Leyla is out of the cabin in seconds. I blink at the swaying door, wondering if I should follow.

The commotion outside drives me to my feet before I can make a real decision. I wobble to the door, my legs numb all over again from sitting so long.

Outside, the sun is setting. Leyla and Thomas stand at the edge of the porch. In front of them, a small group of people shout.

"We don't need another Omega to take care of," one of them argues.

"We have enough to worry about as it is," another spits.

"What's going on here?" I ask, taking a spot beside Leyla.

She spins to me with wide eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she sputters. "Get back inside before Blake sees you."

"Too late," Thomas chimes in.

I turn, finding Blake in the middle of the group of people. His stern eyes land on me, then he sighs heavily and turns back to the rest of the group.

"Everyone!" he shouts. His voice seems to ripple through the crowd. The group turns silent. All eyes move to him.

"Wow," I whisper to Leyla. "That was effective."

"Of course it is," she murmurs back. "He's the Alpha. They have to listen to him."

"Alpha?" I repeat. "Him?"

I look at him with fresh eyes. Now that she mentions it, I can see how he might be the Alpha. His commanding presence. The way he bosses everyone around. I thought he was just an asshole.

"Youngest one ever," Thomas adds.

"We don't know yet if the new Omega will survive the full moon," Blake continues, his presence demanding an attentive audience. "If she does, the Lunam Silvam pack will take care of her, just as we have with others."

"Blake, we don't have room for her. We can't afford another mouth to feed," one of the people argues.

I narrow my eyes at him. He's tall and puffs his chest at Blake, like he's looking for a fight. It pisses me off. I want to stumble down those steps and slap that look off his face.

I don't, though. Mostly because he's a literal werewolf, and I'm pretty sure he could end me in seconds if he wanted to, but also because a staircase sounds awful right now. My legs wobble at the mere thought.

"I bit her," Blake says. His voice is low. Threatening. The other man wavers at it. "She is our responsibility."

He turns at that, dismissing the group, and stomps up the staircase. I gasp as he grabs my arm, tugging me back into the cabin.

Once the door is shut, he releases me and practically sprints to the opposite side of the room—as far from me as possible.

"What were you thinking, going out there like that?" Blake shouts.

I blink, taken aback. "What, I'm not allowed to leave now? Am I your prisoner or something?"

"It wasn't safe," he replies. He settles his glare onto Leyla and Thomas. "And you two. You should know better than letting her out. Don't you remember what happened when you turned?"

Leyla shrinks back at his words, but Thomas only grows taller.

"Of course, we remember," he spits. "But this is different! She's your mate. People have to accept her."

In a flash, Thomas is shoved against the wall. Blake holds him there, his fists gripping the collar of Thomas' t-shirt. Leyla and I gasp but make no move to get between them.

In this moment, I can really see Blake as the Alpha—as the wolf I saw in the forest.

"Nobody can know that she's my mate, got it?" he snarls and shoves Thomas against the wall to emphasize his point. "Got it?"

"Got it," Thomas confirms.

Blake releases him and turns, his eyes landing on Leyla, then me. His expression is so cold, I almost shudder, but I suck in a breath and steel myself.

I won't look away. He may be the Alpha, but he's not my Alpha. Especially if he's going to act like this.

"This stays between us," Blake commands. "Nobody can know."

"Don't worry, Blake," Leyla says. "She'll be safe here with us."

"Safe? What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, frowning.

"Nothing, just—if people know you're the Alpha's mate, especially when you're as weak as you are now..." Leyla trails off and I connect the dots myself.

"But I thought I was part of the pack," I say, confused. I turn to Blake. "You bit me, didn't you?"

"You're an Omega, Clover," Leyla squeaks. "We're outcasts. Most packs wouldn't accept us, but Blake lets us stay, even if we have to live here on the outskirts."

"What?" I try to process her words. An outcast. I almost laugh at the thought. After months on the run, years as an outcast in my own family, I thought I'd found a place to belong.

I guess I was wrong.

"It's not his fault," Leyla continues. "It's the pack. They don't want us here."

Blake shakes his head. "You'll be safe, because I'm moving in," he decides.

"Excuse me?" I say.

"Great! Sleepover!" Thomas exclaims, tossing an arm over Blake's shoulders. "Welcome to the Omega House."

"But your home, your community—" Leyla starts.

"I'm moving in and that's final," Blake interrupts. "I'll go back to the office when needed, but I'm staying here until the next moon. Okay?"

Leyla nods and turns, hurrying down the hallway. I follow her with my eyes as she opens the door at the end of the hall.

I get a glimpse of a huge bed, then turn back to face Blake. He's not looking at me. In fact, he's staring so intensely at the floor that I think he must be avoiding my eye on purpose.

The silver string floats between us, connecting us at the heart. This whole mate thing is weird, and yet the thought of him living down the hall from me—my heart flutters.

I shake my head, like shaking my thoughts loose.

No, I can't be caught up in that. I need to focus on preparing for the next full moon. I can barely stand without wobbling. I'm going to have to be a lot stronger than this if I'm going to survive my first transformation.

But I can't help it—my eyes trail back up to Blake's.

And this time, he's watching me.

***

Blake is all moved in within a couple of hours. I don't know how, but within minutes, a few men had arrived with boxes of his things. I never even saw him pull out a phone.

None of them notice me slip back into my room as they help Blake unpack and settle in.

I find my backpack next to the wardrobe and take a seat on the bed with it. I turn it over in my hands, brushing my fingers over the torn material. It's almost like an artifact from another life.

I pull out my phone. Still dead. I almost have to laugh at it all. If only my phone had been charged that night, maybe I wouldn't be here right now. I shove it back into my bag. It's not like I need it now. I have no one to call, no bus schedules to look up, and I deleted all of my social media months ago.

Checking to make sure all of my belongings are still in there, I zip the bag back up and shove it under the bed.

All of this werewolf stuff is giving me a headache. The scar on my chest throbs too and all I want is to fall into bed and sleep.

Outside, everyone is silent. I suspect the other people have left and Blake has shut himself in his room.

Sighing, I collapse onto my pillow and try to sleep. Except, my mind is filled with thoughts of today—of everything I've learned.

Werewolves. Mates. My death, and then revival.

None of it feels real, but if I close my eyes, I can almost feel it. A wolf inside of me, waiting to come out.

I blink my eyes open and brush my fingers over my neck, feeling where Blake's teeth broke skin. In the dark, that silvery rope shimmers, snaking under the door. It's so pale, I have to squint to see it. I know if I follow it, I'll find him.

My supposed mate.

The Alpha of his pack.

An asshole who likes to boss people around.

The man who saved my life.

With a heavy sigh, I stand on wobbling legs and follow the rope.

I want to see him. I can't deny it, as much as I wish I could.

Slowly, I creak the door open, glancing up and down the dark hallway to ensure Thomas and Leyla aren't hanging around. When I'm sure they're gone, I limp down the hall.

I pause outside his door. Here, the rope shines brighter. I know he's on the other end.

Slowly, I raise my hand and, without knocking, I push the door open.

Blake sits up in his bed, eyes glued on me, like he's been waiting for me.

"You shouldn't be here," he says simply.

He must have showered, judging by his wet hair and change of clothes. A white t-shirt sticks tightly to his skin, outlining the ripples in his chest and the width of his biceps.

I step forward, closing the door behind me.

"I can't sleep," I say. "My head hurts. I felt like—like I needed to come here."

He says nothing in response. I only follow my instincts, moving closer until I'm standing next to him. I reach a hand out and rest it on his shoulder.

Instantly, my headache soothes a little. The scar on my chest throbs a little less.

Slowly, I slide my hand higher up until my fingertips cross the barrier of his t-shirt collar and make contact with skin. He shivers under my touch—freezes—and I continue sliding my hand up until my palm rests against the dip of his throat.

My headache melts away. I meet his eyes, piercing blue even in the dark, and notice he's watching me.

I let out a little laugh, suddenly realizing how awkward this whole situation is.

"Sorry," I murmur, though I make no effort to remove my hand from him.

He's silent. His body is still frozen, stiff under my touch. I feel like an idiot. What am I doing here? Creeping into this man's room in the middle of the night to—what? Touch him? This man I met mere days ago.

I'm about to pull away and sulk back to my room when he finally moves. Slowly, carefully, he leans forward. Closer to me.

One arm lifts and wraps around my waist, tugging me off the floor and onto the bed until I'm seated on the edge of the mattress in front of him.

If I shift, I can feel our knees brush, sending waves of relief through my body. I stiffen, straddling the space between touching and not touching.

"You shouldn't be here," he repeats, though his voice is softer now. The rope between us shines a bright silver, reflecting in his blue eyes. "How long have you had this headache? It's killing me."

"Killing you?" I repeat, questioning.

He nods. Lifting a finger, he traces a line from the rope in his chest to the rope in mine.

"Our souls are connected," he explains in an almost-whisper. It's strange hearing him speak this much, without that icy mask over his face. "All wolves in a pack are telepathically connected, but mates—it's a whole other level."

I blink. Telepathically connected. That explains a lot.

"The closer you are," he continues, "the more I can feel. And once your wolf arrives, if we complete the bond, our souls will really be connected then."

"That's only if I survive," I tease.

He doesn't seem to like my joke, because his expression instantly drops. His fingers move from that space between us to my neck, brushing over the mark his teeth made on my skin.

"Heal fast," he says, "or you'll never make it."

"I thought you said werewolves heal fast," I say. "Isn't that how I survived in the first place?"

"They do, but you're not a wolf yet," he replies.

"Great," I murmur. "I get stabbed, bitten, and transformed, but I don't get any of the perks unless I survive the full moon? Sounds like a great deal."

I smile at my own joke, but Blake looks less than amused. His fingers leave my bite mark.

"There is one way to speed the healing up even faster," he says.

Tepidly, he leans closer. His mouth nears my throat and I tilt my head up on instinct, baring my bite mark for him. He hesitates, his breath fanning over my collarbones, and then his lips brush over my neck.

I shudder.

Every logical part of me is screaming. I met this man days ago. I don't know him. I don't even know his last name.

But this newfound wolf part of me sings. The string between us shines silver and the pain in my body dissolves.

I lean closer, but he pulls back—only a millimeter, but I feel it.

"Stay," he whispers, his lips moving against my skin. It's almost instinctual to obey that I think some kind of magic must be at play.

I think back to when he silenced the crowd outside of the cabin. He'd shouted one word, and instantly all ears were on him.

I'd assumed he just had an authoritative voice, but what had Leyla said? He's the Alpha. They have to listen to him.

Had she meant it literally? Is he... messing with my mind, right now?

If werewolves are real, what else could be real?

"What are you doing to me?" I mutter, my heart pounding in my chest.

He pulls away and frowns at me, and I remember what he said to me moments ago—the closer he is, the more he can feel. I wonder if he can feel my nerves.

"I'm healing you," he says. He releases me completely, so that he's not touching me at all. "Nothing else, Clover. I promise."

"But you could?" I ask. "You're the Alpha. What does that mean? Can you make me do things that I don't want to do?"

"No," he says, quickly. "No."

There's something in the way he doesn't meet my eye. I stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Well, I could," he starts slowly. The words make my pulse jump. He quickly adds, "To an extent. I can command my pack for little things, but they can fight it. And I don't use it anyway. I never would."

"So, you're not making me stay?" I ask.

"Never," he replies. He holds his hands up, like giving me the chance to stand and leave right now. "And judging by your feistiness, I don't think I could, even if I tried."

I know he's trying to lighten the atmosphere, but my frown doesn't budge. I can almost feel the string connecting us and somehow, I know he's telling the truth.

Besides, I do feel a lot better when I'm near him.

"Okay," I say, nodding. "I believe you."

He releases a little breath, then shifts over, making room for me on the mattress. This time, when his touch leaves me, none of the pain returns.

"Lie down," he says. "Get some rest."

I comply, shifting my body under the sheets and resting my head against his pillow. It smells like him—earthy. Lovely.

"You'll heal faster here," he explains. Not that I needed an explanation. Something inside of me brought me here, to his room. I want to sleep here, whether there's a reason for it or not.

"Close your eyes," he says.

The mattress shifts and I think he lies down next to me, but suddenly my eyes feel so heavy that I can't be bothered opening them to check.

"It takes a lot of energy to heal this quickly," Blake says, sensing my exhaustion. "When your wolf arrives, it'll be a lot easier."

His fingers brush over my forehead, pushing my hair back. Suddenly, I'm glad I washed it so thoroughly earlier.

His hand stays there, brushing gentle strokes over my forehead until my headache is completely gone. Then, he trails down to my collarbone, drawing patterns until my chest ache vanishes too.

"You're too thin," he whispers. It's so quiet, I think I imagine it for a moment. "You need to survive, Clover. Please survive."

And I fall asleep with his fingers on my skin.