13. Between truth and trust

Nuri stared at Kalmin, her expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. ‘Mind-meld? After knowing each other for barely over a week?’ Her gaze locked on his light green eyes, searching for some flicker of hesitation, a hint of sarcasm—anything to suggest this was some twisted joke. But there was none. His face was far too serious.
‘Is he actually suggesting this? After everything? I might not remember hating him, but if it was bad enough for Tempest to rip the memory from my mind, then the me from yesterday would’ve spat in his face for even bringing this up.’ Her blood chilled with the thought.
“I don’t expect you to answer now,” Kalmin said, his voice low, threaded with something rawer than she expected. “It’s not a decision I came to lightly. I’ve been thinking about it since we left the hospital. I knew you'd question whether you could trust me. Letting you into my mind is the only way I can prove you can.”
He paused, as if waiting for Rian to interject, but for once, his wolf was silent.
‘Of all moments to go mute, you choose now?’ Kalmin gritted his teeth.
‘Did you expect resistance?’ Rian’s voice finally answered, far too calm. ‘You and Nuri merging minds only means Tempest and I could do the same. I see no issue.’
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Nuri said quickly, voice shaking. “Maybe—” She stopped, breath catching. The idea of someone else in her mind—inside—made her skin crawl. She had spent years coming to terms with Tempest, learning to share her space. Now, even the thought of another presence, no matter how temporary, felt invasive. Smothering.
She shook her head. “Just suggesting it… that was enough. I believe you.”
But bitterness twisted her words. ‘Why would he even think that was appropriate?’ The longer the silence stretched, the angrier she became.
‘Is it the mind-meld that scares you... or the thought of Rian and I doing the same?’ Tempest’s voice was soft, a whisper laced with careful curiosity.
‘Don’t push me. I may have forgiven you for the memory thing, but you’re still on thin ice,’ Nuri snapped, rolling her eyes.
‘She’s angry,’ Rian noted, his voice quiet in Kalmin’s mind.
‘At all of us, I think,’ Kalmin muttered, walking into the kitchen. He grabbed a beer for himself, a soda for her. The cold aluminum grounded him. For a second, he thought about returning. Instead, he stayed where he was, leaning against the counter. Giving her space.
‘What now?’ he asked Rian.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I told her I wanted her to stay, to learn what it means to be my mate. I offered her training—training she should have had if she weren’t a hybrid. A hybrid born to an omega, no less.’
‘Funny,’ Rian said, licking a paw with slow amusement. ‘You speak like you forgot you were an omega once.’
‘I remember. That’s why I say it. I know what it takes to claw your way out. I just don’t get why anyone chooses to stay there,’ Kalmin snapped. He cracked open his beer and took a long pull. ‘Can you stop antagonizing me and help for once?’
Rian’s tone softened. ‘Then take your own advice. Enroll her. Let her train. Doesn’t matter that she’s a hybrid or an omega. It matters that she starts.’
Kalmin groaned. ‘She should’ve started at sixteen. That’s when they usually—’
‘And?’ Rian cut in. ‘You’re Alpha. Rewrite the rules. Or did you forget we’ve always made our own?’
Kalmin huffed. ‘“We,” huh? Thought it was just me scraping through the mud.’
The door creaked open.
Nuri stepped into the kitchen, a soft smile playing at her lips. “Kalmin?” she asked gently, motioning to the chair beside him. “Mind if I sit?”
He nodded, sliding the soda toward her. “I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation. You and Tempest alright?”
She hesitated, cracking open the soda and taking a long sip. The bubbles stung, and she winced. “Not... really. But I’ll deal.” She looked down for a beat. “There’s something I need to ask you. I’m not trying to upset you, I just—I can’t move forward without knowing.”
Kalmin’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. “Alright. Ask.”
She raised a hand, stalling her own words. “We weren’t exactly... close. Not before the memory wipe. I mean—you hated me, right? Be blunt, if you must, just be honest.”
His expression shifted, just slightly. “I didn’t let you go back to school. I took you from your family. I brought you here hoping you’d... give up. Maybe even end things.” He said it flatly. Cold. Honest. Just like she asked.
Her eyes went wide. “You told me to be blunt,” he added.
Rian snarled in his mind, sharp and protective. ‘If you had to,’ he growled. But the fury burned hot beneath the words.
She forced a breath through her teeth. “But now, what? You suddenly changed your mind in a few hours?” Her voice cracked slightly. ‘I asked for honesty, but not... this.’
“I haven’t completely changed,” Kalmin admitted. “Rian forced my hand. Threatened to walk if I didn’t change how I treated you.”
She flinched. “So that’s it? That’s the reason you’re pretending to care?”
“I’m not pretending,” Kalmin said, his voice quieter now. “Rian made me try. But the reason I want to keep trying? That’s all me.”
Her laugh came out broken and disbelieving. She rubbed her eyes, frustration curling in her chest like smoke. ‘I asked him to be honest. Should’ve known he'd take that as an invitation to emotionally gut me.’
Kalmin watched her carefully, lips twitching into something unreadable. “But that’s not the question you meant to ask, was it?”
Nuri’s gaze never wavered from Kalmin, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Why would you even think that's appropriate?" The words burned, sharp and biting. “To suggest sex when you just said you hated me?”
Kalmin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “Sex? I said nothing about—what?!” his voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it that made her heart race.
“You might as well have,” she snapped. “Mind-meld? Sharing space that intimate? It’s worse than sex!”
“I never said I didn’t hate you. I said I don’t completely hate you anymore.”
“Ah, much better,” she said with venom. “That clears everything up. So, do you hate me or not?”
Kalmin’s grin darkened. “Let’s call it... a gradually decreasing distaste.”
He stood, tossing the bottle into the trash, his voice low as he added, “But don’t push me, Nuri. I’m not someone you want to spar with.”
Their wolves howled inside them, desperate to stop the spiral.
“Mind your own, Rian!” Kalmin growled under his breath. “The adults are speaking.”
Nuri’s eyes flared with heat as she leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. “Then say what you really want to say. I can take the truth.”
And for a moment, neither of them moved.
The space between them buzzed with something volatile—anger, frustration, confusion. But under it all, something else simmered. Something dangerous. Something electric neither of them was ready to acknowledge, let alone name. It curled beneath their skin, humming in their bones, begging to be touched, explored, unleashed—yet both of them stood still, caught between restraint and the undeniable pull that promised everything and threatened just as much.
Nuri glared at him, the fury in her chest sharp and molten. Her knuckles were white against the edge of the table. She didn’t care that Kalmin was watching. She didn’t care that Tempest was trying to soothe her from the inside. Her anger was hers. And for once, she wanted to hold onto it.
But slowly—like mist creeping across warm skin—Tempest’s influence pressed against her walls, not forceful, but ever-present. Softening her. Inviting her to let go.
She exhaled sharply, her voice cutting quieter, but no less bitter. “Stealing my memories wasn’t enough? Now you want to steal my anger too?”
‘I’m just trying to—’
“Stop trying!” she snapped, the crack of her voice echoing too loudly in the silence. Her shoulders slumped all at once as the weight of it all pulled her down. She pressed her forehead to the table, the wood cool against her heated skin. “I’m done, okay? I’m tired. I don’t want to argue anymore. Just... go to sleep, Temp. Please, just stop. I can’t do this with you anymore today.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t peace. It was hollow. Kalmin shifted beside her, the chair creaking softly, his gaze heavy with questions he knew better than to ask.
“I don’t understand,” he finally said, his voice low. “Rian reminded me about the sex comment, but... What did I say to make you think that’s what I meant?”
Nuri slowly lifted her head, shooting him a look so sharp it could’ve carved stone. “You said we could ‘mind-meld’ to make me believe you.”
His brows furrowed, then twitched upward, a hint of frustrated amusement curling at the corners of his lips. “I said merge. You thought mind-melding and merging were the same thing?”
‘She’s not stupid,’ Rian chimed in gently. ‘She didn’t grow up with this knowledge. It’s not her fault.’
“I did...” Nuri muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Until just now.” She hated how flustered she felt under Kalmin’s gaze—how the amusement in his eyes danced just a little too long. Like he was enjoying it. Like, he found her adorable instead of foolish.
Kalmin leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the chair as his body angled toward hers. “No, sweetheart,” he said, the pet name landing like a soft stroke down her spine. “A merge is emotional. Mental. It’s... trust. A mind-meld only happens if our wolves mate. All four of us, tangled up in each other.”
His voice dipped lower, and Nuri’s mouth went dry.
She was still angry. Still humiliated. Still hurt. But the way he looked at her—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of her—it made her pulse quicken.
Nuri stared at the table, then met his gaze again. “Can you explain how a merge works?”
Kalmin let out a heavy sigh, his eyes darkening. "A merge isn’t just together in the way you think. It’s... deeper. It’s the kind of thing that links our minds, our emotions. No hiding. No pretending. We don’t just trust each other with our bodies, we trust each other with our very thoughts, our fears. One wrong move and it could break us both."
‘So, a mind-meld, without the sex,’ Nuri made a mental note. She still felt stupid for not knowing they were two separate things.
Kalmin’s expression shifted. Thoughtful. Hesitant. “It’s not easy. You have to drop every wall. Let me in, fully. And we’re not there yet. You’re still healing. I’m still—” he paused, mouth tightening—“not the easiest person to trust.”
Her heartbeat thudded. “I want to try.”
Kalmin blinked. “You... what?”
She winced. “Not like that. I’m not mocking you. I just—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I want to do something different. We can’t keep clawing at each other.”
Kalmin watched her, his jaw ticking. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked to hers. “Why do you want to try?”
‘Because you think I can’t. Because you broke something inside me, and I don’t know how to fix it without understanding you. Because every time you touch me, I feel like I’m burning in ways that terrify me.’ But all she said was, “Because we need something deeper than words. I think we need a truth we can feel.”
His eyes softened—almost unbearably so. That heat was still there between them, crackling just beneath the surface. But this was something else too. Something real.
“You’re right,” he murmured. “But not tonight. Not when we’re both running on fumes. This needs our whole hearts, or it’ll break us more.”
Nuri nodded slowly, her body tight with exhaustion and tension. “Tomorrow?” She was becoming uncomfortably aware of the void where Tempest usually lingered, pressed against her chest, a quiet but undeniable absence. Normally, Nuri would feel her wolf’s presence like a faint, comforting echo in the back of her mind. But now, it was just... gone. She had never realized how much that hum of connection had grounded her until it wasn’t there anymore.
With Tempest gone, there was only silence and the weight of Kalmin’s steady gaze. No backup, no safety net. Just her, in this moment, with nothing but her doubts and the fierce pounding of her heart.
“If you’re still up for it,” Kalmin said, pulling Nuri out of her thoughts as he rose from the bench in one fluid motion, the stretch of his muscles catching her eye against her will. “After the day, when we’re home.”
“Home from where?” she asked, breath catching on the word home.
“From the pack school,” he said, voice dipping into something that felt like a challenge. Or a vow. “You’re not going back to your old school, Nuri. I meant what I said. You’ll be learning what it means to be my mate.”
She wanted to scoff. To roll her eyes. But instead, she found herself whispering, “You won’t regret it.”
Kalmin studied her like he wasn’t sure if she meant it. Like he was afraid she did. “Get some sleep,” he said after a long pause. “Set your alarm. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. I’ve already missed too much work.”
“Okay,” she said, a little too brightly. Then, before she could think about it, before she could second guess or stop herself, she rose on her toes and brushed a kiss across his lips.
Soft. Brief. Electric.
Kalmin froze—but didn’t pull away.
And when she stepped back, heart racing in her throat, she turned and walked quickly from the room. She barely made it down the hall before panic bloomed in her chest.
Oh my god. I kissed him.
She bit down on her tongue to stifle the grin already stretching her face. She didn’t let the squeal escape until her door was shut, her back pressed to the wood. And then—only then—did she let herself feel everything she wasn’t ready to say.