Page 38 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

But then the other memories start creeping in. The car crash. The sight of him hurling that tree branch out of his chest. My stomach twists, and the warm glow of last night fades just a little. He’s not… human. I still can’t wrap my head around that. Alex, the quiet janitor, the man who I’ve been having dinner with in my office… is a wolf shifter.

A shiver runs down my spine, but it’s not the good kind. It’s the kind that prickles at the base of your neck, makes your instincts whisper danger. I don’t even know why I feel it. He hasn’t hurt me, hasn’t given me any reason to think he would. But still, there’s that tiny spark of fear.

What else do I not know?

I turn my head, watching him laying beside me. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his face relaxed in sleep. He looks so peaceful, so…. normal.

And those words he said to me—they’re on a loop in my mind. “Fated mates.” It sounds so ridiculous, like something out of a story, but when he said it, his voice was so steady, so sure. Like it wasn’t a question or an opinion but a fact. I’m bound to him. We’re bound to each other.

The golden thread. That’s what he called it. I thought I was losing my mind when I first saw it—this shimmering, glowing thread that seemed to connect us, even when we weren’t touching. But he saw it too. He knew about it. And last night, as we… as we made love, I saw it again. Over and over, it flashed before my eyes, brighter every time. Like it was binding us closer with every breath, every touch, every desperate kiss.

My throat tightens as I stare at him, my mind racing in circles. What does it even mean to be fated mates? Is it just some shifter thing, or does it change… everything?

Alex stirs beside me, his body turning under the blanket. My heart skips a beat as his eyes flutter open, those stormy eyes locking onto mine.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I reply, keeping my voice steady even though Alex’s deep, rough baritone, warm from sleep, sends a ripple straight through my stomach. It’s ridiculous how even something assimple as his voice can unravel me, but here I am, lying in bed with my heart racing.

He looks at me. It’s not just a glance—it’s more, like he’s drinking me in, soaking up every detail. My messy hair, the way I’m half-buried in the blanket, probably looking like a disaster. And yet, his gaze is so tender, so consuming, it makes my chest ache. His hand moves, slowly, gently, like he’s afraid of startling me. His fingers brush against my cheek and it sends a warmth crawling up my spine.

Then he leans in, closing the small space between us, and plants a kiss on my cheek. It’s warm, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to savor the moment. And that little quake in my stomach? Yeah, it’s full-on tremors now.

“Last night was amazing,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear.

I bite my lip, trying to keep the heat from creeping all the way up to my face. The memories crash over me again, sharp and vivid. The way his hands felt on me. The way his body moved. The way he looked at me, like I was his entire world. My skin tingles just thinking about it. Last night was incredible.

But still. There are questions. So many questions.

I turn on my side to face him more fully, drawing in a breath as I try to steady my thoughts. “Last night,” I start, my voice quieter now, “you said I’m your fated mate. You also mentioned this… golden thread. The one I’ve been seeing for a while now, especially every time we….” I hesitate, searching for the right word.

His lips curl into a knowing smirk, and his voice dips lower, teasing. “Make love?”

My cheeks flush, and I roll my eyes a little, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah…” I say softly, “that.”I exhale slowly, pushing past the embarrassment. “I don’t understand it.”

He sits up slightly, his hand resting against the pillow as he looks at me. His expression changes—serious now, thoughtful. He inhales deeply, like he’s gearing up to explain something monumental.

“It’s a lot to explain,” he begins, his voice steady and calm, “but to put it simply… sometimes, two souls are bound to each other. Like they’re made for each other. Crafted just for each other. And they feel it—it’s not just an idea or a feeling; it’s like a force. A pull that draws them closer, whether they understand it or not. That’s what fated mates are.”

I can’t look away from him, even though my brain feels like it’s stuck on pause, trying to process everything.

“And the golden thread,” he continues, his voice softening as he speaks, “it’s a signal. A sign of the bond between us. It’s rare—most people never get to see it—but when you’re fated, it’s there. And every time we’re together, it strengthens that bond.”

He stops, watching me, like he’s waiting for the gears in my head to start turning again. And they do—slowly. His words click into place like puzzle pieces, explaining so much, and yet… it still feels surreal.

I’ve seen the thread. I’ve felt the pull. Hell, I’ve been feeling it ever since I met him. But hearing it laid out like this? It’s a lot. Too much, maybe.

And then my mind goes somewhere darker, somewhere sharp and jagged. The accident. The jeep. The fact that someone—Frank, probably—tried to kill me. My breath catches as the image of Alex, pierced through by that branch, flashes in my mind. The sight of him pulling it out, his hand changing into a claw, still burns in my memory, clear as day.

It’s all too much. My head starts to throb, and I press my lips together, trying to keep my emotions from spilling over.

I must not be doing a great job of hiding it because Alex reaches out, resting his hand on my arm. His touch is steady and his voice is soft, careful. “Katherine… are you okay?”

I nod, but it’s a weak gesture, almost hesitant. “It’s just…” My words falter, and I look away, searching for the right way to say it. “You’re saying all this, and then there’s the fact that I find out you’re a wolf shifter… and someone out there might want me dead. I just…” I trail off, my voice barely a whisper now. “It’s a lot.”

He nods, his face softening even more, his eyes filled with understanding. He understands.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he says, his voice low but firm, laced with an unshakable confidence. And the way he says it, the way he looks at me, leaves no room for doubt. He means it. Every word.

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