Page 118 of The Cuddle Clause
“I would,” he said. “But first we have to make sure there’s still a pack to protect.”
He set his glass down, the tracker’s dim glow catching his eye again. His voice was quieter when he said, “And right now, connection is the one thing we don’t have. These readings are lower than they were this morning. I’ve failed my pack, Roman.”
Something in my chest went still. “You haven’t failed.”
“Haven’t I?” He tapped the side of the tracker. “All these new bonds sealed, and the ley lines don’t give a damn.”
And just like that, I knew. That morning when Maggie showed up in my hoodie, smelling like my bed, handing me breakfast with that easy smile. The spike on the tracker had been so sharp it nearly knocked me back. The hum of the magic had matched the steady beat in my chest.
It wasn’t the bond status that had done it. It was her. Us. Real. Unscripted.
“Lucien,” I said slowly, “I think I know what’s wrong.”
His gaze sharpened. “Go on.”
I told him about the spike. About Maggie. About how the device hadn’t reacted like that before or since. “It’s not aboutsealing a bond. The ley lines don’t care about performance. They respond to what’s real.”
His jaw ticked, and I knew he was already running that thought through the filter of his own history. The pack hadn’t been the same since Philip died years ago. In many ways, he’d been the one who kept us united, connected, full of hope and life. He was the heartbeat in the middle of the chaos, the one who fostered true and lasting relationships between wolves who otherwise might never have trusted each other. Lucien had always been a great alpha—strong, sharp, strategic—but those things weren’t his strong suit. Not like him.
And as much as he was probably right about fated mates’ magic lasting eternal, he’d never been the same either. Since losing her, he’d flitted from interaction to interaction, all charm and quick wit, never letting anyone see how empty he felt underneath.
Which was exactly why this mattered. If anyone understood the difference between the shell of a connection and the real thing, it was Lucien.
He studied me for a long moment. “You’re saying?—”
“I’m saying if we want the wards stable, we can’t fake it. Not in ceremony, not in politics, not in bed. It has to be a real connection, real trust. The magic knows the difference. All of these forced bonds are a Hail Mary that the magic isn’t accepting.”
He sat back, considering.
“I want you to get the pack together tomorrow night,” I said. “Not for a mandate update. Bring them to the perimeter. No posturing. No pairing off because they’re told to. Just… connection. Talking. Sharing. Co-regulation. Remembering who we actually are to each other. All of us. You in?”
His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re asking me to throw a Kumbaya.”
“I’m asking you to give them a reason to care about each other again,” I said. “If I’m right, the magic will do the rest.”
Chapter 32
Maggie
I wokeup to the smell of buttery toast and cinnamon. For a second, I forgot where I was. The soft gray walls weren’t mine, and the sunlight didn’t hit the window in that familiar slant. Then the ache in my chest reminded me.
Charlotte’s house.
Right. I had run to my sister.
My eyes were dry, probably because I’d cried every drop of moisture from my body the night before. The guest bed creaked as I rolled over, clutching the blanket like it might hold me together. I stared at the ceiling. I didn’t feel sad. I felt emptied out. Like someone had scooped the insides of me with a ladle and forgot to put anything back.
There was a soft knock on the door, and before I could answer, it cracked open and Charlotte peeked in, carrying a tray with a mug and a plate of food.
“You’re awake,” she said gently. “I figured toast might work better than a lecture.”
I sat up with effort. “Both might kill me.”
She gave me a half-smile and walked over, setting the tray across my lap. Toast, fruit, and a latte. Perfect, like always. My sister was the kind of person who showed love through acts ofservice. She rarely told me she loved me, but she’d bring me the sun on a tray if I needed it.
I didn’t deserve her.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I mumbled.
