Zeke's POV.
"This fountain," Cecelia said suddenly. "This is where you told me about the marriage. About choosing me for the
peace treaty."
I remembered. It had been late spring, flowers blooming everywhere, the air sweet with their scent. Cecelia had been so young, barely twenty, trying to look brave while her hands
shook.
"You wore a blue dress," I said before I could stop myself. "You kept twisting your ring around your
finger, the one your father gave you."
"I was terrified." She sat on the edge of the fountain. "I thought you were going to tell me you'd changed your mind. That you'd picked Layla after all."
"Would that have been better?"
She was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. Maybe. At least then I wouldn't have spent six months falling in love
with someone who didn't want me."
The admission hung between us. I moved closer, sitting on
the
fountain's edge beside her but leaving careful space between us.
"I was cruel to you," I said quietly. "I told myself it was duty, that I was doing what was necessary for the pack. But the
truth is I was a coward."
"Yes, you were." No venom in her voice, just exhaustion. "You were a coward who hurt me because you couldn't
admit you felt something you didn't want to feel."
"I didn't think I deserved to feel anything." The confession escaped before I could contain it. "After what
my father did to yours, after the war that killed so many, I thought I deserved to be miserable. Choosing you was supposed to be my punishment."
"How flattering."
"That came out wrong." I rubbed my face, trying to find words that wouldn't make things worse. "What I meant was I chose you because I thought I could keep my distance.
Thought I could do my duty without getting attached. But
every day with you made that harder."
"So you pushed me away."
"So I pushed you away," I agreed. "Because admitting I cared about you meant admitting I'd been wrong about everything. Wrong about Layla, wrong about duty over
emotion, wrong about who I was supposed to be."
Cecelia pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. She looked younger like that, vulnerable in a way she
rarely allowed anymore.
"I used to sit here after you'd leave for pack business," she said. "I'd imagine what our life could be like if you actually wanted me. If you
looked at me the way you used to look at Layla."
"How did I look at Layla?"
"Like she was the only person in the room. Like nothing else mattered but her." Cecelia's voice went soft. "I wanted that so badly. Just once, I wanted you to look at me like I was
important."
The words cut deeper than any blade could. I remembered those early months of our marriage, how I'd kept myself busy with pack affairs to avoid spending time with her. How I'd come to our bed out of
obligation, left before dawn, spoken to her only when necessary.
I'd treated her like an inconvenience. Like something to be endured rather than cherished.
"I look at you like that now," I said before I could stop myself.
Cecelia's head snapped toward me. "What?"
"Now. I look at you now the way I used to look at Layla." My throat felt tight. "Maybe I always did and was too blind to see it. But I see it now, Cecelia. I see you."
"Don't." She stood abruptly. "Don't do this. Not now, not when Golden is still missing and everything is such a mess."
"When then?" I stood too, unable to help myself. "When are we going to talk about what's between us? Because there is something between us, even if we both keep pretending
there isn't."
"There's nothing between us but history and a child who needs to be found."
"Liar." The word came out softer than I intended. "You feel it too. The bond. It's still there."
Her breath caught. We both knew what I meant. The mate bond we'd rejected three years ago, the one that should have died when I formally ended things. But it hadn't died. It
had just gone dormant, waiting.
Now it hummed between us like a live wire, faint but undeniably present.
"It's not possible," Cecelia whispered. "Rejected bonds don't come back."
"This one did." I took a step closer
and saw her body tense. "Or maybe it never really left. Maybe we can't kill something that was always meant to be."
"Stop talking like that." But she didn't move away. "We're not meant to be anything. We tried that already and it destroyed both of us."
"Then what do you call this?" I gestured between us. "This
pull, this awareness, this constant orbit we're stuck in. If it's not the bond, what is it?"
"Unfinished business." Her voice
shook. "Trauma bonding. Proximity during a crisis. Take your pick."
"It's more than that and you know it."
We stood there as the sun set around us, neither willing to close the distance or increase it. The air between us felt
charged with everything unsaid, everything we were both too afraid or stubborn to acknowledge.
Finally, Cecelia spoke. "Even if the bond did somehow
survive, what would it matter? You broke my heart, Zeke. You told me you
wanted to be free. You chose Layla over me. That doesn't just go away because we're forced to work together now."
"I know." The admission hurt. "I know I broke something that
maybe can't be fixed. But I need you to understand that letting you go was the worst mistake I ever made. Every day
since, I've regretted it."
"That's not fair." Tears shone in her eyes. "You don't get to say things like that after everything that happened. You don't
get to make me hope again when hope is what almost killed me the first time."
"I'm not trying to make you hope. I'm trying to be honest." I wanted to touch her, to wipe away the tears tracking down her face, but I knew she wouldn't welcome it. "Three years
ago I was an idiot who threw away the best thing in his life. I've had three years to realize what I lost. And now you're
here, and Golden is out there somewhere, and I'm terrified I'm going to lose both of you before I get a chance to make
any of it right."
"You can't make it right, Zeke." Her voice cracked. "Some things are too broken to fix."
