I leave the lodge a little annoyed, a little horny, and mostly just wanting to talk to Beau. Maybe yell at him. Still, I take the lakeshore trail back to his cabin, hoping that a little extra time to think will help me focus on what I need to say to him.

Because I'm not letting him distract me again. We're going to talk this out like adults.

If he wants to claim me—my wolf purrs at that—then he has to claim all of me. The part of me that's not going to give up my career and make too-spicy of chili in the forest. The part of me that hasn't figured out how to shift, or even if I want to be a full-time werewolf.

And if I'm going to claim him—my wolf likes that idea even more—then no more secrets. He needs to tell me about his family, his history, if this is going to work out. I wasn't raised in a world where your perfect mate drops into your life and you just accept that your life is better for it.

Whatever this is between us—feral, fated, chemical, cosmic, or otherwise—exists, but it doesn't change the fact that we don't really know each other. It's not some sort of instant love, not matter how hard the supernatural pheromones are trying to convince me otherwise.

I find him sitting on the back deck, as if he's been waiting for me. The sunlight off the water makes the flashes of gold in his eyes gleam, predatory and hungry. Maybe it's just because my own wolf has been so close to the surface this afternoon, but I feel her trying to wrest control, trying to meet that golden gaze with her own. I leash her, promising that she'll get her chance if Beau can man up and have this conversation himself.

"Turn off the wolf, Beau," I snap as I march up the stairs.

"You talked to Celia," he says, eyes slowly turning back to gray. He didn't flinch at my words. His tone is perfectly even, but I think I feel a hint of trepidation through the threads connecting us. Good.

"And Ava," I reply, crossing my arms, leaning my hip against the railing. He looks stupidly handsome in the afternoon light that it makes me question my resolve. So I swallow. I cling to the smooth, unaffected persona of the Rhea Dawson who gets results. "We need to talk."

As if he can hear it, Beau stiffens slightly. His eyes flicker—not wolf—just something a little guarded, wary. He nods once. "Then talk."

"No." My fingers dig into the railing. "I want you to talk. No more having the pack explain things to me. No more stalling."

He pauses, watching me. "I thought it would be easier," he says. "Coming from a female. A woman."

I frown, because I don't buy the weak excuse. "Easier for you, maybe."

Beau dips his chin. "That's fair," he says slowly. "But this isn't exactly charted territory, Rhea. We've never had to explain to someone what it is to be a wolf. What it is to find your fated mate."

My wolf rumbles with my frustration. "Then tell me, Beau. Enough of the 'safe' way. Just explain it. Please."

Something in his face softens, hearing that little flicker of a growl from me, and he agrees. He gestures to the deck chairs for us to sit, knee to knee. There's a sliver of distance between us that feels enough of a space to stay focused, but close enough that it feels like he's drawing comfort from my proximity. It's a strange experience, a first, being a sort of anchor for someone else. I can't decide if I like it or not.

"You promise not to act like this is some sort of trial?" he asks, running a hand through his dark golden hair.

I realize that he's worried. That there's something in his past, some werewolf secret that he fears will drive me away. I owe him an unbiased ear, though I'm not sure I can give it. Because I can't be unbiased with him. Not when my body itches to curl into his, not when my thoughts and dreams seem to cling to him.

"No promises," I say, but I make my voice light. "But it's hard for me to cross-examine when I'm wearing flannel. Just tell me the truth."

Beau nods. Swallows. Then speaks.

"I'm sure they told you that my grandfather came down from Canada. He was always a dominant wolf, though he ran beta for the pack up north. More than dominant, he was clever. Ahead of his time for a werewolf. He realized that humans were expanding into wild spaces, buying up land, developing it."

I really want to know why I have to get the history lesson again, but I don't interrupt. For whatever reason, Beau thinks it's important that I know this. Maybe it is. I just don't see the purpose yet.

"He realized that if packs were going to survive, we needed to be legitimate. His alpha wouldn't hear a word about it. A lot of the northern packs are traditionalists. Don't want anything to do with integration with humans. So my grandfather left. He took his mate and a few other family members, friends, and left."

"Celia said that he bought this land. Where did he get the funds?"

Beau pauses. "My grandfather struck gold in Kootenay. Areas where humans couldn't easily get to. He knew he couldn't keep the pack in Canada, though, not with the world becoming less wild, more organized. So he paid for forged American identities, snuck his little pack into the States. He settled here, bought the land right at the edge of the Teton Wilderness."

Beau's voice is even, but the rhythm of pit picks up a little. The current of memory pulls him in.

"He was smart. Bought the land through a trust, made it legitimate. He was a clever alpha. He knew it wasn't safe yet, so he had his pack alternate years spent in wolf skins. He tried to keep the numbers down. Less attention, fewer mouths to feed. But some of the packs, the smaller packs from Yellowstone and the Tetons and the Shoshone, wanted to join up, exchange mates. The pack grew."

I watch him carefully, listening. There's a touch of reverence in how he speaks of his grandfather. And maybe a thread of guilt. Of grief.

"Okay," I say. I can't keep my impatience from steamrolling my patience. "What does it have to do with us?"

His mouth grows taut. "Everything."

Beau sighs before starting again. "Because the pack grew, the number of wolves became unsafe. Human hunters took note the missing livestock when the pack hunted too close. The pack was in constant flux with other packs, trading members and mates every year, but there was no stability. My uncle had some good ideas about building into the land, integrating with humans enough to solidify our access to food stores so that we didn't have resort to hunting."

It sounds like a good idea to me, but the unhappy tilt of Beau's mouth makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably.

"Marcus is fated to a wolf named Delilah. My aunt. She went feral right before Marcus had planned to become alpha."

"Feral?" I ask. There's something ugly about the word.

Beau nods, his stormy gray eyes meeting mine. "Her wolf was always a little wild, but Delilah had a good handle on shifting. On control."

The pause between us is heavy, almost aching. Beau swallows.

"She was clipped by a hunter. They lost a baby in the late stages of pregnancy. Delilah gave herself to the wolf after that."

I don't understand what that means, not exactly, but I get the idea. To be so consumed with grief and sorrow and anger... to so badly want to remove the hurt that you're willing to destroy the part of yourself that feels pain.

"That's horrible." But my words are hollow, echoes of all the uncomfortable platitudes I heard when my mom died. There's nothing I can say to heal that sort of loss. "I'm sorry."

I take his hand, and Beau gives me the slightest glimpse of a smile though no happiness reaches his eyes.

"Marcus turned down being alpha. He spent years looking for her, trying to convince her to return to her human skin. He sometimes still does. Says he feels her out there."

The wind brushes through the trees as Beau watched the lake for a few moments, as if he's considering what next to say. I wait, though the seconds grow longer and longer with each one that passes.

"So my father became alpha. I think he might have been a good alpha in the beginning. Though he never had the same vision as my uncle. He was always proud, but he wanted to prove himself. And his chosen mate, Sarah, was a good influence on him. Steadying."

I know Sarah's story doesn't end well, but the shadow in Beau's eyes, the sudden clenching of his jaw makes me worried how bad the ending truly is.

"When my mother, Lena, arrived, he lost all reason. The bond hit him hard. From what I've been told, he tried to resist it, to fight it, at first. Said his duty was to Sarah. But for the males in our line, the bond—" He swallows. "It eats at you. Consumes you. The longer you deny it, the worse it gets."

I think of the dreams, the pulling ache in my chest whenever Beau's not near. My wolf rumbles quietly, pressing closer to my skin, listening.

"And my mother didn't help. She wasn't willing to reject the bond, to leave things as they were. And she was jealous, maybe irrationally so. She asked my father to exile Sarah, to forsake his unborn son. So Sarah was banished to the outskirts of the pack lands. Pregnant. Alone." His voice drops lower. "He let her stay because of the child, but she lived unprotected, survived on handouts. Out of sight."

I don't have any words. I tighten my fingers around his, trying to pour warmth and steadiness or comfort through the centimeters of skin connecting us. Because what else can I do? Beau might not have lived through these traumas, but he loves this pack, all the wolves in it, and their pain is clearly written across his face. Invisible hurts and scars that he's shouldered.

"I was born a year later. And as I grew up, things seemed to work okay though life out here was never easy. We were hunted. We knew starvation every winter... but my parents were strong wolves. Dominant. They protected us. We had alliances with the other packs. There was a strict hierarchy. No weak links. Wolves were trained young. You shifted early, fought hard, or you were left behind. If you couldn't protect the land, you didn't deserve to have it."

"And your brother?"

"Aidan didn't get to grow up with the pack, not like I did. The living out here was hard, Rhea, and my brother had to fight for every scrap he got. Too thin clothes in winter. Ate too little." Beau's eyes grow haunted. "My dad beat the shit out of me for trying to take him food. And then Aidan beat the shit out of me for trying when I got fast enough to sneak around the betas."

An odd little hum seems to vibrate from my chest, a quiet purring. I recognize it, a little, it's like the sound Beau made when he rescued me on the mountainside. Beau's guilt, this shadow on his heart—I wish I could take it away. At the little purr, Beau stills. Then smiles. It's a sad smile, but there's a a flash of gold, a flicker of true warmth in the gray. He kisses my hand, thumb rubbing for a moment before he continues. I get the impression he's drawing strength from me.

"When Aidan came of age, he asked for permission to leave the pack. To go north. My father might have agreed if Aidan had claimed it was to seek out his mate, but the males in my family have always been proud. Aidan publicly asked to leave the pack. To take his mother with him. My father refused." Beau pauses again. "Aidan was too hot-headed, too dominant to take the refusal meekly. He publicly called out our father's cruelty, his disloyalty to his first mate and to his firstborn son—he let out all the anger he'd bottled up his entire life."

I can't bear to look at Beau's face, at the ache there. So I watch where the summer sky meets the mountains. I hear the grief and regret in his voice, the edge of hoarseness. Like the words are painful to say.

"Your father killed him," I whisper.

Beau nods once. "My father took it as a challenge to his leadership. Most alpha challenges end it death. Sarah was distraught when Aidan died. I don't know if she went feral, but she shifted before anyone realized what happened. Attacked my mother. Tore through her throat like it was nothing. My mother bled out. And when she died, Logan dropped second later. The bond took him too. And then the pack went to hell. "

Insects and birds and wind make the only sounds.

"Without a clear alpha, the other males took to fighting each other, clawing for power. The Yellowstone pack tried to stake a claim, some of the smaller packs and rogues in the area, too. We lost nearly a third of the pack in less than a month. And I—" he breaks off for a moment. "I had a college acceptance letter. I had been planning on leaving, on getting that engineering degree."

"Why didn't you go?"

I already know the answer.

His eyes are dark and gold, man and wolf. "Because no one else could keep them alive."

There's something in the way he says it that squeezes my chest, makes a current leap between our fingers.

"I fought to be alpha. Killed for it. Chased off the ones what would destroy the gentler parts of this pack."

There's a rational part of me that notes that Beau is confessing to murder and that I should be horrified. And I am. I am horrified at the violence that consumed this little community, at the trauma that tore though his family. Maybe it's the bond between us, this fated and mystical thing, but I can't see him as a murderer. Though I know it's wrong, I can't see him as cruel or evil when he's followed the law of his kind. My wolf, tucked away in my chest, doesn't make it any easier. There's an abrasive swell of pride rising from her. She's thrilled to have a strong mate, a powerful fighter. The discordance between my feelings and hers makes my chest burn and itch.

Beau releases my fingers and leans back. His eyes are careful, waiting, as the seconds stretch between us.

"And now you let the kids go to school," I murmur. "You have solar panels and septic tanks and co-op gardens and kitchen shifts."

The tension around his eyes eases in fractions. He exhales a breath that sounds like it's been trapped for a long time. "I rebuilt the pack the way I thought it should be. Not like my father's. No more training children. No more starving the weak. No more hierarchy for the sake of control. No more fighting a world that would be happy to stomp us out. We adapted. Survived."

I nod slowly, thinking back to the quiet hours in the kitchen, Lila's hands in the soil, the happy chatter at meals... the easy cadence of this little world. And I think about the Beau who smiles and teases when he's with me, the Beau who stands in the center—but apart—when he's with his pack.

"You never took a mate," I say softly. "You've done all this alone."

"I promised I wouldn't," Beau says. There's a fissure of pain in his voice, a hard edge that makes his mouth tight and unhappy. "Because I saw what the bond did to my uncle. To my father."

And I think I finally understand. Beau doesn't know if he wants a mate. He's just as conflicted about this as I am. Maybe more so. A flash of shame cuts through me. I've been reluctant out of my own self preservation, but Beau is thinking only of his pack. His family.

My wolf doesn't understand this hesitation. She stretches beneath my skin like she wants to take control of my limbs, to throw us into Beau and soothe his pain with touch and presence and submission. But I don't move. I can't.

"I've been so focused on where or not I fit into this world," I say, "that I didn't stop to think what staying might mean for you."

Beau's eyes are fiercely, unapologetically gold. "You think I don't dream of it?" His voice is quiet. "You in this place. In my home. In my bed? Every night that you're not next to me, I feel it like a phantom limb."

The raw, unguarded longing of his words makes my breath catch.

And the hard, conflicted edge makes my chest ache.

"Everyone fails eventually." His eyes are shadowed. There is no gold, no light in the thunderstorm gray. "Even good men. Especially the ones who think they're exceptions. I can't make the cost of my failures any higher than they already are."

I study him. The strength in his shoulders, the taut exhaustion in the edge of his eyes. Maybe I didn't recognize it because it's such an alien concept for me, but Beau has been burning himself for a long time to keep his pack warm. And he's afraid. Afraid that if he lets me in, if he takes something for himself, it will all come tumbling down.

"You think you have to choose," I say. "The pack or me."

He doesn't answer.

"You think a mate is a liability."

His jaw clenches. His eyes stay firmly gray. He doesn't answer.

The silence stings more than I'd like to admit.

The sky above the lake is a watercolor of late afternoon. Blues stretching toward gold, pale clouds inked gold at the edges with sun. The breeze-nipped surface of the water mirror it all, bright and blurry. This pack has clung to the edge of survival for a long time. It's a feeling I can't exactly relate to, but there's a thread I recognize: the fear of wanting anything more than safety.

Beau has spent his life fighting to protect this place.

But maybe I could protect it too.

Or, in the smallest of ways, protect him.

"I still don't think I understand completely," I say quietly. "What it means to stay. To be your mate. But I want to learn. I want to fight for this place. For these people."

There might not be a perfect fit for me here in the kitchen or in the gardens or digging trenches. I might not be able to fight tooth and claw, but I can help this pack. I want to help this pack. I think I have from the moment I met them at the beach bonfire, even if I didn't recognize it then.

I recognize it now. The way Beau's gravity has pulled me from the half-life I'd created for myself. I let my mother's death—that aching fear of pain and sorrow—turn me into something that was so focused on survival that I stopped wanting for more. I stopped believing I deserved it.

My voice turns soft and fierce, low and firm. "And I'll fight for you too."

A flash of gold flickers in Beau's eyes, and something warm tugs at my heart. His shoulders lift, then release, like an invisible bond as been cut away from his body.

"You want to stay," he says carefully, like he isn't quite ready to believe me. Or maybe he's worried he's dreaming.

You don't have to do this alone.

"Yes," I say. "I want more than halfway."

I mean it. I want to be a part of this world.

And I want Beau.

Like I want sunlight on my face, like I want air.

In the golden afternoon light, he's aglow. A perfect mix of hard angles burnished in soft light. The stoicism bleeds from him until he's leaning forward, brushing a hand across my cheek. His thumb trails the edge of my jaw, like he's grounding himself in the weight of this moment. In my choice.

"Then I'm yours," he says, voice low and gentle. An oath. "Your first shift. I'm yours."

When he kisses me, it's not urgent. It's not wild. It's a slow, steady promise pressed into my skin.

Something that tastes like home.

Something that just might be forever.

As long as I ignore the uncomfortable, prickling in my skin.