Page 48 of When Two Worlds Collide

“Distance.” He says the word like it tastes bitter. “When every instinct demands proximity.”

“Instinct doesn’t dictate duty,” I argue, though my body betrays me with its response to his nearness.

“Doesn’t it?” He moves closer, eliminating the careful space between us. “What drives your protection of settlements? What pushed you to race through darkness to warn Clearwater Crossing?”

“Responsibility. Compassion.”

“Instinct,” he counters. “The drive to protect what matters.”

“And what matters to you, Alpha Blackthorn?” I challenge, refusing to retreat, though my heart pounds against my ribs. “Your pack? Your territory? Your independence from civilization’s corruption?”

“All of those.” His voice deepens. “And increasingly, something else.”

The admission hangs between us, dangerous and exhilarating.

“We can’t,” I whisper, though I don’t move away. “This compromises everything—your authority, my credibility, the peace we’re building.”

“I know.” His hand rises, fingers stopping just short of touching my face. “Yet here we stand.”

The mate bond pulses between us, no longer a subtlesuggestion but a demanding presence. My control fractures with each passing second.

“Your warriors will rebel,” I remind him, my voice unsteady. “The council will question every decision I make.”

“Politics,” he growls, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Always politics instead of truth.”

“The politics keep people alive,” I counter. “Keep your pack safe from Alliance forces. Keep settlements protected from bears.”

“And what keeps you safe, Ember?” His use of my name rather than title breaches another barrier. “What protects you from this?”

His hand finally makes contact, fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness. The touch ignites fire beneath my skin, the bond flaring like a supernova between us.

“Nothing,” I admit, the word barely audible.

We both know where this leads. We’ve been here before—that night in his tent, bodies pressed together, control shattered. But that was before the mate bond. Before we understood what drew us together with such violent intensity.

“We swore it was just adrenaline,” I whisper, even as I lean into his touch.

“We lied.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “Even then, we knew.”

“It’s worse now.” My voice breaks. “The bond makes it... impossible.”

“I know.” His other hand frames my face. “I’ve tried to forget. That night. The taste of you. The sounds you made.”

“Don’t.” But my hands are already gripping his wrists, not to push away but to hold him there.

“All these meetings. Negotiations. Neutral ground.” Hisforehead drops to rest against mine. “All of it pretense. All of it fighting this.”

“The pretense keeps people alive,” I argue weakly.

“The pretense is killing us.” His breath ghosts across my lips. “I can feel it in the bond. The pain of denial. Getting worse each day.”

He’s right. The ache has become constant, a hollow burning that intensifies whenever we’re apart.

“Last time we stopped,” I remind him. “We were strong enough to stop.”

“Last time we didn’t know.” His lips brush mine, barely a contact. “Now we know exactly what we’re denying. What we’re fighting. What it costs.”

“Knowing makes it worse,” I breathe against his mouth.

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