Mate Me in Moonlight

Chapter 85

POV: Adeline

A week into the siege, and everyone was breaking.

I could see it in the hollow eyes of wolves who hadn't slept properly in days. In the trembling hands of sentries who flinched at every shadow. In the short tempers and snapped words that had replaced the easy camaraderie of better times.

The pack was fraying. And so were we.

"You're not listening to me."

Aiden's voice cut through the packhouse, sharp with exhaustion and frustration. We had been arguing for twenty minutes about patrol rotations—a subject that shouldn't have required twenty minutes, shouldn't have required raised voices.

"I am listening," I shot back. "I just disagree. Pulling wolves from the northern perimeter to reinforce the south leaves us exposed—"

"The south is where they've been probing. That's where the next attack will come."

"You don't know that. You're guessing based on patterns that might not hold."

"And you're being stubborn based on some gamma training that doesn't account for our actual situation."

The words landed like a slap. I felt my wolf bristle, felt my own temper surge to meet his.

"Stubborn? I'm trying to keep us alive. While you're so focused on the last attack that you're not seeing the bigger picture—"

"The bigger picture?" He stepped closer, his black eyes flashing. "I've been managing the bigger picture of this pack for ten years. I don't need a gamma from a dead pack telling me how to defend my territory."

Silence.

The words hung between us, ugly and sharp and impossible to take back. I saw the moment Aiden realized what he'd said—the flash of regret that crossed his face, the way his shoulders dropped.

But the damage was done.

"A gamma from a dead pack." I repeated the words quietly, tasting their bitterness. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Adeline—"

"No." I stepped back, putting distance between us. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I am just some cursed survivor playing at belonging somewhere I don't fit."

"That's not what I—"

"Save it."

I turned and walked out of the packhouse before he could see the tears burning in my eyes.

The clearing was dark, lit only by the emergency torches at the perimeter points. I found a spot near the western edge—far enough from the sentries to be alone, close enough to be safe—and sat with my back against a tree.

The anger drained out of me slowly, leaving something worse in its wake.

Fear. Bone-deep, exhausting fear that had been building for days and finally found a crack to seep through. Fear of the siege, of the losses, of the impossible odds. Fear that I wasn't good enough to save them. Fear that the one person I trusted most had just confirmed my deepest insecurity.

A gamma from a dead pack.

He's right. Everyone you've tried to protect has died.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to push back the spiral of doubt.

Footsteps approached. I didn't look up.

"Go away."

"No." Aiden's voice was quiet now, stripped of the sharp edges. He sat down beside me, close enough that I could feel his warmth but not quite touching.

The silence stretched between us.

"I shouldn't have said that," he finally said. "It was cruel and untrue and I only said it because I'm scared and exhausted and taking it out on you."

"That doesn't make it hurt less."

"I know." His hand reached toward me, hesitated, withdrew. "I'm sorry. Truly. You're not some... you're everything to this pack. Everything to me. I was lashing out and I targeted the thing I knew would hurt most."

I finally looked at him. He looked as wrecked as I felt—dark circles under his eyes, tension in every line of his body, the weight of leadership crushing him one day at a time.

"You're being reckless," I said. "The patrol rotations—you're reacting instead of planning. That's not like you."

"I know."

"Why?"

He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice cracked.

"Because I almost died. And when I woke up, the only thing I could think about was keeping you safe. Keeping everyone safe. Making sure nothing like that ever happened again." He looked at me, and I saw the terror he'd been hiding. "I'm not thinking clearly because I'm so afraid of losing you that I can't see past it."

Something inside me softened.

"I'm scared too," I admitted. "Every single moment. Scared that I'll fail again. That everyone I care about will die because I wasn't good enough."

"You're not going to fail."

"You don't know that."

"No." He finally took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "But I believe it. And I'm sorry I made you doubt it."

We sat in the darkness, holding hands, letting the anger drain away completely.

"The patrol rotations," I said after a while. "I think you're partially right. The south needs reinforcement. But not by stripping the north—by adjusting the shift lengths. Shorter rotations, more frequent relief."

"That could work." He squeezed my hand. "I should have listened before."

"We should have talked instead of fought."

"The siege is getting to both of us."

"Getting to everyone." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "We can't break. Not us. If we crack, the pack cracks."

"Then we don't crack." His arm came around me, pulling me close. "We fight. We disagree. We say things we regret. But we don't crack."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

"I love you." The words came out raw, unplanned. "I know we haven't—I know the timing is terrible. But I need you to know. In case I never get another chance to say it properly."

I turned to face him, finding his eyes in the darkness.

"I love you too."

He kissed me then—not the desperate kiss of the healing quarters, but something softer. An apology and a promise wrapped together. A moment of peace in the middle of war.

When we finally pulled apart, the fear was still there. The exhaustion. The impossible weight of what we were facing.

But we were facing it together.

Broken but holding on.

To each other.

To hope.

To whatever tomorrow would bring.