Chapter 4 Mine

Novalyn's pov

The words echoed through the barn like a curse I couldn’t shake.

You’re mine.

They hung in the air, thick and heavy, settling deep into my skin until I could almost feel them burning. For a moment, everything froze. The wind outside stopped whispering. The creak of the rafters went silent. Even my heart stuttered, caught between disbelief and dread.

My body went rigid, breath trapped in my chest. His voice still lingered in my ear, deep and rough, carrying a heat that felt too close, too familiar. I didn’t want it. I didn’t ask for it.

My wolf stirred inside me, restless and trembling. She recognized something in him that I refused to name. I tried to silence her, to push her down, but her low hum pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat. Mates. The word scratched at my mind like a cruel joke.

No. Mates were not gifts. They were chains.

And I had already learned how much it hurt to wear one.

I tore my arm from his grasp, stumbling a step backward, desperate to put space between us. “Let go of me,” I spat, even though his hand was already gone. My voice cracked, too thin, too sharp, and I hated that he could hear the tremor in it. “Get out of my barn. Out of my land. Now.”

He didn’t move. His eyes followed me, calm but burning from the inside, as if some quiet storm lived behind them. They glowed faintly, deep brown with flecks of gold, catching the light through the broken slats above. His wolf was pushing forward, close to the surface. I could feel it. The energy in the air shifted — thicker, electric, alive.

My pulse hammered against my throat. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to run, but I stood rooted, staring.

He was tall, his presence almost swallowing the space around him. His skin held the bronze of someone who lived under the sun, and scars cut across his arms and chest like stories of a hundred battles. Dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead, wild and untamed, framing a face that looked carved from heat and shadow.

And those eyes. Those damned eyes watched me like I was both the threat and the prize.

Ink ran up his right arm in dark, intricate swirls, disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt. I recognized the markings — old sigils, warrior’s marks. A man who had fought, killed, survived. There was power in his stillness, danger in the calm that surrounded him.

I broke eye contact first, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You heard me. Leave.”

He didn’t. Instead, his gaze dipped slightly, tracing over me in a way that sent unwanted heat to my cheeks. The weight of it made me furious. I turned and started walking toward the farmhouse, my boots crunching against the dirt floor.

But his footsteps followed.

Slow. Measured. Too close.

The sound of them crawled up my spine.

“I can’t do that,” he said, voice low and even, as if the air belonged to him. “You think I can just walk away now that I’ve found you?”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” I could hear the faintest smile in his voice. “But you’re mine.”

I didn’t look back. My pulse was so loud I could barely hear anything else. I knew better than to run. Running would trigger the wolf in him, and then this would become a hunt. So I kept walking, faster but controlled, every step heavier than the last.

When I reached the porch, I spun around so fast he nearly collided with the barrel of my gun. The metal was cool against my sweaty palms. My hands trembled, but I held my ground.

“Stop,” I said. “One more step and I shoot, pretty boy."

His gaze dropped to the gun, then lifted back to my face. There wasn’t fear there — only quiet amusement. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, as if he found the situation amusing.

“This is soaked in wolfsbane,” I warned, my thumb brushing the safety. “You’ll heal, but you’ll wish you didn’t and if I put enough in you, you might just drop dead."

He tilted his head, studying me. Then, with that same maddening calm, he said, “You think I’m pretty?"

For a second, my mind went blank. “What?”

His smirk deepened. “You were staring.”

“I was imagining how good you’ll look bleeding on my porch,” I snapped.

He laughed — a low, deep sound that rolled through the air like smoke. “You’ve got fire. I like that.”

“Go to hell.”

He stepped back once, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Already there, sweetheart.”

And then he turned. Just like that.

He walked away, slow and unbothered, disappearing into the line of trees as if he had all the time in the world. The air felt different once he was gone — colder, emptier, but still thick with his scent. It clung to my skin, to the walls, to the very air I breathed.

I stayed frozen until I couldn’t see him anymore. Then I moved — fast.

The moment I slammed the door behind me, my hands began to shake uncontrollably. I locked the bolts, drew the curtains, and pressed my back against the wall. My chest rose and fell too quickly, each breath sharp and shallow. The gun felt heavy in my grip.

Why was this happening? Why him? Why now?

I sank to the floor, hugging my knees. My wolf still thrashed inside me, restless, alert, her instincts whispering that he would come back. That he was not finished. That fate had tied something I didn’t want and couldn’t cut free.

I shut my eyes, trying to steady my heartbeat, but his voice wouldn’t stop echoing in my head.

You’re mine.

I hated how much it made me tremble.

Because deep down, I knew he meant it.

And worse — I knew he would be back.