Days pass, but the heat between Darius and Cassandra only grows. The tension is no longer just something they feel, it's something the entire pack breathes. It radiates off them like wildfire barely contained, a silent tug-of-war between longing and restraint. No matter how much they pretend otherwise, the sparks are impossible to miss.
Every glance they exchange is loaded. Their eyes lock across rooms for split seconds, both oblivious to the fact that the other is doing the exact same thing. It's maddening, like a dance they're performing without ever touching. Cassandra's laughter will float unexpectedly through the pack house, light and musical, and Darius's jaw will twitch as if he's physically holding himself back. And when he "happens" to be near the pups' enclosure for the third time in a day, pretending to check the perimeter, everyone knows he's only there to catch a glimpse of her.
The pack says nothing, but they're all watching. Entertained. Betting, probably.
Lexie has already whispered to Sasha that the tension between Alpha and mystery-mate is enough to fuel the winter bonfires. Sasha snorts, clearly amused. "We should sell tickets. I'd sit in the front row just to watch Darius try not to combust."
No one dares bring it up to Darius, of course. The man is already the grumpiest wolf on the continent. One too many jokes and he might just bite someone. Michael, wise as ever, mutters something about "emotional constipation," and Aidan nearly chokes on his water.
Cassandra notices it all. the looks, the whispers, the barely-contained curiosity. But mostly, she notices him. The way he looks at her like she's something wild and dangerous. The way he walks away like she's something sacred he doesn't trust himself with.
Fine. Two can play the "stoic and unaffected" game.
She tosses out sarcastic remarks like confetti, buries her rising heat behind laughter and long sleeves. She refuses to be the girl who moons over an Alpha who clearly can't make up his mind. Darius may be magnetic, but she's not going to be pulled in without some gravity of her own.
Still, there's something else weighing on her.
Something she can't joke away. Something not even sarcasm can shield her from.
By mid-morning, after barely sleeping, after yet another vivid dream that leaves her skin flushed and her thoughts in chaos, Cassandra makes her way to the kitchen. She finds Grace there, as usual, sipping her herbal tea and flipping through a leather-bound ledger thick with pack records.
"Can I speak with you?" Cassandra asks, her voice quieter than usual. "Privately."
Grace immediately sets her tea down, her gaze sharp and knowing. "Of course, dear. Come."
They retreat into Grace's private office, a cosy, lavender-scented room tucked behind the kitchen, with shelves lined in well-worn books and delicate crystals glowing faintly on wooden ledges. Grace sinks into a high-backed chair, motioning for Cassandra to sit beside her.
Cassandra does, wringing her hands. "I... I need to talk to you about something serious."
Grace leans forward. "I'm listening."
Cassandra hesitates, then speaks quickly before she can lose her nerve. "I think my heat is coming. Soon."
Understanding flashes through Grace's expression immediately. "Ah," she breathes, placing a hand over Cassandra's. "Of course. Darius...my foolish and stubborn son is your mate."
"Yes," Cassandra says quietly, cheeks flushed. "Or rather...fate found him for me. But he hasn't accepted me. And I don't think he will."
Grace's eyes soften, concern blooming on her face. "That complicates things."
"I know the heat cycle usually starts a few days after a mate is recognized." Cassandra's voice drops. "It's already beginning. I feel...off. Warmer. Restless."
Grace nods, old instincts kicking in. "Then we don't have much time."
Cassandra tries to keep her tone light, but it trembles anyway. "Abby and John used to lock me away when it came. Just for a few days. They made sure no unmated males got too close."
"And your ex?" Grace asks gently.
"Marked someone else," she says, looking away. "Spared me the worst of it, I guess."
A silence passes between them. Grace reaches for her tea, thoughtful. "You know the heat will intensify...especially if you're near him."
"I won't be," Cassandra says, more firmly now. "That's why I came to you. I just need...a place. Somewhere safe. I can't do this out in the open. And I sure as hell won't be a temptation."
Grace's mouth hardens into a determined line. "You'll have it. I'll make sure of it."
Within hours, Grace mobilizes the pack. She calls on Aidan and Michael, both mated, trusted and strong and two loyal pack sisters to stand guard and stay with Cassandra. They reinforce a secluded room in the far wing of the pack house, one rarely used but ideal for isolation. Ancient protective runes are etched into the walls, softly glowing silver. Every window and door is locked, reinforced, and charmed with scent-blocking wards.
When Cassandra arrives at the door, she pauses.
Inside is a beautifully arranged space. Plush bed. Soft rugs. A writing desk by a small enchanted window that opens to a private garden where moonflowers bloom regardless of season. There are books, games, tea, blankets.
A cage of comfort.
She runs her hand over the edge of the desk, her heart tight.
"I'll be okay," she tells Grace, who watches her from the doorway with worried eyes.
Grace smiles. "You're stronger than you know."
As the door closes behind her, Cassandra exhales, long and slow. For the next few days, she will be locked away...cut off from the pack. From her new friends.
From him.
From Darius.
The ache surprises her. Not the coming fever, not the stir of need...no, she's prepared for that. What cuts deepest is the knowledge that she won't see his face. That she won't hear his voice. That even in this strange dance of theirs, even in the silence, she misses him.
One tear slides down her cheek. She brushes it away.
"Nope," she mutters aloud. "I'm not doing this again."
Meanwhile, outside, the absence hits Darius like a freight train.
He doesn't realize how often he's used to sensing her nearby until she's simply...not. Her scent is muted, her laughter a phantom echo and the quiet in the house feels unbearable. He storms through the hallways like a man possessed, picking fights with reports, slamming doors that didn't deserve it, and sending three pups scattering when he growls too loudly at an overcooked stew.
Michael, unfazed, watches from the side lines. "So. Is this your final form, or are you saving the meltdown for later?"
Darius glares.
Sasha grins and whispers, "You think he knows she's gone yet?"
"Oh," Michael replies, "he knows. You can feel it. Man's about to shift just to howl at the moon."
Even Grace watches her son from afar, a mix of amusement and sympathy in her eyes. Darius is pacing near the clearing like a wolf denied his prey. His shoulders are tight. His eyes flash too easily.
He's unravelling.
Because no matter how hard he fights it, part of him is already hers.
And Cassandra? She may be behind warded doors, but her heart beats with the same wild rhythm.
The pack can only wait, watching the storm build from both sides of the wall...two hearts burning, each trying to resist what fate has already decided.
And fate?
It's getting impatient.