Chapter 12 Trust again

Novalyn’s pov

The house felt too quiet after he left. Not peaceful, just… still. The kind of silence that hummed in your ears because you knew your thoughts were louder than they should be.

I locked the door out of habit, sliding the bolt into place. It wasn’t fear that made me do it. I’d lived through worse things than a stranger in the woods. No, it was habit. The kind that kept you alive when the world had already tried to break you once.

My wolf stirred beneath my skin, restless, uneasy. She had been pacing since the moment I saw him. It was like she recognized something I didn’t, or refused to. I pressed a hand to my chest and breathed in slowly, trying to quiet her down. “You’re not helping,” I muttered, though the truth was she wasn’t the problem. I was.

I didn’t even know his name. Not really. Just his eyes, too steady, too sharp. The way he looked at me like he was trying to figure out what I was made of. Like I was some puzzle he didn’t mind losing sleep over. He hadn’t acted like other Alphas I’d met. No swagger. No claim. Just… presence. And that was what made him dangerous.

He didn’t look at me like prey. He looked at me like a question he was trying to solve.

I shook my head and turned away from the door. The smell of tea leaves lingered in the small kitchen, so I filled the kettle and set it on the stove. Something about that routine — the hiss of the gas, the small click of the lighter — grounded me. It reminded me that I was here, in my own home, not standing too close to a stranger who made my pulse do strange things.

While I waited for the water to boil, I pulled my sketchbook from the counter. It was an old thing, corners bent and pages smudged from charcoal. Drawing had always helped me sort through noise I couldn’t put into words. I flipped through the pages, skimming over sketches of mountains, trees, wolves — all pieces of a life I was still trying to rebuild.

Then I saw it. Near the back, in faint pencil lines, a shape that looked almost like him. Broad shoulders, an angular jaw, the tilt of his head as if he was listening to something I couldn’t hear. I stared at it for a long second before a soft laugh escaped me.

“Great,” I murmured. “I’m sketching strangers now.”

The kettle whistled sharply, pulling me back. I poured the hot water into a chipped mug and let the steam curl around my face. The scent of chamomile filled the air, calm and steady. I wrapped my hands around the cup and sank into the chair by the window.

Why did he unsettle me so much?

I tried to be rational about it. He didn’t push like most wolves. He noticed things, small things — the dirt under my nails, the way I stood between him and the open space, my hesitation when his hand brushed mine. He paid attention, but not like someone trying to take. More like someone trying to understand.

That kind of focus could be dangerous too.

He wasn’t the kind of danger that broke bones. He was the kind that slipped under your skin and waited to see if you’d let him stay.

I told myself I was being paranoid, that it was just the bond playing tricks on me, but deep down I knew it wasn’t that simple. The bond didn’t explain the quiet ache in my chest when I thought about how he’d looked at me — not possessive, just curious. It didn’t explain why my instincts weren’t screaming danger.

I rubbed at my temple and forced a breath out. Logic, Nova. Always logic. You don’t know him. You owe him nothing. You’ve built a life without anyone’s help, and you can keep doing it.

Still, something about him lingered like the aftertaste of something sweet you didn’t expect to like.

My wolf lifted her head suddenly, ears pricking. I froze, cup halfway to my lips. The sound outside was faint — a shift of leaves, maybe the wind — but I could feel it. Presence.

I stood slowly and crossed to the window, keeping my movements quiet. The night stretched out across the clearing, silver and soft beneath the moonlight. For a moment, I thought I saw movement at the edge of the trees — just a flicker, like someone turning away.

Him.

He was leaving, slipping back into the forest. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. The air still carried that faint charge, the warmth that came with his presence. My pulse steadied a little. He’d stayed. Until he thought I was safe.

He didn’t need to. He didn’t ask for thanks. He just did.

I stood there a while longer, watching the empty woods, before I finally stepped back. The warmth from the tea had faded, but I drank the rest anyway. It gave me something to do. Something to hold.

“He’s an Alpha,” I said quietly, as if saying it out loud would make it true enough to dismiss. “Probably thinks it’s his job to babysit every she-wolf in distress.”

But the words didn’t sound right. They felt hollow, like something I used to believe but didn’t anymore.

I set the cup down and sighed. Maybe he was different. Maybe he wasn’t. I’d been wrong about people before — my parents, my sister, my mate — all the ones who’d taught me that trust was just a blade waiting to be twisted. But this… this didn’t feel like a trick.

If he meant harm, I’d know. And if he didn’t… maybe I should stop running before I know where he stands.

I turned off the lights and moved to the bedroom, but the stillness of the night followed me. Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the plaster with my eyes. My wolf was quiet now, calm in a way she hadn’t been in years.

Trust wasn’t something I gave easily. But tonight, I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince — him or myself.