The breakfast went smoothly, though I couldn't help but notice something odd; he didn't touch his food. His plate sat untouched and full, while mine was scraped clean. For some reason, that imbalance made me uncomfortable.
I shifted in my seat, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He was calm, composed, watching me with that same quiet intensity.
Before I could say anything, his sharp eyes caught my unease.
"I'm on medication," he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it explained everything. "I can't eat."
That single sentence seemed to lift the tension from the room. I relaxed slightly, sinking back into the huge chair that seemed to swallow me whole. Still, sitting across from him, so tall, so sure, so controlled, made me feel small. Tiny, even.
I opened my mouth to ask more, but the words faltered before reaching my lips. Never mind, I thought. Some things about him weren't ready to be questioned.
"About yesterday…"
I started, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. The words lingered in the air, heavy and hesitant. I glanced at him, trying to read his expression. "What was that?"
He looked up from his untouched plate, brows slightly furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
"What do you mean?"
he asked, his tone calm, but his eyes sharp, searching mine as if he already knew what I was referring to and just wanted to hear me say it.
I swallowed hard, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve.
"The mark… the way it…" I stopped, heat rising to my cheeks as flashes of last night filled my head. His voice, his touch, the way the pain had vanished under his pheromones. "Everything that happened."
He leaned back in his chair slightly, gaze steady, unreadable. "You were in pain," he said simply, as if that explained it all.
"That's not what I meant," I murmured, my voice trembling between confusion and something deeper. "It didn't feel like just pain relief."
His lips quirked faintly, not quite a smile, not quite denial, before he looked away, his jaw tightening just enough for me to notice.
He sighed, the sound low and tired, as if the weight of my question pressed heavier than I intended. His hand moved to his temple, fingers brushing back his slicked hair before he spoke.
"Bella…" he said my name slowly, as though tasting it, choosing his next words with care. "What happened last night wasn't supposed to."
I blinked, unsure if I heard him right.
"Wasn't supposed to?"
He nodded, eyes lowering for a brief second.
"Your mark reacted stronger than I expected. You were… overwhelmed. I did what I had to do to stop it."
Something in his tone made my stomach twist — calm, composed, but too controlled, too measured.
"So it meant nothing?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His gaze snapped back to me, those ultramarine eyes gleaming with something I couldn't name. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping to something quieter.
"I didn't say that."
The words hung between us, heavy and electric. My breath hitched as I met his gaze, steady, unreadable, yet burning with something that felt dangerously close to honesty.
"Then what do you mean?"
I whispered, my fingers tightening around the edge of my empty plate.
He exhaled slowly, his eyes softening for just a moment.
"It means I shouldn't have let instinct take over," he said. "I should've kept my distance. But when I saw you in pain like that…" His jaw clenched slightly, a flicker of emotion flashing across his face. "I couldn't."
I looked down, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
"You talk like it was nothing, but it didn't feel like nothing to me."
Silence. Only the faint hum of the chandelier filled the space between us.
Finally, he spoke, his voice lower now, rougher.
"It wasn't nothing, Bella. But it was dangerous."
"Dangerous?" I frowned, confused. "Why?"
He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable again, as though weighing whether I was ready for the truth. Then he finally said, almost in a whisper,
"Because once an Alpha marks someone like that… the bond never truly fades."
"But you didn't mark me by biting,"
I argued, my voice rising just enough to betray the confusion twisting inside me. I searched his face for an answer, something, anything, that made sense.
Knox's eyes flickered with a hint of frustration, though his tone remained calm.
"There's more than one kind of mark, Bella," he said quietly. "The physical bite is just the surface… a visible claim. But the bond, what you felt, comes from pheromones, from intent."
I blinked, the words sinking in like slow-moving poison.
"Intent?" I repeated. "You mean you—"
"Yes," he cut in, not harshly, but firm, as if admitting something he didn't want to. His gaze met mine, steady and piercing. "I didn't need to bite you. The moment I released my pheromones to calm you, I gave you part of my bond. It… linked us."
I sat frozen, his words echoing in my head.
"So that's why the mark burns when you're gone?"
He nodded once.
"Your body remembers me. It reacts to the absence."
The air between us thickened with a strange tension, not anger, not fear, but something rawer.
"So you marked me,"
I whispered, barely audible. He held my gaze, unflinching.
"Not completely," he said, his voice rough now, almost regretful. "But enough that neither of us can ignore it."
I felt a slight pain twist in my chest at the way he spoke, so calm, so detached, as if what happened between us the night before meant nothing to him. His words were steady, but they cut deeper than any wound.
I lowered my gaze, pretending to focus on the empty plate before me, but the ache only grew heavier. To him, it was logic, pheromones, instinct, something he could explain away with science and self-control.
To me, it had been more.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"Right," I murmured, forcing a small nod, though my throat burned. "Just… instinct."
For a second, I thought I saw something flicker in his expression, guilt, maybe even conflict, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
Knox's POV:
Her words hit harder than I expected. Just instinct.
The way she said it, quiet, almost breaking, made something twist deep in my chest. I wanted to correct her, to tell her it wasn't just that. But the truth tangled somewhere between my ribs and refused to come out.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. I didn't know what to say, how to explain what she had felt, or what I had felt.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, I reached out for her hand, wanting to bridge the distance between us, to ground her in my presence. But she pulled away slowly, just enough for me to notice.
My chest tightened. She's uncomfortable with me, I thought, though I couldn't be sure why. My fingers lingered in the air for a moment, then I slowly retracted them, unsure how to close the gap without pushing her further away.
Her shoulders were tense, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. I could smell the faint trace of hurt beneath her scent, and it hit me sharper than I expected.
I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to cross the table and pull her close anyway, to let my presence soothe her doubts. But I didn't. I couldn't. Not when I still didn't trust myself not to mark her fully.
"It wasn't nothing," I said finally, my voice low. "But if I let it mean what it feels like, I won't be able to stop."
She glanced up at me then, eyes wide, glassy, and I knew she didn't understand the half of what that meant.
I never felt this angry with myself. My chest burned with a frustration I couldn't release, a tension that made my hands itch to act. I wanted, needed, to reach out, to pull her into my arms and hold her so tight that the world, her doubts, and her discomfort couldn't touch her.
But she had pulled away, even just slightly, and that hesitation weighed on me like a physical weight. My instincts screamed at me to close the distance, to let her feel safe, to let her know that nothing, nothing, could harm her while I was near.
I clenched my fists under the table, jaw tight, fighting the raw urge to cross the space between us, to gather her trembling frame against my chest. Anger, frustration, and longing tangled in my veins, burning hotter than any control I'd ever tried to maintain.
I wanted to tell her how much she meant, how much I wanted to protect her, but the words stuck in my throat, leaving only the ache and the desperate urge to hold her close.
Just then, Jack stepped into the room, his expression a mixture of urgency and routine, unaware of what he was about to witness. He froze the moment his eyes landed on Bella, sitting there in my mansion, her presence like a shock wave across the polished floor.
I could see his surprise flicker instantly, he hadn't expected to see her here, not in my private space, not like this. My body tensed slightly at his reaction, but I didn't move. Bella's presence had shifted everything in the room, and now there was a new, unspoken tension threading between us three.
Jack cleared his throat, trying to mask his shock with professionalism, but the glance he kept stealing at her told me everything. I didn't say a word, letting the silence hang, thick and deliberate, while Bella's faint pulse of uncertainty and my own simmering frustration lingered in the air.