THE HEIR'S MATE

CHAPTER THIRTY

He despised it—every moment that reminded him of his inherent meekness, the submissiveness that clung to him like a shadow, inescapable and ever-present. As an omega, those traits came naturally to him, a constant reminder of the limitations others saw in him. For years, he had fought against them, training until his muscles screamed and his mind was numb, all in a desperate bid to shed those chains. But now, standing in the narrow alley beside Maya's Café, in the presence of his mate, all that hard-won control felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

Finn's breath hitched as he leaned back against the rough surface, his senses on high alert. His hand trembled slightly as he brought a cigarette to his lips, the familiar taste of tobacco filling his lungs with each deep drag. The smoke curled around him, weaving through the air like a ghostly shroud, its acrid scent mingling with the dampness of the night.

When Finn had first joined Silas's pack, he had been little more than a broken shell of a werewolf. An omega male with no real purpose, he had been cast aside, and deemed useless by those who saw no value in him. He was unable to bear children as easily as a female omega and wasn't attractive enough for she-wolves of any rank. His presence had been tolerated, nothing more, and he had accepted that. Over time, he had found a way to carve out a place for himself within the Grayson pack, using his unique power to calm Elias and even Silas when their tempers flared. It was a small role, but it was his, and he had clung to it with everything he had.

But now, with Elias gaining better control over his emotions and the sudden, overwhelming presence of his mate, Finn felt completely unmoored. The foundations he had built over the years were crumbling, and he was left floundering, struggling to keep his head above water.

The cigarette was nearly burnt out, the embers glowing faintly in the darkness as Finn took one last drag. The smoke filled his lungs, grounding him, anchoring him in the present. He closed his eyes, savoring the fleeting sense of control it gave him, even as he knew it was an illusion.

"I didn't know you smoked," Isolde's voice cut through the silence like a knife, startling him. His eyes snapped open, and his grip tightened on the cigarette, almost crushing it between his fingers.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, and I like to keep it that way," he replied, his voice sharp with a bitterness he couldn't quite suppress. He kept his back to her, unwilling to let her see the turmoil in his eyes. The last thing he needed was for her to see how much he was struggling.

Isolde's footsteps echoed softly in the narrow space as she moved closer. "Why?" she asked, her tone softer now, tinged with something that might have been a concern.

"Why what?" Finn snapped, the irritation in his voice a thin veil over the anxiety churning in his gut. He finally turned to face her, his eyes narrowing as they met hers. The dim light cast shadows on her face, making it difficult to read her expression.

"Why do you always push me away?" Isolde's gaze was unwavering as she stepped closer, her presence a constant, overwhelming force. "I think I deserve at least some explanation."

Finn's heart pounded in his chest as he held her stare, the tension between them thick and suffocating. He could feel the walls of the alley closing in, the space shrinking until it was just the two of them, trapped in a moment that felt like it could shatter at any second.

"I thought I made it clear—I don't want to be tied to anyone, especially not some cocky Alpha," he bit out, the words harsh and cutting. They hung in the air between them, sharp and jagged, waiting to wound.

"A cocky Alpha? Is that really how you see me?" Isolde asked, her voice tinged with hurt. Finn could sense the pain in her words, and it gnawed at him, filling him with guilt, but he kept his expression cold and distant, unwilling to show any vulnerability.