‎If ignoring a magical bond counted as cardio, I'd have a six-pack by now.

‎I'd spent the entire night pacing my old room at Grandma's cabin, mainlining caffeine, and Googling things like "How to break a fated mate bond without dying." Spoiler: the internet had nothing. Unless I wanted to try moonlight herbs, blood rituals, or "talking about my feelings." Hard pass.

‎By the time sunlight crept through the curtains, my brain was fried. I pulled on the first hoodie I found, black, oversized, coffee-stained and made my way to the kitchen.

‎The smell hit me first. Freshly brewed coffee, buttered toast... and cedar smoke. My stomach sank.

‎"Morning," came a deep voice from the counter.

‎I froze mid-step. "No. Nope. You're not here. You're a hallucination brought on by caffeine withdrawal."

‎Rowan turned, looking unfairly put-together for someone who'd probably been up all night dealing with pack gossip. "Unfortunately for you, I'm very real."

‎He was standing in my kitchen, sleeves rolled up, cooking eggs like some kind of domestic fever dream. The Alpha himself, all muscles and quiet authority, flipping breakfast like he owned the place.

‎"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "Invading my personal space counts as an act of war."

‎He raised an eyebrow. "Jamie asked me to check on you. You ran off last night."

‎"I'm fine," I lied, grabbing a mug. "Totally fine. Just peachy. The universe didn't bond me to the guy who used to call me 'Chatterbox' in gym class or anything."

‎"River..."

‎"Don't 'River' me. You're in my kitchen. You're making eggs. You're not supposed to be making eggs!"

‎His mouth twitched. "Would you rather I left you to starve?"

‎"I'd rather you left," I muttered, pouring coffee with unnecessary force.

‎Rowan leaned against the counter, watching me. His scent cedar, smoke, something faintly electric filled the air, wrapping around me no matter how far I stood. My wolf purred in the back of my mind, traitorous little furball.

‎He said quietly, "You didn't sleep."

‎I shot him a glare. "Are you stalking my REM cycles now?"

‎"I could feel it," he said simply. "The bond, it keeps tugging when you're upset."

‎My hand stilled. "Don't do that."

‎"Do what?"

‎"Act like you care."

‎His expression flickered, pain shadowing his eyes. "I do."

‎For a heartbeat, the room went silent except for the faint hiss of the pan. Something heavy hung between us, old history and unspoken apologies. Then I shook my head and set the mug down.

‎"Nope. Not doing this. You don't get to play the concerned Alpha after everything that happened."

‎"I was a kid," he said, voice low. "Angry. Confused. I took it out on you because I didn't understand what you did to me back then."

‎I snorted. "You mean talk?"

‎He met my gaze, steady. "No. Because even then, I felt something. And it terrified me."

‎My breath caught. "Don't."

‎But his eyes didn't waver. "You were the only one I couldn't control. And I hated that. I hate that still."

‎That did it. My heart betrayed me, stuttering in my chest like a bad engine. I turned away. "You should go before Jamie catches you here. Or worse Grandma."

‎Rowan actually smiled, a small, real thing. "Your grandmother likes me."

‎"She hexed you once."

‎"She missed."

‎I bit back a smile I didn't want to have. "Get out, Alpha Asshole."

‎He chuckled softly. "You're impossible."

‎"Flattery won't save you."

‎He grabbed his jacket and paused by the door. "River, whether you like it or not, this bond won't fade. You'll feel it getting stronger. You'll feel me." His voice softened. "Just don't fight it alone."

‎I stared at the empty doorway long after he was gone, the air still humming with his presence. My wolf was restless, pacing beneath my skin, and for the first time, I wondered what would happen if I stopped running from it.

‎---

‎Rowan's POV

‎The forest always smelled cleaner after sunrise, mist clinging to pine needles, the faint heartbeat of the pack pulsing through the land. But Rowan barely noticed any of it. His thoughts were a storm.

‎He shouldn't have gone to see River. Not when half the pack was already whispering about the "bonded Omega." But he couldn't stay away. The pull had kept him awake all night, sharp and constant, like invisible threads tying their hearts together.

‎He stopped near the training field, where Dominic was giving orders to the younger wolves. Jamie waved from across the clearing, all smiles and post-mating glow. Rowan managed a nod before heading toward the edge of the woods.

‎He needed space. Air. Distance from the bond.

‎But even here, River's scent clung to him. Coffee and rain. Reckless laughter and stubborn pride.

‎A memory flickered, River in high school, cornered by his own sharp tongue, eyes bright with defiance. Rowan had shoved him into that damn closet, not out of cruelty but confusion. Because even then, his wolf had wanted to claim him. And Rowan had panicked.

‎Now, years later, fate had dragged him right back into that feeling. Only this time, there was no running from it.

‎Rowan clenched his fists, grounding himself. "You deserve better than this," he muttered to no one.

‎But the bond pulsed in his chest, steady, insistent, unrelenting.

‎---

‎River's POV

‎By noon, I'd convinced myself it was fine. Totally fine. The Alpha had invaded my kitchen, cooked breakfast, confessed feelings, and left me emotionally scrambled. But everything was fine. (Lies.)

‎Then Grandma appeared at the doorway, holding her tea like some smug oracle. "You smell like cedar."

‎I groaned. "Please tell me that's just a metaphor."

‎"It isn't." She smiled knowingly. "The bond is awakening."

‎"Fantastic. I was hoping for a plague, but this'll do."

‎She chuckled. "You can't run from the Moon, River."

‎"Watch me."

‎But as I stalked off toward the woods, I felt it again, the pull, the thread between us tightening like a heartbeat.

‎And somewhere far off, I could've sworn I heard Rowan's voice carried on the wind.

‎Low, rough, and full of promise.

‎"You'll come back to me, River Quinn. One way or another."

‎

‎If anyone ever asks how I handled discovering that the Alpha of Wolfwater Ridge is my fated mate, here's my official answer:

‎Badly.

‎Because the moment Rowan said the word "bond," I ran.

‎Not gracefully. Not heroically. Just pure, embarrassing flight through the trees, nearly tripping over my own feet while muttering, "Nope, nope, nope."

‎And now here I am hours later sitting in my childhood bathroom, submerged in hot water and an alarming amount of lavender-scented bubbles.

‎If this were a movie, this would be the point where I discover enlightenment.

‎Instead, I'm trying to figure out how to drown out his scent, that intoxicating mix of pine, storm, and stupidly attractive authority.

‎The bubbles don't help.

‎Neither does the glass of wine I may or may not have stolen from the afterparty.

‎"Okay," I mutter to myself, staring at the ceiling. "You can do this. You've outrun debt collectors, survived college finals, and once fixed Jamie's truck with duct tape and sheer desperation. You are not going to be claimed by a moody Alpha with trust issues."

‎The bond hums faintly inside me in response like it's laughing.

‎"Traitor," I tell my chest.

‎There's a knock at the door.

‎"River?" Jamie's voice. Soft, careful.

‎I sink lower into the bubbles. "Occupied!"

‎The door creaks open anyway because privacy in this family is a myth.

‎Jamie pokes his head in, dressed in one of Dominic's oversized shirts, glowing in that post-mating happiness that makes me both proud and mildly nauseous.

‎"You missed the end of the party," he says gently.

‎"Yeah, I had a... nature emergency."

‎"Nature emergency?"

‎"Needed to scream into the woods."

‎Jamie frowns, stepping closer. "What happened, Riv?"

‎I close my eyes. "The Moon Goddess has a terrible sense of humor, that's what happened."

‎Jamie sits on the counter, watching me the way only an older brother can with a mix of amusement, concern, and that infuriating I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself expression.

‎"This about Rowan?" he asks softly.

‎My head snaps up. "You knew?!"

‎He shrugs. "Dominic told me he looked like he'd seen a ghost when you walked into the ceremony."

‎"Oh, great. So I'm the ghost haunting his emotional stability."

‎Jamie chuckles. "More like the unfinished business he never dealt with."

‎I groan and splash water in his direction. "Don't poetic-analyze me. I'm trying to break a celestial curse with bubble bath and denial."

‎Jamie grins. "River, you can't fight the bond."

‎"Watch me."

‎He sighs, but there's a glimmer of sympathy there. "I know it's complicated. But maybe it's not a curse. Maybe it's just... timing."

‎"Yeah, the Moon's timing is impeccable. She waited until my life was barely functioning before throwing in him."

‎Jamie stands, crossing to the door. "You can't avoid it forever. The bond doesn't just fade. You'll have to talk to him."

‎I sink lower, bubbles nearly reaching my chin. "No, I don't. I'll just... outstubborn fate. That's my new life plan."

‎Jamie shakes his head with a fond smile. "You're impossible."

‎"I come by it honestly," I call after him as he leaves.

‎The door clicks shut. Silence fills the room again except it's not entirely silent.

‎Because somewhere deep inside, I can feel him.

‎Rowan.

‎It's faint, like a heartbeat echoing in the distance, but it's there. Steady. Relentless. Every time I try to block it out, it only gets stronger like the bond's reminding me who it belongs to.

‎I press a wet hand over my heart, whispering to no one, "I'm not ready for this."

‎And that's when the knock comes again, firmer this time.

‎I freeze. "Jamie, I swear if you..."

‎"River."

‎Rowan's voice. Deep, smooth, unmistakable.

‎I sink into the water like that might make me invisible. "You have got to be kidding me."

‎"Open the door," he says quietly. "Please."

‎The "please" undoes something in me.

‎I sigh, grab a towel, and shuffle over to the door, still dripping bubbles and regret.

‎When I open it, Rowan's standing there tall, composed, but his eyes... they're wild. Like he's been pacing outside for hours trying to figure out how to breathe.

‎"You shouldn't be here," I say, tightening the towel around my waist.

‎"I couldn't stay away," he admits. "The bond..."

‎"Don't say it," I cut in. "I'm fragile, wet, and unarmed."

‎He huffs a quiet laugh, but there's tension in every line of his body. "River, we need to talk about what's happening."

‎I meet his gaze, pulse hammering. "What's happening is that the Moon got bored and decided to make a comedy out of my life."

‎Rowan takes a step closer not touching, but close enough that the bond thrums between us again. "This isn't a joke to me."

‎"I know."

‎My voice is small, and I hate it.

‎For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels heavy, electric, the kind that could either burn or heal.

‎Finally, Rowan exhales, his voice quieter now. "I'll give you space. But don't run from this, River. We both know it won't let you."

‎He turns and walks away before I can answer.

‎And I stand there, dripping on the floor, heart pounding in sync with his fading footsteps.

‎I glance at the mirror. My reflection looks exactly how I feel, undone, glowing faintly under the moonlight seeping through the window.

‎"Guess I'll need more bubbles," I mutter. "And maybe a miracle."

‎If there's one thing I didn't expect from a fated mate situation, it's room service.

‎Because apparently, the mighty Alpha Rowan Blackthorn, terror of my teenage years, breaker of hearts and janitor closet doors decided to show up at my cabin the next morning with... soup.

‎And not just any soup.

‎Homemade, steam-still-rising, smells-like-heaven kind of soup.

‎The man brought comfort food.

‎Which is somehow more terrifying than claws or fangs.

‎I spot him through the kitchen window first, standing on the porch like a misplaced lumberjack holding a thermos and a container. His truck's parked a little too neatly by the path, and he's wearing that damn soft flannel shirt again, the one that makes his shoulders look like a crime against self-control.

‎For a second, I consider pretending I'm not home. But the scent hits me before I can even think, his scent, pine, rain, something warm. It slides under my skin like a promise I didn't ask for.

‎Then comes the knock.

‎I sigh, clutching my mug of coffee like a shield. "You can do this, River. He's just a guy. A big, emotionally confusing guy who happens to be cosmically tied to your hormones."

‎Another knock. Louder this time.

‎Of course he's persistent.

‎I open the door halfway, peeking out. "If you're here to discuss the 'bond' again, I've legally changed my name and moved to Canada."

‎He blinks, clearly not expecting that greeting, then exhales a quiet laugh, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle just slightly. "Good morning to you too."

‎He holds up the container. "Brought soup."

‎"Soup?" I repeat like it's an alien word.

‎"You didn't eat last night. I thought you might want something warm."

‎He hesitates, like he's unsure whether to hand it over or retreat. "It's chicken noodle."

‎"Do I look like someone who can be bribed with soup?" I ask.

‎"Yes," he says without missing a beat.

‎And the worst part? He's right.

‎I take the container, still refusing to meet his eyes. "Fine. But if this is some weird Alpha dominance thing where you feed me and I imprint or something..."

‎"It's just soup, River."

‎The way he says my name low, careful, like it's something fragile, makes my chest ache. I hate it. I hate that he sounds so sincere. I hate that my pulse stutters every time he's close.

‎"Thanks," I mumble finally. "You can... uh, go now."

‎He doesn't move.

‎Instead, Rowan leans against the doorframe, studying me with that unreadable expression. "How are you feeling?"

‎"Emotionally? Like I got hit by a truck made of bad decisions."

‎He smiles faintly. "Physically, I meant."

‎"Oh." I shrug. "Still cursed, still me."

‎He nods slowly, his gaze flicking over my face like he's memorizing something. "You don't have to do this alone, River."

‎That does it, the sincerity, the warmth, the way he says it like he actually means it.

‎I panic. Because that's what I do when people care too much.

‎"Okay," I blurt. "Time to close the door before things get dangerously close to emotional intimacy!"

‎I move to shut it, but his hand presses gently against the frame not forceful, just steady. "River."

‎I meet his eyes. Mistake.

‎There's so much there; regret, longing, a touch of something I can't name. It hits me like lightning.

‎"Don't run from me again," he says softly. "Please."

‎"I'm not running," I lie. "I'm strategically avoiding heartache."

‎"Same thing," he says.

‎The bond hums again between us, electric and alive. It's like the air itself knows we're on borrowed time, like the Moon is holding her breath.

‎I step back, breaking the moment before it breaks me. "You should go before I start saying things I'll regret."

‎He hesitates, jaw tight, then nods. "Alright. But I meant what I said last night, I'll give you space. Just... don't disappear on me, okay?"

‎"Can't promise anything."

‎He gives me a small, almost sad smile. "Figured as much."

‎Then he turns and walks down the steps, back toward his truck. I watch him go, the thermos still warm in my hands, the smell of his soup clinging to my kitchen like a memory I can't scrub away.

‎When he's gone, I let out a long breath I didn't know I was holding.

‎The bond inside me pulses faintly again not painful, not overwhelming. Just... there. Steady, persistent.

‎Like him.

‎I pour the soup into a bowl and sit at the table, staring at it for a full minute before taking a bite.

‎Of course, it's perfect.

‎Of course, it tastes like comfort and home and all the things I've been avoiding for years.

‎"Damn it," I whisper. "I'm in so much trouble."

‎Outside, the morning wind carries a faint echo of his scent through the open window. The bond hums in agreement, smug as ever.

‎And all I can think is:

‎If this is what soup does to me, I am not ready for whatever comes next.

‎