Chapter 3

Hannah

The scent of sugar and cinnamon fills the pack house, wrapping around me like the coziest of blankets. I glance around the kitchen, alive with the sounds of laughter and the excited chatter of pups. They’re everywhere—climbing on chairs, sneaking tastes of frosting, and trying (unsuccessfully) to outdo each other’s cookie designs. The counter is a rainbow of sprinkles and icing bowls, and the air hums with joy.

This—this is my favorite part of the holidays. It’s not just the decorations or the treats or the music; it’s moments like these, where the pack comes together and forgets, if only for a while, all the heavy burdens of life.

But I’d be lying if I said my attention was fully on the cookies tonight. I glance toward the doorway, where he’s standing, his broad frame almost blending into the shadows. Rhys hasn’t moved since he stepped inside, his silver-gray eyes scanning the chaos like he’s trying to solve a puzzle no one asked him to. He looks like a man caught between running and staying, and my wolf bristles with frustration. Mate. Pull him closer. Don’t let him go.

I take a deep breath, schooling my expression into something less… possessive. “Hey,” I call over the noise, waving him closer. “Don’t just stand there. Come help us decorate.”

He hesitates, his shoulders stiff as a board, but before he can escape back into the cold, a small pup with dark curls tugs on his jacket. The boy looks up at him, wide-eyed and hopeful. “Are you gonna help us?”

For a moment, Rhys just stares at him, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, his face softens—just a little—and he nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff. “I guess I’ll help.”

The boy beams, grabbing Rhys’s hand and dragging him toward the long table where the other pups are busy decorating cookies. I bite down a smile as Rhys lowers himself into one of the tiny chairs, his large frame comically out of place amid the chaos of sticky hands and giggling children.

“Here,” I say, sliding a bowl of frosting toward him as I take a seat beside him. “Start with this. And don’t let the pups fool you—they’re ruthless critics.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Good to know.”

I watch as he dips a spoon into the frosting, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands are big, his fingers rough with callouses, but his movements are careful, almost delicate, as he spreads the icing over a snowman-shaped cookie. One of the pups—a girl with bouncing curls—leans over to inspect his work. “You’re doing it wrong,” she declares, her tiny voice full of authority.

Rhys glances at her, then at the cookie, his expression deadpan. “Am I?”

She nods solemnly, holding up her own creation—a lopsided tree drowning in green frosting and sprinkles. “It’s supposed to look pretty.”

His mouth twitches again, and this time, I catch the faintest hint of a smile. “Got it,” he says, reaching for the sprinkles. “Pretty. I’ll work on that.”

The girl watches him for a moment, then nods in approval before turning back to her own cookie. I hide my grin behind a sip of cocoa, my chest warming at the sight of Rhys surrounded by pups, his guarded edges softening just a bit. He doesn’t belong here—not yet—but for the first time, I can imagine what it might look like if he did.

“Here,” I say, nudging the bowl of red frosting toward him. “Try this.”

Our fingers brush as he takes it, and the contact sends a jolt through me, warm and electric. My wolf stirs, her growl soft and possessive, and I have to fight the urge to lean closer, to close the space between us. Rhys doesn’t seem to notice—or if he does, he hides it well. But there’s a flicker in his eyes, something that makes my heart race and my wolf press harder against my control.

The evening passes in a blur of frosting and laughter, the pups’ joy infectious. Even Rhys relaxes, his movements less stiff, his responses less clipped. I catch him smiling—actually smiling—when one of the boys asks for his help with a particularly tricky design. He leans down, his voice low and patient as he guides the boy’s hands, and my chest tightens at the sight.

By the time the last cookie is decorated and set aside, the kitchen is a mess of crumbs and sticky bowls, but I can’t bring myself to care. The pups are herded off to bed, their excitement lingering in the air like the scent of cinnamon, and the parents begin cleaning up the worst of the chaos. Rhys stays at the edge of the room, his eyes following the movement of the pack with an expression I can’t quite read—longing, maybe, or something close to it.

“Hey,” I say softly, stepping up beside him. “You did great tonight. I think the pups like you.”

He huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh, his silver eyes reflecting the glow of the fireplace. “They’re… persistent.”

“That’s a good thing,” I say, nudging his arm gently. “It means they trust you.”

His gaze shifts to mine, and for a moment, I see it—the loneliness he carries, the weight of whatever past he’s trying so hard to hide. It’s there in the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he looks at the fire like it holds answers he’s afraid to ask for.

“I’m not used to this,” he says quietly. “Being part of something.”

“You could be,” I say, my voice just as soft. “If you wanted to.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

His eyes meet mine, and I see the walls go up again, the vulnerability shuttered behind layers of guarded silence. “Because I don’t belong here,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I've been roaming, taking odd jobs... I'm a lone wolf. I don’t belong anywhere.”

“That’s not true,” I say, stepping closer. “You belong wherever you choose to belong. And if that’s here… we’ll make room for you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze searching mine like he’s looking for something—some kind of reassurance, some kind of hope. My fingers brush his arm, the contact sparking again, and for a moment, he doesn’t pull away. The bond between us hums, alive and electric, and I can feel my wolf pushing closer, her instincts screaming at me to close the distance, to take that final step.

“I’ve been alone for a long time,” he says, his voice low and rough.

I rise from the couch and take a tentative step toward him. “Why?” I ask softly. “Why have you been alone?”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as if he’s wrestling with himself. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the push and pull of wanting to keep his secrets and wanting to let them go. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t leave my old pack because I wanted to,” he says, his gaze fixed on the fire now. “I left because I had to. Because staying would’ve done more harm than good.”

“What happened?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves to the fireplace, crouching down to poke at the logs with a metal rod. The flames leap higher, their light illuminating the sharp angles of his face, the shadow of a man who’s been carrying more than his fair share of burdens.

“They thought I betrayed them,” he says finally, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. “Someone I trusted—someone I thought was a friend—framed me for something I didn’t do. It didn’t matter how much I denied it. The pack believed him. And I… I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t live with the way they looked at me, the way they doubted me.”

My throat tightens at his words, the pain in them cutting through me like a blade. “Rhys,” I say softly, taking another step closer. “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “Don’t be. It’s not your burden to carry.”

“But it is yours,” I say, my voice trembling. “And no one should have to carry something like that alone.”

He looks up at me then, his silver eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something I can’t quite name. “You don’t understand,” he says, his voice rough. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything.”

“You’re right,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what that’s like. But I do know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong. To feel like no one really sees you for who you are.”

His gaze softens slightly, the anger fading as quickly as it came. “And what do you see when you look at me, Hannah?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I see someone who’s stronger than he gives himself credit for. Someone who’s been through hell and is still standing. Someone who deserves more than he’s letting himself have.”

His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he might say something. But then he shakes his head and rises to his feet, putting distance between us once again.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he says, his voice hardening. “I’m not… good. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

“That’s not true,” I say, my voice firm. “You’re not defined by your past, Rhys. You’re more than what happened to you.”

He chuckles bitterly, the sound hollow and self-deprecating. “You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?”

“Maybe,” I say, lifting my chin. “But I’m also stubborn as hell. And I’m not giving up on you.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. But then he turns away, his walls slamming back into place.

“I should go,” he says, his voice tight.

“Rhys, wait. Just stay a few more days—”

But he’s already at the door, his hand on the knob. He pauses for a moment, his broad shoulders tense, and then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the flickering light of the fire.

I sink back onto the couch, my heart heavy in my chest. My wolf growls softly, her frustration mirroring my own. “He’ll stay,” I whisper to her, to myself. “He has to.”

Because the bond between us isn’t something that can be ignored. No matter how much he tries to resist it, no matter how much he tries to push me away, I know one thing for certain.

Rhys Everhart is my mate. And I’m not giving up on him.