CHAPTER 120: MAKING PLANS TO WOO HER

REED POV:

My emotions are like stormy clouds right now—dark, violent, and ready to break at any moment.

First off, I held the damn leech in my sleep. Held. Him.

What the actual hell?

I don’t even know how that happened. One minute, I was wrapped around my mate, breathing in her scent like a dying man gasping for air, and the next thing I know, I wake up and the bloodsucker is the one tangled in my arms.

Of all the damn creatures in the supernatural universe, it had to be him. My mortal, undead annoyance. I still haven’t forgiven myself for that. My wolf hasn’t either.

The horror on his face mirrored mine, which only made it worse. We both looked like we’d seen death itself. And maybe we had—because that moment killed a part of my pride.

Then she kicked us out of her bed in future.

Clare’s banned us from her bed like two misbehaving pups fighting over the last bone. And the worst part? I deserved it. We both did. Acting like horny teenagers instead of guardians. Mates, my ass. We were barely even acting like friends, let alone soul-bonded protectors.

Which, yeah, I get it... kinda. We overstepped. But still—her bed was warm, it smelled like her, and my wolf had been purring like a damn cub earlier when we held her.

Purring.

I didn’t even know wolves could do that, but mine did. He was so damn content, so smug, curled up beside her like she was our moon and stars.

Now?

He’s growling low, restless, frustrated. And maybe a little wounded.

I had opened my eyes and realized she’d been cuddling me while Blaze spooned both of us from behind like it was some twisted bedtime sandwich.

That snapped the warmth out of me real fast.

But my wolf? Oh no, he’s still basking in the afterglow of her warmth, completely ignoring the fact that Blaze fucking Nightborne was also wrapped around us like some undead snake. My own damn instincts didn’t care. They recognized her. They wanted her. Even with the damn vampire in the equation.And my wolf, the arrogant mutt that he is, is sulking about it like a rejected puppy.

I’m trying to ignore it. Pretend I don’t care.

But the truth is—I do.

Too much.

She’s not just some girl I fancy. She’s not just a prize to win. She’s our mate. My other half. The one soul that’s meant to complete mine. And watching her lean closer to Blaze, trust him, rely on him... it’s like watching someone chip away at my sanity with every passing second.

And that’s what’s driving me crazy.

I’m a shifter. I should be possessive. Protective. I should’ve ripped Blaze’s hands off the moment I saw them anywhere near her. But instead, I let it happen. Worse—I was grateful for it, because in that moment, she felt safe. Not with just me. But with both of us.

And maybe that’s what scares me the most.

Because deep down, I know what we’re heading toward. The same crossroad we hit with Clark. Two souls bound to one human. A choice that destroyed everything.

And this time?

Neither of us is backing down.

But gods... if she chooses him?

My storm might just turn into a hurricane.

And now she doesn’t want us near her at night. Not in her space.

It feels like a punishment I don’t remember earning.

Maybe I have messed up. Maybe we both have. But one thing’s for sure—I’m not giving up on her. Not to Blaze. Not to fate. Not even to her own fear.

She’s mine.

Ours.

And I’ll prove it to her, even if I have to claw my way through every fucking barrier she puts between us.

She came back to bed like a queen reclaiming her throne — barefoot, tired, eyes still hooded from sleep. She didn’t look at either of us, not really. Just walked in, climbed into bed, and turned her back like we were nothing more than annoying background noise.

Then came the scolding. About personal space.

Yeah. That stung.

She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t throw anything — no, it was worse. Calm. Firm. Disappointed. Like we were two dogs who peed on the rug and she was too tired to deal with it.

And what did Blaze do?

The bloodsucker dipped to the couch like a kicked puppy.

Didn’t argue, didn’t protest. Just flopped down like it was his fate.

Pathetic.

I was left looking like an idiot trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to sleep next—if there was even a next time.

The bed—the one place I wanted to be—was off-limits.

Because of us.

Because we let our egos get the better of us, again.

She shifted under the covers, curling in on herself like she was trying to shrink away from the world. That image stabbed at something deep inside me. Not just guilt, but... protectiveness. Fierce and consuming. She looked small. Fragile. Like someone who’d been through too much and was barely holding the pieces together.

My wolf stirred. Low and restless.

"We wait," he grunted in my head, voice low and brooding. "Wait ’til she sleeps... then we curl her again."

I snorted quietly.

You’re the reason she banned us in the first place, I shot back mentally.

But my wolf just yawned and rolled over in that mental space we shared, stubborn and content. He didn’t understand rules. He didn’t care about boundaries. He only cared about her. About the pull. About the mate.

And gods help me, I couldn’t blame him

It was dumb. Reckless. We’d just been told off like we were invading her space—but still, the urge didn’t die. My wolf wasn’t rational, especially not with her scent still lingering in the room like temptation incarnate. He was loyal. Stubborn. And a little desperate.

So I didn’t say anything.

Just slept next to her. Close, but not touching.

Watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders.

Waiting.

Like an idiot.

Like a mate.

I had a plan.

Simple. Solid. Foolproof.

Wake up early. Cook her breakfast. Show her I’m more than just a territorial mutt with anger issues and a jealous streak longer than the Great Wall. She needs stability right now — hell, after the shit she’s been through, she deserves comfort. Warmth. Safety.

And I can give her that.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking: A werewolf in the kitchen? Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

But trust me, I can cook. I’ve had years of practice feeding my pack, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that food speaks louder than words.

She-wolves? Yeah, they loved it when their mates provided for them — didn’t matter if it was food, security, or a full-on war fought in their name. It was in our instincts. Cook, protect, care. Shows them they’re valued. I figure human females can’t be that different, right? I mean, sure, she’s stubborn as hell, mouthy, and totally unpredictable, but at the end of the day, she’s still a woman.

And women like breakfast.

Especially breakfast made by a shirtless guy who knows his way around bacon and eggs.

Gotta play my strengths.

Sure, she’s got that fire in her — the kind that makes her slam doors, stand up to bloodsuckers, and shove us both off her bed like she owns the moon. But underneath it? She’s hurting. Scared. Alone. That nightmare did more than rattle her — it cracked something inside her. And all this mate talk isn’t making it easier.

She doesn’t trust me—yet. But I could change that. Bit by bit, I’d win her over.

So yeah. I was gonna wake before dawn, sneak into her kitchen, and whip up the best damn breakfast a half-feral werewolf could manage. Eggs, pancakes — maybe bacon, if she’s not one of those humans who thinks bacon’s a sin.

Not because I’m trying to win.

But because she deserves to be taken care of, for once.

Because I want her to look at me and choose me — not out of obligation, not because some ancient bond says she has to, but because I made her feel like she was home. Safe. That I was more than a mate bond. That I was worth keeping around.

I can already see it. Her sleepy smile. A tray in bed. Her saying, "You made this?" like she couldn’t believe it.

And maybe — maybe — she’d start seeing me not just as another monster with a claim on her life...

...but as the guy who made her breakfast because he gave a damn.

Yeah.

That was the plan.

And I wasn’t letting that leech outdo me this time.

With that thought in mind, I closed my eyes, letting the quiet hum of the night settle over me.

Her soft breathing filled the space, calm and steady now, not haunted like it was earlier. I held onto that sound like an anchor, something to keep me grounded—because gods knew my emotions had been anything but calm lately.

No more fighting tonight. No more jabs with Blaze. No more screwing things up.

Just her. Just the hope that tomorrow she’d wake up to something warm, something human, something real.

And maybe... just maybe, she’d look at me with a little less suspicion.

I let the tension drain from my shoulders as my wolf curled quietly in the back of my mind, content with the thought of her near. It was enough to know she was safe, in her space, under her roof.

With the scent of her still clinging faintly in the air and the ghost of her warmth not too far off, I finally let sleep take me.

Waiting for tomorrow.

Hoping it would be the start of something better.

Something worth fighting for.

Something that wouldn’t end like last time.

Tomorrow. I’d make her breakfast.

And maybe...

Begin again.