I called him.
I didn't plan it. I just picked up my phone, found his name, and pressed the button before I could talk myself out of it. The line rang once. Twice.
"Layla?" His voice was steady, but I could hear something underneath it. Concern, maybe. Or fear.
"Can you come back?" My voice broke on the last word. I hated that. Hated how small I sounded.
"I'm on my way."
The line went dead.
I sat on the edge of his bed with the yearbook still open in my lap. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I pressed them flat against the pages, trying to hold something steady.
Eighteen minutes later, the door slammed open.
Elio stood in the doorway, chest heaving, still in his running clothes. His hair was damp with sweat. He must have sprinted the whole way back.
I held up the yearbook without saying a word.
He went completely still. His eyes dropped to the open pages, then back to my face. For a long moment, neither of us moved.
"How long?" I asked again. My voice was quieter this time. Calmer.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Walked to the window. Stood there with his back to me, his shoulders tight.
"Sophomore year," he said finally. "First day. You walked into the cafeteria wearing that green jacket you always had tied around your waist. Your hair was up. You were laughing at something your friend said."
I remembered that jacket. I'd lost it junior year.
"I caught your scent across the room," he continued. His voice was low, controlled. "Wild jasmine and rain. It hit me like a wall. My wolf—" He stopped. Took a breath. "My wolf recognized you before I even knew your name."
My chest felt tight. "The mate bond."
"Yes."
"And you never said anything."
"No."
"Why?"
He turned around then. Looked at me directly. "Because you were scent-locked on Conor. I could see it every time you looked at him. Every time you lit up when he walked into a room. You weren't free to choose, Layla. And I wasn't going to force you."
I stared at him. "So you just... buried it."
"I buried it," he confirmed. "For eight years."
"That must have hurt."
His jaw tightened. "Every single day."
I set the yearbook aside and stood. My legs felt unsteady, but I crossed the room anyway. Stopped in front of him. Close enough to see the scar on his jaw up close. Close enough to catch his scent — pine and something darker, like smoke after rain.
"The fights," I said. "The expulsions. Everyone said you were reckless."
"I was reckless," he said quietly. "Just not the way they thought."
"What does that mean?"
He exhaled slowly. "Junior year. The bonfire at Miller's Ridge. You remember?"
I nodded. "I left early. Wasn't feeling well."
"Three unmated males followed you to your car," Elio said. His voice was flat, controlled. "They were drunk. They had your scent. I intercepted them in the parking lot."
My stomach dropped. "I didn't know."
"You weren't supposed to know. That was the point." He paused. "Senior year. The house party at Zoe's. You went upstairs to get away from the noise."
"I remember."
"Someone spiked your drink. I saw him do it. I took the cup before you came back down and broke his nose in the kitchen."
I felt cold. "Elio—"
"The rogue wolves near school grounds. The training expulsions. Every single fight." His hands curled into fists at his sides. "All of it. Every reputation mark I took. Every time someone called me violent or unstable. It was because I was keeping you safe from things you never knew were there."
I couldn't breathe. The weight of it — eight years of silent protection, eight years of damage absorbed so I could move through the world without fear — was crushing.
"I never asked you to see me," Elio said. His voice was rough now, breaking at the edges. "I just needed you to be safe."
I didn't think. I just moved.
I crossed the last foot of space between us and kissed him.
He went rigid for half a second. Then his hands came up to frame my face, and he kissed me back like he'd been holding his breath for eight years and finally remembered how to breathe.
The bond ignited.
It wasn't the cold, hollow thing I'd felt with Conor. It was heat. Light. A golden thread that snapped into place between us with so much force I gasped against his mouth. It flooded through my chest, down my arms, into every corner of me that had been empty for so long.
Elio's wolf howled inside his chest. I felt it through the bond — a sound so deep and primal it made my ribs vibrate.
And then my wolf answered.
The sound tore out of me without warning. Low and resonant and impossibly loud. It vibrated through the cabin walls, rattled the windows, echoed into the woods outside.
We both froze. Foreheads pressed together. Breathing hard.
"Layla," Elio whispered. His hands were still on my face. His eyes were wide. "Your wolf—"
"I know," I breathed.
She was there. Fully there. Not a flicker or a murmur but a roaring, undeniable presence that filled every space inside me I'd thought would stay empty forever.
For the first time in twenty-three years, I wasn't alone in my own skin.
Elio pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes flashed gold — bright and unmistakable.
"She's awake," he said.
I nodded. My hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn't fear. It was something else. Something I didn't have a name for yet.
Elio's wolf howled again. And mine — my wolf, the one I thought I'd never have — threw her head back and answered him.
