Chapter 9: Breathing Through Walls

She spent the day with Wren, doing normal things. They made lunch together, and Wren told her more about pack dynamics, about the history of Ironwood Pack, about how Ryder had taken over from his father five years ago and had been slowly undoing the damage his father had done. The previous alpha had been exactly the type who chose the pack over his mate, and it had broken her. She'd left and never recovered from the bond severing.

"Ryder's never going to do that," Wren said. "He's spent his whole life making sure he's a better alpha than his father was. But that also means he expects whoever he bonds with to be chosen first, pack second. That's just who he is."

By evening, Lily's truck had been deemed safe to drive, and she could have left. Instead, she asked if she could stay another night. Cas looked like he had opinions about that, but Ryder just nodded.

That night, Lily stayed in the guest room, and Ryder stayed in the adjacent room. She could hear him through the wall: the sound of him pacing, the sound of him breathing like he was working to keep it steady and measured. Around midnight, he stopped pacing and just lay down, and Lily could hear the sound of his breathing even through the wall. It was measured and controlled, and she found herself matching it, breathing when he breathed, staying in sync with him in the darkness.

It was intimate in a way that didn't require touch. It was a conversation they were having in the language of respiration and presence and the vulnerability of being heard in the dark.

At some point in the early morning hours, Lily fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, and she dreamed of amber eyes and forests and the feeling of being known completely by someone who had already spent three years knowing her.

When she woke, the sun was up and Ryder's breathing had changed rhythm, becoming deeper, less controlled. He was finally asleep. Lily lay in the darkness and made a decision, though it wasn't the final decision. It was just the next one. She would stay in the valley. She would continue her research. She would take the time she needed to figure out what the bond would mean for her, how much of her autonomy she was willing to trade for the kind of connection he was offering.

But she wasn't going to run.

She wrote in her field journal:

Subject exhibits signs of deep psychological attachment and physical distress related to mate bond. Condition appears chronic, possibly exacerbated by extended separation. Proposal: extended observation period, regular contact, assessment of compatibility and long-term viability of bonding.

She paused, then added:

Researcher also exhibiting signs of attachment and curiosity exceeding normal professional parameters. Recommend proceeding with caution and external observation.

She closed the journal and lay back, listening to Ryder sleep on the other side of the wall, and felt something shift inside her that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the fact that for the first time in her adult life, she was choosing not to be small. She was choosing to stay. She was choosing to let someone see her.

That was terrifying. And she was going to do it anyway.