Chapter 3 Awakening To Rejection

• The first thing I become aware of is the softness beneath me, a stark contrast to the hard ground of the park where I last remember being. My body aches, a dull throb that pulses with each heartbeat, but it's not the sharp, overwhelming pain I recall from the rogue attack. Slowly, I open my eyes, blinking against the soft light filtering through sheer curtains.
• For a moment, I'm disoriented. This isn't my room, with its familiar posters and crowded bookshelf. Instead, I'm in a spacious bedroom, all muted colors and elegant furnishings. The bed I'm lying in is huge, easily king-sized, with silky sheets that feel cool against my skin.
• As I'm trying to make sense of my surroundings, a small face suddenly pops into view, mere inches from mine. I let out a silent gasp, jerking back in surprise.
• It's a little girl, probably around six or seven years old. She has a mop of curly black hair and bright, curious eyes that are fixed intently on me. A smattering of freckles crosses her button nose, and she's grinning widely, revealing a gap where her front tooth should be.
• "You're awake!" she exclaims, bouncing slightly on the bed. "I told Anton you'd wake up soon, but he said I had to be patient. Are you feeling better now? You looked really hurt when he brought you home. I'm Layla, by the way. What's your name?"
• The barrage of questions leaves me momentarily stunned. I sit up slowly, wincing as my muscles protest the movement. The little girl – Layla – continues to watch me expectantly, her head tilted to one side.
• Instinctively, my hands move to form the signs of my name. It's only as I finish the last movement that I realize she probably doesn't understand sign language. But to my surprise, her eyes light up with recognition.
• "Oh! Are you using sign language? That's so cool! I know a little bit. My teacher at school is teaching us, but I'm not very good yet. Can you teach me more?"
• Before I can respond – not that I'm sure how I would – a deep voice calls from the doorway. "Layla!"
• We both turn to look. Standing there is quite possibly the most handsome man I've ever seen. He's tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular build that his simple t-shirt and jeans do little to hide. His hair is the same jet black as Layla's, though his is shorter and slightly tousled. His jaw is strong, with just a hint of stubble, and his eyes...
• His eyes are what capture me. They're a deep, stormy gray, and as our gazes meet, I feel that same jolt of recognition I experienced in the park. This is him. The wolf who saved me. My mate.
• "Layla," he says again, his voice softer this time. "What did I tell you about bothering our guest?"
• The little girl pouts, but hops off the bed. "Anton I wasn't bothering her," she protests. "I was just saying hello!"
• A small smile tugs at the corner of the man's mouth. "I'm sure you were. But how about you go help Sarah in the kitchen for a bit? I need to talk to our guest."
• Layla's face lights up at the mention of the kitchen, and she scampers out of the room, pausing only to wave at me before disappearing down the hallway.
• The man – Anton, I assume – watches her go with a fond expression before turning his attention back to me. As he approaches the bed, I can't help but notice the way he moves, all fluid grace and contained power. My heart rate picks up, a mix of nervousness and something else I can't quite name.
• "I apologize for my sister," he says, stopping a respectful distance from the bed. "She's been excited ever since I brought you home last night. How are you feeling?"
• I open my mouth, a reflexive action, before remembering that no words will come out. Frustration washes over me. Of all the times to be without my phone...
• My hands move to sign, but I stop myself. There's no point; he probably doesn't understand sign language either. I settle for a thumbs up, hoping to convey that I'm okay.
• Anton's brow furrows. "Can you speak?" he asks, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.
• The question, so bluntly put, stings. I feel a flash of anger, hot and sudden. Without thinking, I try to force words out, resulting in a strangled, guttural noise that sounds foreign even to my own ears.
• Anton's eyes widen in surprise, and I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Great first impression, Eveline.
• Desperate to salvage the situation, I start signing rapidly, explaining that I'm mute and asking if he knows sign language. It's only as I finish that I realize he's staring at me with a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension.
• "You're mute," he says slowly, as if testing the words. It's not a question this time, but a statement of fact. I nod, relieved that he's understood.
• Without another word, he turns and walks out of the room. For a moment, I'm left feeling hurt and confused. But before I can dwell on it, he returns, a notepad and pen in hand.
• "Here," he says, holding them out to me. "This might make things easier."
• I take them gratefully, quickly scribbling down a thank you.
• Anton nods, then pulls up a chair next to the bed. "I have some questions, if you're feeling up to it," he says. At my nod, he continues. "First, what's your name and where are you from?"
• I write my responses: My name is Eveline. I'm from Cedar Grove, about 30 miles south of here.
• He reads my answer, then asks, "What were you doing in Crescent Park last night? It's dangerous for anyone to be there after dark, let alone..." he trails off, but I can fill in the blank. Let alone someone like me. Someone vulnerable.
• I hesitate, pen hovering over the paper. How much should I tell him? In the end, I settle for a simplified version of the truth: Bad date. Needed to clear my head. Didn't realize how far I'd run.
• Anton's expression darkens as he reads this. "You're lucky I was patrolling the area," he says gruffly. "Those rogues would have torn you apart."
• I want to thank him for saving me, to ask him about the mate bond I'm sure he must have felt too. But before I can write anything, he stands up abruptly.
• "I'll have a car ready to take you home soon," he says, not meeting my eyes. "You should be safe to travel now that your wounds have healed."
• Confusion washes over me. Home? But we're mates. Shouldn't we be talking about that? About what it means?
• I scribble quickly: But we're mates. I felt it. Didn't you?
• I hold up the notepad, my hand trembling slightly. Anton takes it, his eyes scanning the words. For a moment, something flickers in his expression – longing? Pain? But it's gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.
• When he speaks, his voice is cold, detached. "I'm not looking for a mate," he says flatly. "What you felt... it was probably just gratitude for being rescued. Nothing more."
• The words hit me like a physical blow. I shake my head vehemently, trying to make him understand. This isn't gratitude. This is something deeper, more profound. How can he not feel it?
• But Anton is already turning away. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression," he says, his back to me. "But a mate is the last thing I need right now. The car will be here in an hour. I suggest you get ready to leave."
• With that, he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that seems to echo in the sudden silence.
• I stare at the closed door, feeling as if the ground has dropped out from beneath me. Rejected. My mate has rejected me. The one person in the world who's supposed to understand me, to accept me completely, has just walked away without a backward glance.
• Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. I will not cry. Not here, not now.
• But as I sit in this unfamiliar room, surrounded by the lingering scent of the man who saved my life only to break my heart, I can't help but wonder: What happens now? Where do I go from here?
• The mate bond thrums within me, a constant reminder of what I've found and lost in the span of a single night. And for the first time in my life, I wish I could scream, could give voice to the pain and confusion swirling inside me.
• Instead, I sit in silence, as I always have, waiting for a car to take me away from the one place I thought I might finally belong.