like Gunnar's challenging Viktar again," someone chuckles beside me. I turn to see Finn, a grin splitting his face. "Those two are at it constantly."

My gaze darts towards the training grounds. Indeed, Viktar and Gunnar are locked in a heated sparring match, their movements sharp and precise. But something is wrong. Viktar, usually agile and quick, seems sluggish, his movements labored.

A knot of worry tightens in my stomach. Viktar stumbles, his foot twisting at an unnatural angle. A cry of pain escapes his lips as he crumples to the ground.

Without hesitation, I race towards them, the basket of bread forgotten. Reaching Viktar's side, I kneel beside him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Viktar!" Finn comes running and drops to his knees at his side. "Are you alright?"

He grimaces, clutching at his ankle. "Ankle… think it's twisted." His voice is strained, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

Thorne is by our side instantly, his expression a mask of concern. He kneels beside Viktar, his large hands gently examining the injured ankle. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he assesses the damage.

"Sprained, for sure," he mutters, his voice clipped but not unkind. "Get him inside. We'll get the healer to take a look."

Carefully, Thorne and Finn help Viktar to his feet, and Thorne’s eyes fall to mine, a silent understanding passing between us. Despite our recent awkwardness, the well-being of the pack comes first.

As we help Viktar inside, I can’t help but think that working together will help break down Thorne's walls.

Showing him that I care about his pack and his people might be the bridge I need to reach him.

The healer, a wizened woman with eyes that hold the wisdom of countless moons, examines Viktar's ankle with a practiced touch. Her brow furrows in concentration as she mutters a few incantations, her hands glowing with a faint green light.

"Sprained, just like Alpha Thorne suspected," she finally announces. "Nothing serious, but it will need rest and some herbal poultices. He'll be back on his feet in no time."

Finn sighs in relief beside me. A minor sprain is a blessing in disguise, I realize. It gives me an excuse to spend time with Viktar, to learn more about his life and his dreams, and perhaps even glean some insights into Thorne himself.

Over the next few days, I settle into a comfortable routine. Mornings are spent with Viktar and Finn, helping him with simple tasks that won't aggravate his injury.

We talk about his childhood spent in a remote village and his yearning for adventure. And I have to lower my head when they start their stomach-coiling sweet things.

Ugh!

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