IT'S OKAY TO BE DIFFERENT.

Evans lingers claustrophobically behind me as I lead the way back to the cabin. He isn't touching me, except for his hot breath tickling my shoulder. I bite my tongue.

He's not stable. He's been struggling far worse than what I realized. If I want him to trust me, then I'm sure as hell not going to push him away.

We walk through the front door that was left slammed open. He frowns when his eyes land on the couch. One end is propped in the wall, drywall powder dusting it white.

"We'll worry about it later," I say, going around him to jerk the door handle out of yet another hole in the wall. I shut it and lock it. "You should sleep.”

I take in his tired expression. The circles remain under his eyes, the whites of which appear bloodshot and glassy at best. His coppery hair is messier than usual, flowing in all directions and being teased by rough fingers running through it too frequently.

He looks like shit, but he still looks more appealing than any other being. This irritates me.

I half expected him to argue, but he simply nods tiredly. I take his wrist and walk him up the stairs without complaint. When I get into his room, I lead him to his bed. As soon as he sits, I head to the dressers and rummage through them.

I return to his side, holding up a pair of boxers and dark grey sweatpants. While I wait for him to take them, I focus my vision on the farthest wall.

"I couldn’t find the shirts. "I hope this is okay," I say, trying anything to break the awkward silence.

He mumbles a quick 'it is fine' before taking off his clothes and standing. As he puts them on, I turn away from him. The bed dips softly, prompting me to look again.

He is lying face down on the pillow, his elbows spread out to the sides. His back is as sculpted as the rest of his body, with defined shoulder blades and prominent muscles.

My wandering gaze comes to a halt when it lands on a point of interest--a black insignia burned into the base of his neck. The ink depicts the head of a snarling dire wolf, a symbol of the packless.

Wolves lived in packs for centuries, even in primal times, and these packs are still alive today. But there were some feral wolves who didn't. They were dire wolves, with genetics that were said to be different from ours. A different type of werewolf.

The dires were shunned as society advanced. They became hunted because they were feared for their wildness and savagery. Eventually, the population died out. A petition was passed on a thin thread in the hopes of sparing some of those who behaved more civilly.

The few who were spared were branded with the dire wolf insignia, so no one would forget who they were. And anyone who reproduced would pass on both the brand and the reputation that accompanied it to their offspring.

However, this was in the distant past. They were long thought to be extinct. That the last of them had passed away.

That all changes now that I am looking at someone in the flesh, my mate.

Evans is the progeny of a dire wolf.

Lila was absolutely correct.

A distinct breed of werewolf.

My hand had been lingering over him, itching, wanting to run my fingers across his skin. I quickly withdraw it and take a step back.

"Um, goodnight," I rush out, my mind so hazy that I can not think. I close the door behind me, hoping he will not notice my haste as I rush down the hall to my own room.

This should not change anything, but it does. That symbol is a significant part of his past. This is a dark part. A section that appears to be toxic because it may contain secrets.

It makes me realize how little I really know about him. My only prior knowledge of him was that he is an infamous tyrant in exile. Now I find out that it gets even worse?

I burrow into "my" bed and wrap the blankets loosely around me. I should not be tired because I have been sleeping so much lately, but mental exhaustion is wearing me down. I stare at the sheets in blankness until my eyes burn. It is not until I snap out of my trance that I realize I am pressing my sleeve against my nose and mouth. Inhaling Evans' scent, I fall asleep in a haze.

When I wake up in the middle of the night, there is no scratching in the hall. There were no tormented sounds or jingling of the doorknob. It bothers me more now than it did before.

I crawled out of bed as if I would never been asleep and walked lightly down the hall to Evans' door. My hand is hovering over the knob as I hesitate. I feel an aching pain in my chest, indicating that he is in pain. Holding back a whimper from my wolf requires all of my effort. Even so, it is not sufficient. A sad, pathetic sound emerges.

The door is yanked open, causing me to jump. I catch only a glimpse of a figure standing there before arms wrap around me and pull me in.

He pushes me against the door as it clicks shut, trapping me between it and his warm body. As he presses against my t-shirt, the burning hot skin on his torso melts through it.

His head dips down, his face nestled in the crook of my neck. He takes deep breaths in and drags his nose across my skin. I shiver, despite the heat radiating from his body.

I can see past his shoulder that his bed is in disarray. The sheets are twisted and sprawled everywhere, and pillows are strewn across the floor. His fingers dig deeply into my wrists, like a death grip.

"Have not you slept?" My breathing is shallow and I can barely get the words out. His head rocks back and forth on my shoulder, saying, "No."

"Stay," he murmurs against my hair. That single word makes my heart race. I am not sure if it is a plea or a command. In any case, I simply nod.

He takes a step back and walks over to the bed. I crawl into the bed's opposite side. My back is to him, with only about two feet between us.

A few minutes pass as I stare at the back of my eyelids, fully awake. As I try to relax, my fingertips worry about the material of my shirt.

I stiffen in response to a low growl from behind. It comes to a halt with a sudden, louder note. As Evans tosses and turns, the bed dips and the sheets rustle, accompanied by smaller frustrated growls.

I have a strong desire to comfort him.

Why am I so bad at doing this?

I roll over and take a deep breath, facing him. His hands are pressed against his face, and his elbows are pointing upwards.

I close the two-foot gap between us, sidling up to him and throwing my arm across his exposed stomach. I use the side of his chest as a pillow, feeling warm tingles run down my cheek.

He tenses up as I touch him. A large arm drapes across my back just as I brace myself to be shoved off. It causes me to draw closer to him.

I wait for the tension in his body to subside, but it never does. His muscles remain rigid, as if he were hugging a thermal stone statue. I frown against his side and let out a long sigh, but only the hot air

blowing back at me.

As if sensing my annoyance, a hand comes up to brush my hair behind my shoulder. He tentatively touches my ear, taking the thick metal piece pierced through the cartilage between his fingers.

"Emissa," he says, playing delicately with the metallic green ring.

Every wolf has a permanent ring on the top of his ear. The color distinguishes pack affiliation, with each color representing a different pack. The rings are wide, around three millimeters thick, and made of unbending steel. It never leaves your newborn's ear.

I nodded softly against his chest, mumbling "yes."

He is silent for a few seconds. "Sleep now."

That is the last thing either of us says before the night's silence begins. About an hour later, I notice Evans relaxing beside me. As I close my eyes, a tiny smile forms on my lips.

As I wake up, I let out a long, satisfying groan and stretch my arms above my head. My eyes awoke to an empty bed, Evans' lingering scent the only indication that I had not slept alone.

I get up and go to the bathroom, not thinking much about it. The air is thick with steam and the odor of body wash, indicating that he was here recently.

I dismiss it and return to his room to look through the dressers, once again scraping together a pair of clothes based solely on guessing from the drawers.

I quickly strip down once I return to the black marble-themed bathroom.

When I turn the shower on, the water is already hot, as expected.

I take my sweet time in there, letting the soothing stream massage my back. My thoughts keep returning to Astrid.

Today is the day I would have married him despite my wishes. The day I would become a puppet on his strings. Instead, I am here, in a cabin whose location I do not know, attempting to teach an exiled tyrant the meaning of the mate bond.

Surprisingly, I am grateful for the twist of fate.

After I get out of the shower and grab a towel from the cabinet, I start drying. The plush fabric is gentle on my skin, encouraging me to take my time. When I stand up after drying my legs, I see myself in the mirror above the spotless sink.

My blonde hair, which is naturally highlighted with darker streaks, falls in wet, straight strands that reach all the way down to my naval. Realizing how exposed I am, I raise the towel in front of me, concealing my stomach. Moving my gaze up, it lands on the reflection of the metallic green ring, which serves as a convenient distraction.

The term "emissa" comes to mind.

My pack. Just hearing the name gives me a warm sensation in my navel. Realising how exposed I am, I raise the towel in front of me, hiding my stomach. When I shift my gaze upward, it lands on the reflection of the metallic green ring, which serves as a convenient distraction.

A series of bangings against the walls catches my attention. I hold my breath on a whim, listening as the situation becomes more frantic.