Kidnapped Alpha Mate

Chapter 20- A Walk

Em's P.O.V.

I headed upstairs, the stairs creaking faintly beneath my feet, and grabbed a sweater from one of the shopping bags. The fabric was still cold, and as I slipped it on, I shivered slightly.

Back downstairs, I made a beeline for the front door, my boots tapping against the hardwood floor. I had just reached for the doorknob when, of course, he stepped in front of me.

Jackson.

He moved like he'd been waiting, like he knew I'd try to sneak off.

"May I help you?" I asked, my voice edged with sarcasm, one eyebrow already arched.

He stood there, arms crossed over his annoyingly broad chest, his jaw set. "Where do you think you're going?"

I sighed, long and dramatic. "Out for a walk. I need some fresh air."

Jackson didn't move, didn't even blink. "Okay. I'm coming with you."

I narrowed my eyes. "I don't need a babysitter."

"You got attacked by rogues two days ago," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I'm coming with you."

The way he said it—flat, unmovable—told me there was no use arguing. Classic. I just rolled my eyes and sighed again, brushing past him. My shoulder bumped his as I opened the door, a little harder than necessary.

The air bit into my cheeks the moment I stepped outside. I zipped my sweater higher, letting my eyes finally take in the house around me—something I hadn't paid much attention to until now.

It was big. Built from soft, weathered light-brown brick, with black shutters on every window that made it look older, cozier. The kind of house that looked like it had secrets tucked into every creak of the floorboards. Two stories tall, it was crowned by a gently sloping roof dusted with fallen leaves. Off to the side stood a tree—no, the tree. It looked like two trees fused at the base, thick and gnarled, the bark split like muscle beneath skin.

The tree we climbed out of, I thought, and a faint smile tugged at my lips.

I turned down the front path, gravel crunching beneath my boots, and stepped off onto the grass. It was damp and cool beneath my soles, and the earthy scent of leaves and soil clung to the air. The edge of the forest loomed ahead, shadowed and quiet, like it was holding its breath.

Behind me, I could hear Jackson's footsteps—solid, steady, always a few paces behind. I didn't need to look to know he was watching me.

We walked in silence, the only sounds the crunch of leaves beneath our boots and the occasional whisper of wind threading through the trees. Neither of us said a word. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable—but it wasn't comfortable either. It was that weird, heavy silence that feels more like a conversation waiting to explode.

After a while, the trees thinned, revealing a break in the forest. We came to two wide boulders nestled side by side at the edge of a cliff. The view was breathtaking—rolling hills fading into the horizon, the sky painted in a hazy gray-blue, clouds heavy and bruised with the promise of rain.

I climbed up onto the nearest boulder and sat right on the edge, legs swinging freely into open air. The wind tugged gently at my hair, and the world below looked so far away, like something I could forget if I wanted to.

Unfortunately, Jackson followed. He climbed up and sat beside me, close enough for his warmth to brush against my arm.

"So... are you not going to talk to me?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

I didn't answer. Just stared at him with a perfectly blank expression, then turned my face back to the sky. I inhaled deeply and let my eyes fall closed.

I loved nature. It didn't expect anything. It didn't push or pull—it just was. Beautiful and still. The wind grazed my cheeks, and the scent of moss and bark settled in my lungs. I lay back on the cold stone, staring up at the sky, which was now streaked with deepening blues and violet shadows.

Jackson lay beside me, his voice softer now. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, jaw tight around the words like they hurt to say.

Good, I thought. Silent but deadly really was my specialty.

But I wasn't satisfied yet. Not until he meant it. Not until he felt it.

He exhaled hard, then sat up, looking down at me with more seriousness. "I'm sorry, Em," he said again—this time clearer. More sincere.

Still not enough.

So I stood, brushing the pine needles from my sweater, and began walking away, letting the wind carry my silence like a statement.

"Em, please," he called after me, voice rough with desperation. "My wolf can't take you not speaking with us. What can I do to fix this?"

Sweet. Sincere? Maybe. But nope—I wasn't giving in that easily.

So I did the most dramatic thing I could think of.

I started humming—quietly but purposefully—the chorus of Story of My Life by One Direction, just to drive him a little more insane.

He groaned behind me, and then I heard his footsteps scrambling over rock and dirt. I then felt hands spinning me around, and before I could rip away I saw Jackson on his knees.

Eyes soft.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

I raised a brow.

"I'm sorry for assuming you're mine. And for thinking of you like you already belong to me."

There it was. A real apology.

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. I gave his hands a small tug, pulling him back to his feet.

"Now, was that so hard?" I asked, eyes gleaming.

He sighed, a mix of defeat and affection in his face. "Why do you get so defensive, though? When I say you are mine?"

I started walking again, his hand still in mine, warm.

"Because I hate being told what to do," I said simply. "And I am not a possession—especially for some cocky, werewolf who thinks claiming me is the same thing as dating me."

He let out a low groan beside me, then mumbled, "Well... it's official. I'm whipped."

I smirked and gave his hand a squeeze.

"Damn right you are."

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