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He took a careful step back, as if to show he meant it.

"But I cannot reach you," he added quietly, "if you do not even look me in the eye."

That made her glance up—just briefly.

"You may not believe it," he went on, voice low, unguarded, "but that day—during the challenge—when you stepped between us...when you appeared..."

His eyes were far away as he was caught slightly at the memory.

"It was like I finally understood what other wolves meant when they spoke of their lifemate." He gave a faint, humourless smile.

"One of the reasons I was never very drawn to Isolde was that I think I had imagined my mate a certain way. And Isolde was nothing like I imagined my mate to be. Tall enough to look me in the eye, eyes like molten gold, long chestnut hair, a smile that almost brought me to my knees. A body like a goddess." His eyes searched her face as he laid bare the naked truth. "You were everything I had dreamed of."

Fae's expression flickered with disbelief. She knew what Isolde looked like.

"And then," he continued, voice heavy with pain, "I realised what that meant, what was coming."

He swallowed.

"How was I meant to survive that?" he asked softly. "How was I meant to keep myself separate from you?"

He stepped closer and his hand cupped her soft cheek. And Fae let him. "Faelynn, you were my every fantasy brought to life. And I had to stay away."

The confession hung between them.

"I loved you then," he said. "Even when I pretended not to. Even when I felt I didn't have a choice. But I should have been your friend, even if I couldn't be the lover you deserved."

His voice dropped further. "I love you now, Fae. I love everything about you. Don't turn away from me."

A mix of emotions moved through her eyes—hurt, longing, caution, all tangled together. Then she gave a single, slow nod, as if filing the words away somewhere private to examine later.

Without another word, she closed the door. The wood met the frame with a soft, final sound.

Blaidd remained where he was.

He could feel her leaning against the door on the other side. No matter what his crimes, the bond would draw them together. But he owed her the courtship she never had.

On the other side of the door, her back was pressed against the wood. Her heart beat like a drum—fast, loud, and impossible to ignore.

He let out a slow breath through the barrier of thick wood. Then he removed his clothes, folding them into a neat pile beside the veranda steps. He shifted into wolf form and circled once before lying down on the blanket she had left him earlier. He caught the edge of it with his teeth and pulled it carefully over himself.

His wolf gave a low, restless whine.

He felt no shame in calling for his lifemate. Only the ever-present ache that she was not curled up with him.

Sometime in the night, the ache grew unbearable.

He rose quietly and padded to the door. He lowered himself and let out a long, mournful whine.

When it did not open, he did it again.

And again.

Inside, Fae turned over once, then again. The sound woke her from her sleep, tugging at her sanity. The whining continued—soft, persistent, and demanding.

With a sharp exhale, because she knew he was waking the neighbours, she threw back the blanket and marched to the door.

She pulled it open abruptly.