Noah's POV
My heart is racing.
The heat of Kieran's body is solid against mine, grounding, steady—but my mind feels like it's splintering, pieces breaking off and floating away like dust in the wind.
I press into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, trying to match mine to his.
But I can't.
"What?" I whisper.
Kieran's hand moves up and down my back, slow, soothing, gentle. His voice is just as careful when he says, "Noah, I can tell you're running from something. I don't want to be the drug you take to forget."
My stomach twists.
His words are clear but that's not what I hear.
I hear: 'I don't want you.'
I hear: 'You're not enough.'
My throat closes up. My voice is small when I whisper, "This is the second time you're pulling away from me."
Kieran shifts, pulling back just enough to look into my face, his deep brown eyes full of worry. Understanding. Care.
I hate it.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I'm not the kind to jump into bed willy-nilly."
That word—willy-nilly—it sets me off. Like something inside me snaps.
"Willy-nilly?" My voice rises, sharp, bitter. "If you don't want me, just say so!"
I jerk away from him, my skin burning like I've been scalded.
Kieran flinches at the outburst. "Noah—"
"You don't have to lie and say you care about me if you can't even touch me," I spit out, breathing too fast, too unevenly.
Kieran shakes his head. "That's not—"
He doesn't even finish before the words are pouring out of me, spilling over, sharp and cutting and out of control.
"Am I that unlovable!?" My voice cracks. "Is there something about me you hate?"
Kieran flinches. It's a quick, barely-there movement, but I see it. His jaw locks, his hands clench like he wants to reach for me but doesn't know if he's allowed.
His hesitation hurts, the way he looks at me like he's picking his next words too carefully makes me feel worse. Like he doesn't want to hurt me, but he's afraid of what telling the truth might do.
The worst part? He doesn't deny it.
He doesn't immediately say, 'Of course you're not unlovable, Noah!' He doesn't reassure me with some pretty lie. He just stares at me, eyes dark and full of something I can't read, and that silence feels sharper than a rejection.
Kieran finally takes a step toward me, reaching out, but I stagger back. My vision blurs at the edges, chest heaving, fingers shaking at my sides.
"This was a mistake," I whisper, voice raw. "I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry, I—"
'Why does no one want us?'
'Why are we so alone?'
'Are we broken?'
The words rip through me, jagged and painful, laced with the desperate grief of my wolf. Of me.
Kieran's voice is sharp, commanding, cutting through the storm.
"Finnian!"
I freeze.
My whole body goes rigid.
Kieran steps closer, grabs my shoulders, squeezes firmly. "Breathe."
I try. I can't.
I gasp, but the air doesn't reach my lungs. It's like trying to breathe through wet cotton. My fingers tingle, numb and foreign, and my ears—goddess, my ears are ringing. The sound swallows everything, a high-pitched whine that drowns out the panic in my head but doesn't erase it.
My throat feels too tight to swallow. My vision narrows, spots of light dancing at the edges. Finnian is thrashing, her cries pressing against my skull, her sorrow so thick it feels like it's choking me from the inside out.
"I— I can't—" I choke out.
My skin is buzzing, my body caught between fight and flight. My muscles twitch with the need to shift, to run and run and run, until the world stops spinning, until the ache in my chest is swallowed by exhaustion.
But Kieran doesn't let me fall.
His hands move from my shoulders to my wrists, firm but careful. He rubs slow, soothing circles into my skin. His voice is steady. Anchoring.
"What's your name?"
My thoughts stutter. "Wha— my name?"
Kieran nods, voice calming. "What's your name?"
I gulp down air, choking on it before I manage, "Noah Bennett."
Kieran hums, fingers still moving in careful circles. "How old are you?"
I swallow hard. "T-Twenty-three."
"Where did you grow up?"
The question pulls me back a little, forces my brain to stop spiraling.
I breathe in, shaky, but not as desperate. "Vesperis pack lands. In Messer County." My voice is hoarse. "Miles north from here."
Kieran chuckles, soft. "It's not that far."
Something bitter rises in me. "Still not far enough."
Kieran squeezes my hands. "Where do you live now?"
I exhale, my breath less frantic. "Lykandor pack lands. Here in Eastvale."
"What's your favorite thing about it?"
I blink. I don't have to think hard. "Lots of woodland." My voice is steadier. "It's refreshing. Perfect for Oliver to play and explore too."
Kieran nods. "Yeah. Lykandor got the good spot." He pauses, then smirks a little. "What's your favorite thing about me?"
I snort. "Goddess, you're so full of yourself."
A pause.
"Your patience," I say honestly.
Kieran grins. "Nana always said I deserved the fattest bone."
A shaky, breathless laugh escapes me. I wipe at my eyes.
I'm breathing normally now.
Kieran studies me for a second, then asks softly, "Okay?"
I nod. "Okay." Then I add, "Thank you."
His eyes soften.
I hesitate, then whisper, "I'm sorry."
Kieran exhales, slow and measured, like he's holding something back.
"Not your fault," he says, but his voice is tight now, something that wasn't there before. Like he's biting back a thousand words.
Like he does care—maybe too much—and doesn't know if saying it out loud will make things worse.
I force out a chuckle. "Is that your diagnosis, doc?"
He gives me a small smile. "I'm not going to sleep with you." His voice is gentle but firm. "But would you mind if we cuddled?"
The tension in my shoulders eases.
"…That would be nice."
---
We end up on the couch, lunch abandoned.
I curl into Kieran's chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing comforting.
Goddess, when was the last time someone touched me just to comfort me?
Not a doctor checking my vitals. Not Oliver's small hands clinging to mine. Not Logan, pressing against me with an agenda. Just… this. A steady hand. A grounding touch. No expectations. No demands. Just warmth.
I don't think I realized just how touch-starved I was until now.
My fingers twitch against his. I want to pull away because the realization makes my throat feel tight, but Kieran's breathing falls in time with mine, and I don't.
After a while, Kieran murmurs, "What was all that really about?"
I hesitate. "What was what about?"
His sigh is tired. "Noah… you know what I mean."
I do.
I press my face into his neck. He smells so good, like bourbon and vanilla, with a grounding note of vetiver and a whisper of spice.
Then, slowly, I start talking.
"I saw Logan and Elliot," I say, my voice quieter now. "In the locker room. They were… close."
Kieran tenses. Just a little. "Were they—"
"No," I mutter. "Not really. But almost."
Kieran exhales. "And that's why you came here?"
"…I don't know. Maybe. I just—" My voice wobbles. "I just felt like there should be love for me somewhere. I just wanted to feel something."
Kieran is quiet for a long time. Then he asks, voice careful, "Do you still love him?"
I let out a long sigh.
"He confuses me," I admit. "I hate him but… when he was in danger, I was worried. Afraid. I rushed to his aid without a second thought."
I take a shaky breath.
"And when I was attacked by some rogues—"
Kieran jerks upright. "You were attacked!?"
He tips my chin up, scanning my face, searching for injuries that aren't there anymore.
I grab his hand, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. "I'm fine now."
His jaw tightens. "What happened?"
"Oliver wanted to play ball. I brought him to the stadium. It was late. I saw something I didn't like. We left but there were these guys waiting in the parking lot."
"That doesn't explain a lot," Kieran points out.
"Well, it all happened so quickly," I murmur, my fingers still rubbing his hand. It happened to me and I can barely wrap my head around that night. "Logan jumped in. Protected me. Protected Oliver. It was… crazy."
Kieran doesn't say anything. Just waits.
"All I could think back then was 'my hero,'" I whisper. "And Finnian—she wanted to run to her protector."
I let out a bitter laugh. "But it's like… is this love? Or Stockholm syndrome?"
The silence between us stretches.
I exhale, pressing closer into Kieran's warmth. "I'm sorry," I murmur. "It was unfair to try and use you like that."
Kieran's arms tighten around me. "It's in our nature to seek hearts that sync with ours," he says quietly. "And yours was torn away from you." A pause. "Of course it still hurts."
Mine wasn't 'torn away', it up and left.
I close my eyes.
"But I don't want to feel this way."
Kieran doesn't say anything. Doesn't try to lie. Doesn't try to tell me it'll get better.
And somehow, that's worse.
I stare at the ceiling, the weight in my chest still there. Heavy. Unmoving.
I thought if I ran far enough, kissed someone else, let myself be held in someone else's arms, it would go away.
It hasn't.
I don't know if it ever will.