Locket

The silver moonlight filtered through the window, casting gentle shadows across River's tear-stained face. Killian's heart clenched at the sight of her sitting there, vulnerable and uncertain on his leather couch. Each step toward her felt heavy with the weight of unspoken words and hidden truths.

"Do you want her as your Luna?" River's voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

Killian sank down beside her, his warmth radiating against her side. "No," he said firmly, reaching out to brush away a stray tear with his thumb. "I want you, River. Only you. The elders—some of them—they're pushing for Taylor, but I made my position clear at today's meeting."

River turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with hurt. "Why didn't you tell me about her? About the contract?"

Running a hand through his hair, Killian exhaled heavily. "I should have," he admitted, guilt lacing his words. "The contract was meant to be void once I found my mate—you. But Elder Michael…" He shook his head. "He's playing the same dangerous game as Alpha Caden."

"Would you…" River paused, gathering her courage. "Would you want to mark me?"

The question caught him off guard, but his wolf howled in approval. "Yes," he breathed, "more than anything. But only when you're truly ready."

"What if I am ready?" Her voice was small but determined.

Killian pressed his lips to her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent. "Then we'll do this properly," he murmured against her skin. "Though you should know, marking means mating…"

River fidgeted with her shirt hem, a blush creeping across her cheeks. "I've never… I haven't…"

Gently tilting her chin up with his finger, Killian's eyes softened. "A queen never bows her head," he whispered before capturing her lips in a kiss that spoke volumes of apology, promise, and devotion.

When they finally parted, both breathless, he pressed his forehead against hers. "I know you're innocent, little wolf, and I'll be gentle when the time comes. But tonight…" He stood, scooping her into his arms with practiced ease, drawing a surprised gasp from her lips. "Tonight, we rest."

Laying her carefully on his bed, Killian stripped down to his boxers before sliding in beside her. He pulled her close, wrapping her in his protective embrace. "Sleep, my love," he whispered into her hair. "Tomorrow brings a new chapter for us both."

The morning sun filters through my gauzy curtains, casting dancing shadows across my bedroom floor, but I can barely focus on their gentle waltz. My mind is consumed by memories of last night - Killian's intense gaze, the electricity that sparked between us whenever we touched, and the increasingly urgent howls of my wolf beneath my skin.

Most werewolves don't wait. The mate bond is too powerful, too primal to resist. Yet Killian has been patient, giving me space to heal, to trust again. But now, lying here with my wolf pacing restlessly within me, I wonder if his patience has become a sweet torture for us both.

Yesterday's run through the forest with Amelia changed everything. The familiar surge of power coursed through my veins as we sprinted between ancient trees, their bark rough against my fingertips as we passed. For the first time in months, my wolf wasn't just a whisper - she was a roar, demanding to be freed. When Killian's scent caught on the wind, my entire being hummed with recognition.

"Let go," Amelia had urged, her eyes glowing with understanding. "Your wolf is ready. You're ready."

Rolling onto my side, I press my face into my pillow, but it doesn't help. I can still feel the pull - that invisible thread connecting me to Killian, growing tauter with each passing moment. My wolf whines, clawing at my insides, desperate for completion. The mark isn't just a tradition; it's a necessity, a sacred bond that would unite not just our bodies and minds, but our very souls.

My fingers trace the spot where his mark would go, just below my collarbone. The skin there tingles with anticipation, as if it knows its destiny. Trust has always been my weakness, my barrier, but something has shifted. Perhaps it's the way Killian looks at me - not just with desire, but with reverence. Or maybe it's how he fights his own instincts to give me time, even as his wolf calls to mine.

The decision crystallizes in my mind as the morning light strengthens. My wolf settles, sensing our resolve. Tonight, under the waxing moon, I'll ask Killian to mark me. To claim me. To complete what fate has already written in our blood.

Because some bonds are worth the risk of trust, and some calls are too powerful to deny.

The weight of my mother's locket feels foreign against my collarbone as I make my way down the hallway, my fingers absently tracing its familiar oval shape. Years of hiding it away haven't dulled its golden shine, nor the memories it carries. Jennifer and Thomas may no longer pose a threat, but old habits die hard, and I catch myself glancing over my shoulder despite the mansion's apparent safety.

The morning light streams through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the ornate carpet runner. My footsteps are muffled, but my heartbeat seems to echo off the walls. Killian's empty side of the bed this morning left an unsettling void, though I try to quiet the anxiety bubbling in my chest.

As I approach the dining room, voices drift through the partially open door – deep, masculine tones mixing with Amelia's lighter timbre. I pause, my hand resting on the door frame, when something catches my attention. A laugh. It sounds so familiar, so much like Killian's, but older somehow, weathered by time.

I push the door open, and the scene before me freezes like a photograph. Killian sits at the table with two men I've never met, yet something about them tugs at my memory like a half-forgotten dream. The older man with grey hair turns, and I find myself staring into eyes that mirror my own – the same shade of emerald green that greets me every morning in the mirror. My fingers instinctively clutch the locket tighter.

The memories flood back: my mother's whispered stories cut short by my father's rage, the bruises she'd try to hide the next day, her tears when she thought no one was watching. The pieces begin to align themselves like a puzzle I never knew I was solving.

Amelia waves, breaking the spell, and Killian rises with his usual grace to pull out my chair. But it's the way the older man with my eyes is looking at me – with recognition, with longing, with years of loss – that roots me to the spot. The locket suddenly feels heavy with unspoken truths, and I realize that perhaps my father's claims about my grandparents' death were just another one of his cruel lies.

My world tilts on its axis as I take that first step forward, knowing that crossing this threshold will change everything I thought I knew about my family's history. The truth, it seems, has been hanging around my neck all along.

His steel-gray eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. There's something familiar in those eyes, something that stirs long-buried memories I can't quite grasp. The ambient chatter of the restaurant fades to white noise as our silent standoff continues.

Then his gaze drops to my locket, and everything changes.

The sharp intake of his breath cuts through the room like a knife. His chair scrapes against the hardwood floor as he begins to rise, his hands trembling as he points at my neck. "Where did you get that locket?" His voice booms across the restaurant, causing several patrons to drop their silverware with a clatter.

I feel Killian's presence before his arms encircle me, protective and possessive. His chest rumbles against my back as he growls, the sound more animal than human. "Sit down," he commands, his voice carrying an authority that makes even the waitstaff freeze in place.

The antique locket feels heavy against my chest, its golden surface dulled by decades of wear. I shouldn't have put it on – Mom always said it was special, different – but today marks five years since I lost her, and I desperately needed to feel her presence.

My fingers instinctively wrap around it, drawing comfort from its familiar warmth. "It was my mother's," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the gentle clink of silverware. "Mya's. Her name is even engraved on the back."

The silence that follows is deafening. James's fork clatters against his plate, the sound sharp and jarring in the sudden stillness. His face drains of color, and for a moment, he looks like he's seen a ghost. Maybe he has.

"Mya Crater?" he breathes, his voice rough with emotion.

The room starts to spin. How does he know her full name? I never mentioned it. The other dinner guests – all stare at me as if I've grown a second head.

"You knew my mother?" The words tumble out, my heart thundering in my chest.

James's next words shatter my world into a million pieces: "She is my daughter."

My mouth falls open, the locket suddenly burning against my skin like a brand. Memories flash through my mind: Mom's evasiveness about my grandparents, the sadness in her eyes when I asked about family, the way she changed the subject when I mentioned my grandparents.

"But that would mean…" I can't finish the sentence. Killian looks as shocked as I feel, his face pale beneath his tan.

James nods slowly, tears gathering in his eyes. "You're my granddaughter."

The locket slips from my trembling fingers, landing on the table with a dull thud. All these years, I thought I was alone, that Mom was all the family I had. Now, sitting across from my grandfather, I never knew I had, I realize the locket didn't just hold memories – it held secrets waiting to be unveiled.