Page 11 of Falling for My Shifter Enemy

I stare up at the ceiling, my chest heaving, and the weight of reality crashes back down. The mate bond still pulses, unsatisfied, reminding me that this—what I just did—is nothing but a pale imitation of what it wants. Of what it needs.

Chloé’s face flickers in my mind, but it’s not her defiance I see now—it’s her fragility. Her small stature. Her inability to shift. My mother’s death flashes before my eyes, the memory sharp and unforgiving. Her broken body, crumpled on the forest floor, blood staining the leaves. I swallow hard, the image twisting, morphing into Chloé lying there, just as fragile. Just as vulnerable.

I clamp my eyes shut, willing the images away, but they cling to me, seeping into my bones.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper to the empty room, the words tasting like iron. “I can’t protect you.”

The truth settles heavy in my chest, icy and unforgiving. Chloé isn’t built for this life—this world of power struggles and bloodshed. My pack will never accept her, not when they can barely look at her without questioning my judgment. She’s a weakness they’ll exploit. And worse—she’s a weakness I can’t afford.

I move, cleaning up mechanically, my body still humming with the aftershock of pleasure, but my mind is numb, cold. The mate bond whispers to me, promises of unity, of completion, but I shove it aside. An Alpha’s duty is to his pack. Always. No matter the cost to himself. No matter what he wants.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell her she has to leave. It’s the only way to protect her—from my pack, from this life, from me. I can’t keep her here, not when every moment she stays puts her in more danger. Not when the bond is pulling me apart.

The decision feels like swallowing shards of glass, but I force it down. There’s no other way.

The moonlight continues its slow crawl across the room, as distant and cold as the resolve hardening in my chest. Down the hall, I feel her consciousness finally slip into sleep, unaware that I lie here, wide awake, planning to break us both.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Because tomorrow, we’ll both be shattered.

And I’ll make sure it's the last time.

???

The morning sun creeps through my office windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. I pace behind my desk, each measured step echoing in the silence. My wolf prowls restlessly beneath my skin, sensing what I'm about to do, fighting me with every breath.

Chloé stands by the window, bathed in early morning light that makes her seem almost ethereal. Too pure. Too precious for the darkness that surrounds my life. The mate bond pulses between us like a living thing, drawing me toward her with an intensity that makes my hands shake. I grip the edge of my desk harder, anchoring myself against the pull.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. My throat tightens around the words I need to say, words that taste like poison on my tongue. I rake my fingers through my hair again, catching Chloé's slight flinch at the harsh movement. She knows something's coming. The tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twist together—she's bracing herself.

Finally, I force myself to move, stepping out from behind the safety of my desk. I keep enough distance between us to maintain some semblance of control, though every cell in my body screams to close the gap. To pull her into my arms where she belongs. Where my wolf insists she should be.

"We both know what this is." The words come out rougher than intended, scraping past the lump in my throat. I lock my eyes on hers, watching as understanding dawns in their depths. My wolf whimpers, sensing what's coming. "The bond... you're my mate, Chloé."

She stiffens, her breath catching. I see the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the slight tremor in her fingers as they curl into fists at her sides. She doesn't speak, but her silence speaks volumes. Waiting. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I don't make her wait long.

"But I can't complete the bond." Each word feels like swallowing glass. I shake my head, hating myself even as I continue. "You don't belong here. My pack... the life I lead..." My voice catches, memories of my mother's broken body flashing through my mind. "It'll destroy you. You deserve better than that. Better than me."

The hurt that flashes across her face is like a physical blow, but there's something else there too—a spark of defiance that makes my wolf howl in approval. She holds my gaze for what feels likean eternity before speaking, her voice steady despite the pain I can feel radiating through our bond.

"I won't stay where I'm not wanted."

I flinch, her words cutting deeper than she knows. My wolf rages, clawing at my control, demanding I take back the lies, claim what's mine. But I hold firm. This is the only way to keep her safe. To protect her from becoming another casualty in my world of violence and revenge.

The sudden buzz of her phone shatters the tension. She pulls it out, frowning at the screen. "It's from Ryan," she says, her voice hollow. "He says Mark... he was working alone. It's safe for me to return now." Her eyes meet mine again, and for a moment, I see everything we could have been reflected in their depths. "They're sending someone to pick me up."

Everything in me freezes. The reality of her leaving—really leaving—hits me like a physical blow. The mate bond pulses frantically, as if sensing the impending separation. This is what I wanted, what I planned for, but now that it's happening, I feel like I'm being torn apart.

"You were right, Theo," she says softly, pocketing her phone. Her voice carries a strength I didn't expect, a resolve that makes my chest ache. "It's time for me to go back."

She looks at me one last time, giving me a chance to stop this madness. My wolf howls, begging me to reach for her, to pull her close and never let go. But I force myself to remain still, watching as something in her eyes hardens. She straightens her shoulders, and in that moment, I see it—the quiet power I've been too blind to recognize.

"Goodbye, Theo."

Each step she takes toward the door feels like a knife in my gut. The sound of her footsteps, the soft rustle of her clothes, the gentle click of the door closing behind her—they all echo in my head like gunshots.

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