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."

Zekes pov

"Maybe." I sat back down on the fountain's edge, suddenly exhausted. "But I have to try. For Golden, if nothing else. He deserves a father who'll fight for him. Who'll be there for him

the way I should have been there for you."

Cecelia sat down beside me again, this time close enough that our arms almost touched. We sat in silence as darkness fell around us, the fountain's gentle splashing the only sound.

"Tell me about him," I said eventually. "About Golden. What's his favorite color? What does he like to do? What makes him

laugh?"

Cecelia's expression softened. "He loves blue. Ocean blue specifically. He says it's the color of adventure." A small smile crossed her face. "He wants to be a fisherman like Fatima

when he grows up. He loves being on the water, helping with the nets, asking a million questions about every fish they catch."

"He's curious then."

"About everything. He never stops asking why." She pulled out her phone, showing me videos. Golden running on a

beach, his laughter bright and clear. Golden helping sort fish, his little hands careful despite his excitement. Golden at bedtime, demanding one more story.

I watched each video multiple times, memorizing my son's face, his voice, the way he moved. Three years of his life I'd never get back. Three years of moments I'd missed because I'd been too stupid to see what I had when I had it.

"He has your smile," Cecelia said

softly. "When he's really happy, he smiles exactly like you do. The same slightly crooked grin."

"Does he know about me?"

"I told him his father was someone important who couldn't be with us. That it wasn't his fault, that sometimes adults make complicated choices." She put her phone away. "He asks

sometimes, but mostly he's content with the life we built. Or he was, until someone took him."

Her voice broke on the last words. Without thinking, I reached over and

took her hand. She stiffened but didn't pull away.

"We'll find him," I promised. "I swear to you, Cecelia, we'll

bring him home safe."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can." I squeezed her hand gently. "I failed you three years ago. I won't fail Golden. I won't fail either of you again."

We sat there as full dark settled over the garden, hands linked, sharing the weight of our fear for our son. The bond

hummed stronger between us, feeding off the contact, trying to knit itself back together.

I felt when Cecelia noticed it too. Her breath hitched and she

shifted slightly, but she didn't let go of my hand.

"This is dangerous," she whispered.

"I know.

"If we let this happen, if we let the bond come back, it could destroy us worse than before."

"I know that too." I turned to look at her profile in the moonlight. "But I can't seem to care about that as

much as I should."

"You should care." She finally pulled her hand free, standing up. "Because I can't survive you breaking me again, Zeke. I

barely survived it the first time. Next time would kill me."

She walked away before I could respond, disappearing into

the palace and leaving me alone with the fountain and my regrets.

I stayed in the garden for another hour, trying to sort through the mess in my head. The bond was back. Against all logic, against

everything I knew about wolf mating, the bond between Cecelia and me was rebuilding itself.

It should have been impossible. Rejected bonds died. The few documented cases of surviving rejections all involved incomplete ceremonies or technicalities. But ours had been

complete. I'd spoken the formal words. She'd accepted. The bond should have been severed permanently.

Instead, it pulsed between us like a second heartbeat, growing stronger every moment we spent together.

Eventually, I forced myself back inside. Work waited in my office. Reports from the investigators, updates from the trackers, financial records to review. The search for Golden

continued even while I sat in gardens having impossible conversations with his mother.

The palace was quiet as I made my way to my office. Most of the staff had retired for the night. Guards nodded as I

passed, their expressions respectful but curious. I wondered what they thought of all this. Their Alpha's dead mate returning from the grave, bringing

chaos and questions with her.

My office felt cold despite the fire someone had lit in the fireplace. I settled behind my desk, pulling up the latest

reports. The investigators had made progress on tracing the burner phone found in Layla's room. Several calls to an unlisted number that they were working to identify.

I was deep in financial records when it hit me.

A scream that tore through my mind rather than my ears.

Cecelia's voice, raw with terror, calling for Golden. The bond flared to life so.

suddenly it nearly knocked me from my chair. Images flashed through my consciousness. A concrete room. Golden crying. Hands reaching for him.

Cecelia's nightmare played out through our connection and I felt every ounce of her fear, her desperation, her helplessness.

I was moving before my conscious mind caught up. Through the halls, up the stairs, across the palace to the guest wing

where Cecelia's quarters were. Guards called after me but I ignored them. The bond pulled me forward like a physical

tether.

Her door was ajar when I reached it. I pushed it open slowly, my heart hammering.

Cecelia thrashed in her bed, tangled in sheets, her face wet with tears. Her lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear but felt through the bond. Golden's name. Over and over.

Begging him to hold on, begging whoever had him to let him go.

I stood in the doorway frozen. Part of me wanted to go to her, to wake her from the nightmare, to offer

whatever comfort I could. But another part knew she wouldn't welcome it. Knew that crossing that threshold

meant crossing a line we couldn't uncross.

Her eyes snapped open. For a moment we just stared at each other across the dark room. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Tears continued to track down

her face.

"How did you know?" Her voice came out hoarse. "How did

you know I was having a nightmare?"

I couldn't answer. Couldn't admit

that I'd heard her scream through the bond we supposedly didn't have anymore. Couldn't acknowledge the impossible connection that had dragged me from my office to her door.

"I heard you," I said finally, which wasn't exactly a lie. "Through the halls. You were calling out."

Cecelia sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I dream about him every night. About Golden scared and alone. About not being able to reach him."

"We'll find him."

"You keep saying that." Her voice broke. "But what if we don't? What if whoever took him has already hurt him? What if I never see my baby again?"

The bond between us ached with her pain. I felt it like it was my own, the terror of losing a child I'd never met but already loved because he

was part of her.

"May I come in?" The question escaped before I could stop it.

Cecelia hesitated, then nodded. I crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of her bed but maintaining careful distance. Close enough to offer comfort but far enough to

give her space.

"Tell me about the dream," I said softly.

"It's always the same. I'm running through corridors trying to find him. I can hear him crying but every door I open is empty. And then I see him,

"You keep saying that." Her voice broke. "But what if we don't? What if whoever took him has already hurt him? What if I never see my baby again?"

The bond between us ached with her pain. I felt it like it was my own, the terror of losing a child I'd never met but already loved because he was part of her.

"May I come in?" The question escaped before I could stop it.

Cecelia hesitated, then nodded. I crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of her bed but maintaining

careful distance. Close enough to offer comfort but far enough to give her space.

"Tell me about the dream," I said softly.

"It's always the same. I'm running through corridors trying to find him. I can hear him crying but every door I open is empty. And then I see him, finally, in this concrete room. But when I try to reach him, someone pulls him away." She

wiped her eyes roughly. "I wake up before I can get to him. Every time."

"It's not real. Golden is alive. We

have proof of life from the photo."

"For now." Her voice went flat. "But for how long, Zeke? How long before whoever took him gets tired of waiting? How

long before they decide he's more trouble than he's worth?"

I didn't have an answer to that. The truth was every hour that passed decreased the chances of finding Golden safely. The statistics on missing children were brutal and unforgiving.

"I should go," I said, standing. "Let you get some rest."

"Wait." Cecelia's hand shot out, catching my sleeve. "Don't leave yet. Please. I can't be alone with those dreams right now."

So I sat back down. We didn't talk. We just existed in the quiet dark of her room, sharing space and fear and the

impossible bond that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

Eventually, Cecelia's breathing evened out as exhaustion

pulled her back toward sleep. Her hand still held my sleeve, her grip loosening but not letting go completely.

I should have left then. Should have gone back to my office, to the work waiting there. Instead, I stayed, watching over

her as she slept fitfully, ready to pull her from the nightmares if they came back.

The bond hummed between us, stronger now than it had been hours ago. Growing. Rebuilding. Becoming something neither of us had asked for but both of us needed more than

we wanted to admit.

Dawn was breaking when I finally extracted myself from her room, leaving before she woke fully.

Guards gave me knowing looks that I ignored. Let them think what they wanted.

The truth was somehow more complicated than any rumor they could spread.

chapter 20

Zeke's POV

The call came at six in the morning. I'd barely slept after leaving Cecelia's room. Marcus's name flashed on my phone screen and I answered before the second ring.

"We found something," he said without preamble. "You need to come down to the security office now."

I was dressed and out the door in three minutes. The palace halls were still quiet, only a few early staff moving about their duties. I

took the stairs down to the lower level where we'd set up our command center for the investigation.

Marcus waited with two of my best trackers, Finn and Sarah. They huddled around a laptop, their faces lit by the screen's glow. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

"Show me," I said.

Finn pulled up a grainy video. "This is from a gas station on the outskirts of Seacreek. The owner finally checked his security footage

after we canvassed the area yesterday. Watch the timestamp."

The video showed a black SUV pulling up to a pump. The quality wasn't great but I could make out the general shape and size. It was an expensive, new model. The kind of

vehicle you didn't see often in a small fishing village like Seacreek.

"This was taken at four thirty in the afternoon," Sarah said. "Right around when Fatima said Cecelia left the house to run errands. The timing matches."

"The plates?" I asked.

"None," Marcus said grimly. "Front and back both removed. But here's where it gets interesting."

He pulled up another video, this one clearer. A traffic camera from the next territory over. The same black SUV, caught at an intersection twenty miles from Seacreek.

"This was taken an hour after the gas station footage," Finn explained. "The vehicle was heading northeast, toward our border."

My blood ran cold. "Someone from my territory."

"We can't confirm that yet," Marcus cautioned. "But the make and model is a limited edition Range Rover. Only about fifty of them in the entire region and most are owned by Alpha

families or high ranking pack members. We're pulling the registration list now."

I leaned closer to the screen, studying every detail I could make out. The tinted windows made it impossible to see inside. The missing plates suggested planning, forethought.

This wasn't some random opportunistic grab. Whoever took Golden had been

watching, waiting for the right moment.

"I want every Range Rover owner in our territory

questioned," I said. "I don't care who they are or what rank they hold. If they own this model, I want to know where they were that day and I want proof."

"Already on it," Sarah said. "We've got teams heading out within the hour."

"What about the driver?" I asked. "Did any of the cameras

catch a face?"

Marcus shook his head. "Nothing

clear. The gas station footage shows someone tall getting out to pump gas but they kept their head down and wore a

baseball cap. Smart. They knew where the cameras were."

I watched the video loop again and again, searching for anything we might have missed. A sticker on the bumper, a

dent in the door, anything that might help narrow down which specific vehicle this was.

"Send all of this to my phone," I said. "And get me that registration list as soon as you have it."

"There's one more thing," Finn said hesitantly. "The gas station owner mentioned seeing the SUV the day before too.

Same vehicle, same lack of plates. It was parked across the street for about an hour just watching the town."

"Surveillance," I said flatly. "They were watching Cecelia's house. Learning her patterns."

"That's what we think," Marcus agreed. "This was planned well in advance."

I felt sick. Someone had been watching my son, studying him,

waiting for the perfect opportunity to take him. And we'd had no idea. No warning. No chance to protect him.

"I need to tell Cecelia," I said. "She deserves to know we're making progress."

"Want me to come with you?" Marcus offered.

"No. Stay here and coordinate the interviews. I want reports on every Range Rover owner by noon."

I left the security office and headed back upstairs. The palace was waking up now, servants moving

through halls with breakfast trays and fresh linens. I nodded to them absently, my mind already planning how to present

this information to Cecelia.

She would want to be involved. I knew her well enough to predict that. And she had every right to be. Golden was her son. She'd been the one raising him, protecting him, loving

him for three years while I'd been an idiot nursing my wounds and pretending I didn't care.

But the thought of putting her in potential danger made my wolf snarl. The bond between us had

grown stronger overnight. I could feel it even now, a steady hum at the back of my consciousness.

I knocked on her door quietly. No answer. I knocked again, louder this time.

"Come in," her voice called, muffled.

She was in the bathroom when I entered, the door cracked open. I heard water running. Smelled the soap she used,

something with lavender in it. The scent took me back to mornings years ago when we'd shared a bathroom and she'd leave traces of herself everywhere.

"It's me," I called out. "We found something. A lead on Golden."

The water shut off immediately. Cecelia appeared in the doorway still in her pajamas, her hair damp, her face bare of makeup. She looked young and vulnerable and so beautiful

it hurt to look at her.

"What did you find?"

she demanded.

I told her everything. The gas station footage, the Range Rover, the surveillance from the day before. She listened without interrupting but I watched her

hands clench into fists at her sides.

"Show me," she said when I finished.

"I can send you the files."

"No. I want to see everything. All the footage, all the evidence. I want to help review it."

"Cecelia, I have teams working on this. Trained investigators who know what to look for."

"I don't care." Her voice went sharp. "He's my son, Zeke. I'm not sitting in a tower waiting for updates like some helpless damsel. I'm going to

be part of this investigation."