Chapter 0302

My breath catches when Isolde suddenly leans in and presses her lips to mine. I don't hesitate to respond, deepening the kiss immediately. It's clear she's never done this before, but her shy curiosity only fuels my desire.

When she pulls away, I see the mate bond and her wolf, Aurora, overwhelming her. That's fine by me. Magnus keeps growling in my mind, demanding I mark her and claim her as ours. But I won't make that mistake again—not after forcing a bond on someone who didn't want it.

Last night, when I called Adrian, his first question was whether I'd forced the bond on Isolde. After explaining she's my fated mate and that I haven't marked her yet, we both agreed the situation isn't ideal. A young, unmated Alpha female who's also a Guardian, alone in the world? That's a target on her back. I also told him there's something dark in her past, and I intend to uncover it. If she refuses to leave willingly, we've agreed to take more drastic measures.

We continue walking in silence. "Tell me about your father," I say.

"Why do you care?" she snaps. There's definitely a story there. Anyone who's seen the mate bond in action would know why I care—she's mine. Even if she weren't, I'd still want to help her.

"I care because I'm your mate. But beyond that, you're out here alone when you have a parent who should be protecting you." We reach her porch, and I stop, studying her. "Let me guess—as an Alpha, your father couldn't stand that you didn't have your wolf. So he either banished you or started abusing you. Your mother probably got you out or followed you into exile. If that's true, then the severed mate bond is what slowly killed her. How close am I?"

The look on her face tells me I've hit the mark. She turns, pushing open the front door. Tonight, she doesn't slam it in my face. I linger in the doorway, watching as she moves inside.

"You might as well come in," she mutters when she notices I'm still there.

The place is barely bigger than my hotel room—and that's saying something, considering this one has a kitchen. No wonder she works at the diner; at least there, she can eat real food. Her kitchen consists of a mini fridge, a sink, a sliver of counter space, a hot plate, and a microwave. No stove.

She fills a pot with water and sets it on the hot plate, then pulls two tea bags from one of her two cabinets. "Tea?" she asks.

I nod. I don't usually drink tea, but if it means more time with her, I'll drink anything.

She grabs two mugs—the only two she owns—and drops a tea bag into each. When the water boils, she pours it carefully.

"Cream or sugar?"

"I'll take it how you take it."

She leaves both cups black and carries them to a tiny table, setting them down. "You can have the chair," she says, settling onto the floor.

Instead of taking the only chair, I sit across from her on the floor.