Page 8 of Bronx

Bronx raised an eyebrow, curious but hesitant. He glanced at Steele, who seemed equally intrigued. “What is it?” Bronx asked, his voice cautious.

“Okay, so Ivy mentioned that her friend Cora wants to move here from the Idaho Pack, and I’ve got to say, I’ve met her before, and she’s amazing. I think she’d be perfect for you.”

Bronx frowned, suspicion creeping into his eyes. Something was off about this whole situation—it was too convenient, too perfectly timed. “Did you two plan this?” he asked, his voice rough, like gravel underfoot.

“Of course not,” Steele replied. Ryker shook his head, his hair ruffling with the movement. “We wouldn’t do that to you. This just happened to be good timing.”

“Really,” Bronx said, unconvinced. His skepticism plagued him, fueled by the tensions between the Moonstone and Idaho Packs. The idea of taking an Idaho female as his mate made him uneasy, but if there was even a chance that this could lead to a fated mate bond, he had to consider it.

“Look, I understand your concerns,” Steele repeated. “But maybe meeting Cora will put your mind at ease. Give it a shot, for the sake of the pack and our future.”

Bronx relented, even as his chest tightened with anxiety. “Fine. I’ll meet her.” But deep down, he knew that nothing could erase the image of the angelic woman from his hospital dream.

“Good,” Steele said, offering a small smile. “I’m proud of you for being open to this.”

Bronx shifted his weight on his feet, his massive frame casting a shadow over the office floor.

I don’t want anyone else.But a dream woman wouldn’t give him the life he wanted.

“Remember, no matter what happens, you can always count on us,” Ryker added. His reassuring voice was a stark contrast to the uneasiness that settled in Bronx’s chest.

“I know,” Bronx replied, his agreement a harsh rasp rather than a confident declaration.

“Good luck,” Steele said, placing a firm hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

With a nod and a deep breath, Bronx steeled himself for the future, even if it meant letting go of the dreams he’d held on to for so long.

“I’ll call you once I have the meeting set up,” Steele said.

With a nod, Bronx stepped out of Steele’s office, the door clicking shut behind him. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, his stomach churning as he contemplated the meeting with this Cora woman, a nagging doubt clawing at the back of his mind.

Although he had kept the worst of his insecurities hidden from Ryker and Steele, he couldn’t lie to himself.

He trailed his fingers along the raised scars on his face, the memories of battle scored into his skin, and wondered if those scars made him hideous, a monstrous reflection of the violence he’d encountered throughout his life as head guardian.

Could any woman truly accept him, knowing the darkness that lurked within?

“Damn it,” Bronx muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the thoughts as easily as he pushed his body away from the wall.

Blowing out a breath, he headed toward the exit, more eager than ever to get out of the lodge and back into his wolf form in the woods.

As he strode through the hallway leading into the Moonstone Lodge’s lobby, he clenched his fists to quell the anxiety roiling in his gut. He would do whatever was best for his pack, including choosing a mate from the Idahos—even if it meant confronting his deepest fears and insecurities.

He rounded the corner into the lobby, a bustling scene of pack members coming and going. The familiar sounds and scents of home should have been comforting, but Bronx’s senses were on high alert, his nerves frayed.

A startled yelp interrupted his thoughts, and he growled as someone bumped into him—then bit back a reprimand as he realized it was a small, dark-haired, part-East-Asian boy. The child had been playing with a toy truck, which he had rammed into the side of Bronx’s foot. The boy—maybe three or four years old?—looked up, wide-eyed, his gaze traveling the length of Bronx’s towering frame before darting toward a woman standing nearby.

The boy hesitated for a moment longer, then finally seemed to gain control of himself, scrambling away. He ran directly to a woman standing at the front desk. She offered the child a small smile.

“Mommy! I’m so sorry!” the boy cried out, drawing the woman’s attention to the scene. Her eyes widened as she took in Bronx’s imposing figure and the toy truck lying abandoned on the floor.

“Please, forgive my son,” the woman said, her tone startled.

“No problem,” Bronx rumbled, trying to sound gentle despite his gruff voice—it was a pup, nothing more.

“I’m really so sorry about that,” she said again, crossing the distance between them. “He can get a little carried away with his toys.”

Bronx finally glanced directly at her, and his breath stuttered in his chest. The woman had an undeniable beauty that left him momentarily speechless.

---