Left the Pack, Fated Mate Regrets Chapter 08
I nearly choked on my soup.
He looked at me calmly, not a trace of mockery in his eyes. He had said it with the same casual, natural tone one would use to remark on how heavily it was snowing.
Not knowing how to respond, I simply lowered my head and continued drinking my soup, my ears burning hot.
The next morning, a bouquet of flowers was left at my door.
Such vibrant flowers could never grow in the Frostlands; Alexander had specifically found them for me.
In the days that followed, I realized Alexander was nothing like the rumors.
He never restricted my movements, never limited my diet, and didn’t even bring up the mating bond once.
I lived in his castle for ten full days. Aside from handling pack affairs, he spent his time practicing with his sword in the snow or sitting alone on an ice peak, watching the moon.
One day, unable to hold it in any longer, I asked him, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?”
He turned his head to look at me, a faint, barely-there smile touching his ice-blue eyes. “You can’t run away.”
Before I could even feel anxious, he added, “There’s nothing in the Frostlands but snow and wolves. You couldn’t run out of my territory even if you tried for three days. There’s no need to lock you up.”
Late one night, the howling wind outside woke me. Barefoot, I walked to the window and saw Alexander standing alone in the snow outside the castle.
“What are you looking at?”
“My mother. She died in a blizzard. Every year, on the first blizzard of the season, I come out and stand here for a while.”
The wind whipped snow against me, and I shivered.
He glanced at me, then naturally unfastened his fur cloak and draped it over my shoulders.
It still carried his body heat, warming me like a second hearth.
“What… what was your mother like?”
“She was from the South,” he said softly. “Just like you, she was sent here for a marriage of convenience. My father married her, but he didn’t treat her well.”
“When she died, I was twelve. I stood in the snow just like you are now. I thought the Frostlands were simply like this-cold, cruel, and those who couldn’t survive were meant to be buried in the snow.”
“Only later did I realize it wasn’t the Frostlands’ fault. It was my father’s.”
He lowered his head, his ice-blue eyes looking exceptionally clear in the snow’s glow.
“So I wanted to try a different way. To ensure the she-wolves who marry in don’t freeze to death, and the pups here don’t have to watch their mothers die in the snow.”
“Before you arrived, I was actually terrified.”
I froze. “Terrified of what?”
“Terrified that you would be just like my mother.”
He looked at me, his gaze carrying a careful, tender gentleness.
“Terrified that you wouldn’t be able to endure this place, that you wouldn’t survive.”
“Fortunately,” he said, “you’re stronger than I imagined.”
I smiled. And as I smiled, tears began to fall.
I wasn’t crying because I was sad. I was crying because…
It had been far too long since someone had looked at me with such an expression. As if he genuinely cared whether I lived well. As if he truly worried about whether I was cold.
Seeing my tears, Alexander looked slightly at a loss. He reached out to wipe them away, but stopped halfway, hesitating on whether he should touch me.
I reached out and caught his hand.
His palm was scorching hot.
The blizzard raged around us, but he lowered his head, his gaze fixed on my face as he leaned in, inch by inch.
The moment his lips touched mine, I closed my eyes.
It was as gentle as snowflakes melting on the tip of my tongue, carrying the crisp, clean scent unique to the Frostlands.
My inner wolf slowly uncurled, like a pup that had been curled up in the cold for far too long, finally finding a warm place to rest.
He kissed softly, as if asking for my consent.
But just as his hand slid to my waist and his fingertips brushed the edge of my clothing, he abruptly stopped.
His breathing was heavy. Resting his forehead against mine, his voice came out rough and strained.
“Sylvia…”
“It’s too soon. Wait until you trust me more. Wait until your wolf accepts me.”
I was stunned.
“I am in no rush,” he said, taking half a step back, restraint churning in his ice-blue eyes.
“I will wait. I will wait until your wolf walks toward me willingly, not out of gratitude or fear.”
“You deserve a better beginning.”
In that instant, it felt as though something had violently struck my chest.
Lucien had never waited for me.
He only ever demanded that I understand him, forgive him, and stand in place waiting for him to turn back.
He had never asked if I was willing, and he had never stopped because of my hesitation.
But Alexander had stopped.
When I wasn’t ready, he had taken the initiative to step back.
That night, I returned to my room, lay in the warm beast-fur bedding, and stared at the ceiling for a long time.
I thought of Lucien.
He had loved me.
But that love had been too brief-brief as the morning mist, vanishing the moment the sun rose.
Suddenly, in this very moment, I realized that when I thought of him, my heart no longer ached.
It didn’t hurt anymore, nor did I hate him. It was simply like watching a story that belonged to someone else.
I buried my face in the beast fur and took a deep breath.
The blizzard outside was still howling, but inside the room, it was warm.
At the break of dawn the next day, an extremely faint scent drifted in through the crack in the window.
Lucien.
My inner wolf instantly snapped to high alert, as if someone had violently slapped her awake from a deep slumber.
