Taming The Wolf

Chapter 7

Aoife's heart raced as Bran's fingers lingered on her cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she found herself leaning into his hand. A wave of embarrassment washed over her as she realized how desperately she craved his presence.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, averting her gaze. "I don't know what's come over me."

Bran's silver eyes softened. "There's nothing to apologize for, Little Flame."

Aoife's cheeks burned at the nickname.

"I am use to being so independent. I'm just not use to....this."

"It must be the bond," explained Bran.

"I thought that was just for werewolves?"

Bran ran a hand through his jet-black hair, wisps of silver catching the light. "To be honest, Aoife, I don't know. A werewolf has never bonded with a human before."

Her eyes widened. "Never?"

"No," he replied, his voice low and contemplative. "In all our history, no werewolf has ever found a human mate or been drawn to one as I've been to you."

Aoife's mind reeled. She'd barely begun to grasp the existence of werewolves, and now she found herself at the center of something entirely new. The weight of it settled on her shoulders, and she hugged herself as she stood up from the chair, suddenly feeling exposed despite the fine emerald gown. She didn't know how to feel about all this, especially with a man she barely knows. Bran stood up and stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. The scent of pine and earth enveloped her, and Aoife fought the urge to lean into him.

"I promise you, we'll figure it out together. You are still independent to make your own choices, don't forget that."

His silver eyes held a mix of determination and something else—a vulnerability that caught Aoife off guard. She realized that despite his strength and status as king, Bran was just as lost in this situation as she was.

Aoife jumped at the sudden crash of the door slamming open. A woman with fierce green eyes and long brown hair stormed into the room, her face contorted with rage. Aoife instinctively stepped back, bumping into Bran's solid form behind her. She recognized the woman from her first arrival here.

"Is it true?" the woman snarled, her gaze fixed on Bran. "You've chosen a human as your mate?"

Bran's arm curled protectively around Aoife's waist. "Fiadh, this is not the time—"

"Not the time?" Fiadh's laugh was sharp and bitter. "When exactly is the time to discuss you throwing away everything for some... some human girl?"

Aoife's cheeks burned with a mix of shame and indignation. She wanted to speak up, to defend herself, but the words caught in her throat. The fury radiating from Fiadh was palpable, and Aoife found herself shrinking further into Bran's embrace.

"That's enough," Bran growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You forget yourself, Fiadh. I am your king, and you will show respect."

Fiadh's eyes narrowed, flicking between Bran and Aoife. "Respect? You speak of respect while you flaunt this... this outsider as your mate? What about your duty to our people? To me?"

Aoife's heart sank as realization dawned. This wasn't just about her being human. There was history here, expectations she'd shattered by just being here.

"My duty is to our people, always," Bran replied, his tone softening slightly. "But this goes beyond duty, Fiadh. Aoife is my mate. That's not something I chose, it's something that chose us."