Hard part

(Cameron pov)

"Are you sure you're okay?" Simone's voice crackles through the laptop speakers for what feels like the millionth time.

I rub my temples, leaning back in the creaky wooden chair, staring at the faint reflection of my own tired face in the laptop screen.

"Yeah, I am," I lie, forcing a casual shrug, even though nothing about my current situation screams 'okay.'

It's been a week.

Seven days since I woke up in this strange, suffocating reality where people turn into wolves like it's the most natural thing in the world. Seven days of pretending I'm fine, like I'm not slowly unraveling inside.

Technically, I'm free—free to walk around, to breathe the crisp air outside, to do whatever I want.

Except leave.

That's the catch.

I can't leave.

Not without risking my own life—or worse, hers.

So, here I am. A billionaire businessman, kidnapped and held hostage in what looks like a glorified treehouse.

The only lifeline to my old life? This laptop I borrowed.

It sits on the rickety wooden desk like some kind of relic from another world, the familiar glow of spreadsheets and emails the only anchor to my sanity. I can still work, still pretend I have control over something.

But every time I close the screen, reality comes crashing back.

I'm not in New York anymore.

I'm in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by werewolves.

I glance around the small room—simple, rustic, suffocating. The walls are bare, the faint scent of pine and earth clinging to everything. The wooden floors creak with every movement, and the small window overlooks a stretch of trees that feel more like walls than scenery.

The house isn't much—three small bedrooms, a porch, a cramped kitchen, and a sitting area that feels more like a waiting room in purgatory.

It's quiet.

Too quiet.

Luckily, not many people come out here. Apparently, it's on the outskirts—not technically part of the main pack, which is the only thing keeping me from completely losing my mind. I don't think I could handle a full-blown community of people shifting into wolves like it's a Tuesday hobby.

Still, even with the sparse population, I can't escape it.

The constant reminder of what I've been dragged into.

Like the massive tree outside the porch. Its twisted roots disappear into the earth, and nestled beneath it is a hollow—a den.

And I often see her there.

The white wolf.

Lenora.

She hides under that tree like it's her sanctuary, her safe space, away from me.

Not that I'm complaining.

Her presence stirs things inside me I'd rather keep buried.

"If you say so," Simone's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, dragging me back to the present.

She keeps talking, updating me about work—about mergers, board meetings, deadlines—things that should matter, but somehow… don't.

I listen half-heartedly, nodding at the right moments, but my mind drifts.

She mentions that my stuff has been sent to the nearest town.

Clothes. My real clothes.

Not the hand-me-downs I've been stuck wearing for the past week—faded, ill-fitting shirts and jeans that scream 90s dad-core. That apparently belong to Lenora's father.

I don't care.

I just want my life back.

Eventually, she ends the call, her concerned face disappearing from the screen. The room feels heavier without her voice.

I sigh, pushing the laptop closed with more force than necessary, the click echoing in the silence.

Enough.

I can't stay cooped up in here any longer.

The walls feel like they're closing in, the air too thick, like I'm drowning in my own thoughts.

I stand, stretching my stiff limbs, feeling every ache from days spent hunched over the laptop, pretending this isn't my life now.

I walk out of the room, the wooden floor creaking beneath my bare feet as I head toward the front door.

***

(Lenora's POV )

I feel him before I even hear him.

His presence hums in the air, threading through the room like an invisible cord pulling taut. My heart skips—no, it lurches, betraying me with its hopeful rhythm.

I clench my jaw, willing the sudden rush of warmth in my chest to settle, to behave like I'm not coming undone every time he steps into the same space as me.

Be normal, Lenora.

I focus on the sizzle of the steak in the pan, the sharp hiss of oil snapping like tiny sparks. The scent of seared meat fills the small kitchen, but it's drowned out by something else—him.

His scent is faint but unmistakable, crisp like winter air mixed with something rich and grounding. It weaves into my senses, into the very fabric of me, because that's what mates are—stitched into your soul, even when you try to ignore it.

I close my eyes for a second, drawing in a slow, steady breath.

Composure.

Ronan's words echo in my mind—"Give him space, Len."

And he's right.

Cameron may be my mate, but he's also a man who's been ripped from the life he knew, thrown into a world of wolves, witches, and things he probably thought only existed in bedtime stories.

I'd like to believe the mate bond would be enough. That the pull between us would bridge the gap. But he's not just a wolf—he's human, too. Or at least, he thinks he is.

And I've done nothing to earn his trust. No points in my favor.

I swallow the ache rising in my throat.

Goddess, why test me so?

The sharp pop of oil snapping in the pan jolts me from my spiraling thoughts. I blink, quickly flipping the steak, pretending like I wasn't lost in my own frustration and longing.

I don't dare turn around.

But I feel him.

Standing there in the doorway, his gaze like a weight against my back, burning into my skin.

Cameron thinks he's subtle.

He's not.

Every glance is like a spark, igniting along my spine, leaving tingling embers in its wake. It's my guilty pleasure—feeling his eyes on me, knowing he's fighting the bond even as it pulls at him.

I grip the wooden spoon tighter, forcing myself to focus on the simple act of cooking. Meat. Heat. Flip. Breathe.

But all I can think about is how much I want him to just give in.

To close the distance.

To touch me.

To remember.

The minutes stretch like taut threads, delicate and fraying.

And then—

He leaves.

I hear the faint creak of the door, the soft thud of it closing behind him, and suddenly my chest deflates with a sigh I didn't realize I was holding.

Relief.

Disappointment.

Both.

I lean against the counter, pressing my palms into the cool wood as my heart tries to find a normal rhythm again.

This is not how I pictured my mating honeymoon phase.

No, in my head it was wild and messy—filled with tangled sheets and whispered promises, skin on skin, hearts racing together instead of apart.

I close my eyes, tilting my head back, silently asking the moon above—why?

Why give me a mate who doesn't want me?

Why bind me to someone who looks at me like I'm the stranger in his story?

I press my fingers into my temples, breathing through the ache that's not just in my chest, but woven into my very bones.

I thought the hard part would be finding him.

I was wrong.

The hard part is keeping him.