His body went rigid against hers, every muscle locking at once. The bond flared so hot she felt it in her teeth—a pulse of raw want that wasn't entirely his, wasn't entirely hers, something that lived between them now, breathing. She looked up and his eyes were gold again, full gold, no white left, and the growl that rolled out of his chest was not a human sound.
"Austin." She said his name like a question and a prayer all at once. Her hand found his jaw, the stubble rough under her fingers. "I'm here. I'm right here."
He didn't answer with words. He rolled her onto her back, one arm sliding under her shoulders to angle her, the other hand already moving—palm flat against her stomach, trailing down, fingers finding her slick and ready. He didn't tease. He didn't ask. He pushed one finger inside her, then two, a low groan breaking from his throat when he felt how wet she still was, how open.
"Still want me," he said, not a question. His voice had dropped an octave, thick and rough, hardly his.
"Always." She gasped as he crooked his fingers, finding that spot that made her hips buck. "Austin, I will always—"
He pulled his hand free and positioned himself at her entrance. The head of him pressed against her, not pushing, just resting there, and she felt the tremor run through his whole body. He was holding himself back. Barely. His forehead dropped to hers, breath ragged, the gold in his eyes flickering.
"Tell me," he said. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me."
"I want you." She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the pressure of him shift. "I want everything. Every part of you. Every piece of this."
He pushed in.
It was not gentle. It was not slow. It was a single, driving thrust that buried him to the hilt, and she cried out, her back arching, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He was bigger than she remembered, or she was smaller, or the bond made everything feel more—more pressure, more heat, more of him filling her until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began.
"Mine," he growled against her throat. "You're mine."
"Yes."
He pulled out almost all the way and drove back in, harder. The headboard knocked against the wall—a rhythmic thump that would have been embarrassing if she'd had room for embarrassment. She didn't. There was only him, the stretch, the burn, the way his hips slapped against her thighs, the wet sound of him moving inside her, the smell of sweat and sex and something wild that must have been the wolf.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through his short hair, holding him close. "I've got you," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
His rhythm faltered. He pulled back just enough to look at her, and the gold in his eyes was shot through with something human—desperate and afraid. "I'm going to—" He stopped, swallowed. "I'm going to breed you, Lindsey. I'm going to put my pup in you, and I'm going to mark you so every wolf in every pack knows you're mine, and I don't care who tries to stop me."
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. Not because they scared her. Because they didn't. Because some part of her—the part that had been dead for a hundred and twelve years—woke up hungry for exactly that. His claim. His mark. His future written into her body.
"Do it." She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him, hard and sloppy and full of teeth. "Do it, Austin. Mark me. Claim me. Make me yours."
He made a sound that was almost a sob, and then he was moving again, faster, rougher, each thrust driving deeper, his hand sliding down between them to press against her clit in a rhythm that matched his hips. She felt the orgasm building before she was ready for it, coiled low in her belly, spreading heat through her thighs, through her chest, through the bond that hummed between them like a live wire.
"Come for me," he said, his voice breaking. "Please. Come for me, Lindsey. I need to feel it. I need to know you're with me."
She was. She was so with him she couldn't breathe. The knot in her core tightened, held, and then shattered, and she heard herself cry out as she clenched around him, waves of pleasure pulling her under, dragging him with her.
He followed a heartbeat later. His forehead pressed to hers, his whole body shuddering, and she felt the pulse of the bond as he let go—his hunger, his fear, his love, all tangled together in a single, desperate groan. He spilled into her in long, hot pulses, and she held him through every one, her legs still wrapped around him, her hands stroking his back, her lips pressed to his temple.
They stayed like that for a long moment. His weight on her, his breath ragged against her neck, his body still inside her, softening. The room was dark and quiet except for their breathing and the distant hum of the old house settling around them.
He lifted his head. The gold was fading from his eyes, replaced by the warm brown she was starting to know by heart. He looked at her, and there was something raw in his face—the same fear she'd seen earlier, but now mixed with a wonder that made her chest ache.
"I didn't hurt you," he said. Not a question, but close. A man checking a box he needed to check before he could let himself believe it.
"No." She touched his face. "You didn't hurt me. You—" She laughed, a little breathless. "You gave me exactly what I needed."
He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "The rut. It's still—I can feel it. Sleeping, but not gone. It'll come back."
"Then we'll deal with it when it does." She shifted beneath him, and he pulled out slowly, carefully, rolling onto his side and gathering her against his chest. The sheets were tangled and damp. The air smelled like them. Outside, the first pale gray of dawn was bleeding through the curtains.
"We have to see your mother at noon," he said quietly.
"I know."
"And I still haven't told my father."
She felt the knot of anxiety tighten in his chest through the bond. Not her own—his. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Then we tell him. Together. After we see my mother."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached for his phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark. "It's almost six. He'll be up. He goes to the job site early."
"You're going to call him now?"
"I don't think I can wait." He looked at her, and the fear in his eyes was real, but so was the resolve. "If I wait, I'll talk myself out of it. I'll find a reason to put it off. And I can't—I can't hide you, Lindsey. Not anymore. Not after tonight."
She placed her hand over his on the phone. "Then call him."
He held her gaze for a second, then nodded. He sat up, the sheet falling away from his shoulders, and unlocked the phone. His thumb hovered over the contact. "His name's James. My father. He's a good man. He's—" Austin stopped. "He's going to have a hard time with this."
"I know."
"But he's going to love you. Once he gets to know you. I swear it."
She didn't say anything. She just sat up beside him, her shoulder pressed against his, and waited.
He hit dial.
The line rang once. Twice. Three times. Lindsey held her breath.
A gruff voice answered on the fourth ring. "Austin. It's six in the morning. This better be good."
Austin's hand found hers under the sheet. He squeezed, hard, and she squeezed back.
"Dad," he said, his voice steady but soft. "I need to tell you something. And I need you to listen before you say anything."
The silence on the other end stretched. Then: "I'm listening."
Austin took a breath. Lindsey felt his heart hammering through the bond—wild and scared and determined all at once. She pressed closer, her free hand coming to rest on his back, a silent promise: you're not doing this alone.
He looked at her. She nodded.
"I found my mate," Austin said into the phone. "Her name is Lindsey Keys. And she's a vampire."
The silence on the other end of the line was so complete that Lindsey could hear the faint crackle of the connection, the distant hum of a house settling somewhere miles away. She watched Austin's face, the way his jaw tightened, the way his hand gripped the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
Then James Patrick spoke. His voice was low, measured, the kind of controlled that took effort. "Say that again."
"Her name is Lindsey Keys," Austin said. "She's a vampire. She's also a witch. Her grandmother is Rose Keys, and she's—"
"I know who Rose Keys is." The words came sharp, cutting through the line. "I know exactly who she is. What I don't know is why my son—my only son, the one who's supposed to lead this pack—is calling me at six in the morning to tell me he's mated himself to a bloodsucker."
Lindsey stiffened beside Austin, but she didn't pull away. She kept her hand on his back, feeling the muscles shift under his skin, the tension coiling through him.
"Dad." Austin's voice dropped, that alpha register she'd heard only a few times before. "I didn't call to argue. I called to tell you. Because you're my father, and I respect you, and I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from anyone else."
"Respect?" James let out a short, bitter laugh. "You want to talk about respect? You went behind my back. You bonded yourself to a vampire without a word to anyone in this pack. You think that's respect?"
"I bonded myself to my mate." Austin's voice didn't waver. "I didn't choose her species. I didn't choose the bond. I chose her. And I'm not going to apologize for that."
The silence stretched again. Lindsey could hear her own heartbeat—her own, alive and beating, a rhythm she still wasn't used to. She could feel Austin's through the bond, steady now, anchored by something she didn't fully understand.
"Where are you?" James asked finally.
"At her grandmother's house. In the mountains."
"And her grandmother knows? She approved this?"
"She tested me," Austin said. "She sent me into her grove, and I passed. She approved the bond."
Another pause. Lindsey heard the creak of a chair, the sound of someone shifting their weight. She imagined a man in a kitchen somewhere, standing by a window, watching the same pale dawn she was watching.
"Your mother told me she got a call from you last night," James said, his voice quieter now. "She said you'd found someone. She didn't say what."
"I asked her to keep it between us until I could tell you myself."
"And you chose to tell me over the phone."
"I chose to tell you before the pack finds out from someone else. I chose to tell you before you hear a version that isn't true." Austin's hand tightened on the phone. "I'm coming home today. After Lindsey and I meet her mother. I'll bring her with me, and you can meet her, and you can see for yourself that she's not what you think."
"She's a vampire, Austin. I don't need to see her to know what she is."
"You don't know her." Austin's voice cracked, just slightly. "You don't know how she laughs, or the way she touches my face when she thinks I'm not looking. You don't know that her heart stopped beating for a hundred and twelve years and started again the second I touched her. You don't know anything about her, Dad. But you will. Because I'm going to bring her home, and you're going to see her, and you're going to understand."
The line went quiet for so long that Lindsey started to wonder if James had hung up. She felt the knot in Austin's chest through the bond—tight, coiled, ready to snap.
Then James spoke, and his voice was different. Not softer. Not warmer. But something had shifted, a crack in the wall. "Your mother wants to meet her. She told me that much."
"She will. Today, if we can. Or tomorrow. Whenever."
"And your sister. Margaret's going to lose her mind when she finds out."
Something flickered across Austin's face—not quite a smile, but close. "Margaret loses her mind about everything. She'll come around."
"Will she?"
Austin didn't answer. He didn't have to.
James let out a long breath. "Bring her by the house. After your meeting with the mother. I'll be there. I'll—" He stopped. "I'll reserve judgment until I see her."
It wasn't acceptance. It wasn't approval. But it was a door, cracked open just wide enough for Lindsey to see the light on the other side.
"Thank you, Dad." Austin's voice was rough. "That's all I'm asking."
"Don't thank me yet." The gruffness was back, but it was thinner now, more habit than conviction. "And Austin?"
"Yeah?"
"Your mother's going to want details. All of them. Be ready."
There was a click, and the line went dead.
Austin lowered the phone and stared at it for a long moment. Then he turned to Lindsey, and the look on his face was raw—relief and exhaustion and something fragile that she wanted to cup in her hands and protect.
"He didn't hang up on me," he said, and his voice broke on the last word.
She pulled him into her arms, her cheek pressed to his, her fingers threading through his hair. "I know. I heard."
"He's going to meet you. He's going to give you a chance."
"I know." She held him tighter. "And I'm going to show up and be exactly who I am, and if he can't handle that, that's his problem, not mine."
He let out a laugh that was half a sob, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her so close she could feel his heart hammering against her chest. "I love you," he said. "I love you so much it terrifies me."
"Good." She kissed his shoulder, tasting salt and skin. "Terrified is honest. Terrified is real. I'd rather have terrified and real than safe and fake."
He pulled back just enough to look at her. The gold was gone from his eyes now, replaced by the warm brown she was learning to read like a language. "We have a few hours before we have to be at your mother's house."
"We do."
"What do you want to do?"
She considered the question. The bond hummed between them, a live wire that crackled with every heartbeat. She could feel the rut sleeping under his skin, waiting, patient. She could feel her own hunger—not for blood, not for power, but for him. For more of this. For more of them.
"I want to shower," she said. "And then I want to eat something. And then I want to sit with you on the porch swing and watch the sun come up, and pretend for one hour that the world isn't waiting to tear us apart."
He smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing she'd seen in a hundred and twelve years. "That sounds perfect."