Bound By Moonlight to My Mates (by Sofange Daye) novel Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Charlotte

I stand outside of my childhood home. It used to be beautiful with light blue paint and brown shutters. Now, the paint is peeling and the shutters are barely hanging on. Lucian wrinkles his nose at my side, but Jake’s face remains unreadable.

The door creaks like it’s protesting my return. The smell of dust and pine hits first, memories packed into every crack. This used to be home, but now it feels like a stranger wearing my childhood’s skin.

It isn’t much, two bedrooms, a bathroom, living room, and a kitchen, but it was enough for my small family. But now that the three of us stand in the doorway, it doesn’t feel big enough. The wallpaper is ripping from the walls, the couch is sagging, and the curtains are faded. It is a painful reminder of the girl I used to be.

When I was little, I would sit on my father’s lap, and he would tell me about the mate bond and how sacred it was. I believed him. I grew up thinking that life was a fairytale and I would have a happily–ever–after. That naïve little girl is gone. There is no such thing, at least not for me.

The men shift beside me, and heat creeps up my neck. “It’s not much,” I mumble, dropping my bag on the scarred table.

Lucian steps inside behind me, scanning the place with a look that says he’s trying not to be a complete asshole. “Cozy,” he fails at being nice. “If you’re into pioneer chic.

I shoot him a glare. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Oh, I’m staying. But I’m not touching that couch.” He drops his bag on the floor and smirks. “Which room can I have?”

My hands clench. “You can have mine.” I gesture to the open door. “It is probably the cleanest.”

He chuckles under his breath and saunters into my room, leaving me alone with Jake. The door slams behind him, and immediately, it is too quiet.

Jake leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes tracking me like he’s memorizing every line. The anger from earlier is gone, replaced by something warmer, deeper. His wolf hums just under his skin; I can feel it vibrating against mine.

“You grew up here,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.” I rub my palms together, suddenly hyperaware of how small my home is, how close he is. “It didn’t used to look like this. It was nicer… when my father was alive. It isn’t as nice as the Southpaw or Blackthorn pack houses, but it was mine.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He steps closer, voice lower. “You do.”

The way he says it makes my stomach flip.

I turn away, trying to remind myself that I am still angry at him for showing up here uninvited. “You should get some sleep. I am sure you had a long day, barging into a pack unannounced.”

He closes the distance between us, his back pressing against mine.

“Lotte.”

I turn, my shoulders brushing against his chest as I do. We’re inches apart. His brows wrinkle as he looks at me, and the bond between us pulls tight, trying to force us together.

“You disappeared,” he murmurs. “My wolf thought we’d lost you for good.”

Guilt twists in my chest. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Don’t.” His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, his touch sending shivers up my arm. “Just… don’t vanish on me again.”

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air between us thickens, electric. Tala arches inside me, pressing against his, aching for contact.

“Jake…” My voice is a whisper now.

He leans down, forehead to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

I should. I don’t.

Instead, my fingers clutch his shirt and pull him closer until our lips almost touch, heat radiating between us. He lets out a low growl, a sound that vibrates through my bones.

Then he kisses me. Soft at first, testing, then deeper when I don’t pull away. His hands slide up my back, mapping familiar territory, fingers threading into my hair. The world tilts, everything falling away until it’s just him and me and the bond sparking like wildfire.

I break away first, breathing hard. “We shouldn’t…”

His thumb traces my lower lip, slow, deliberate, “I know.”

But neither of us steps back.

Jake’s thumb lingers at the corner of my mouth, keeping my lips parted, ready for the next kiss. Every nerve in my body lights up in response. His scent fills the tiny space until it’s all I can breathe.

“Charlotte,” he murmurs again, “I’m trying to give you space. You’re making it hard. What do you want from me?”

My pulse trips. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Yeah, you do.” His lips brush mine again.

At first, it is light, giving me a moment to break free, and when I don’t, he presses against me, claiming me in a way that I have only dreamed of.

I fist my hands in his shirt, and he growls, before backing me up until my hips bump the edge of the rickety table. The wood creaks but holds. His palms slide up my arms to my shoulders, fingers splaying at the back of my neck. His thumbs stroke the sensitive skin just under my jaw.

He tilts my head, deepening the kiss. This time, there’s nothing tentative about it; his mouth moves against mine with heat, teeth scraping lightly, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips until I open for him. The kiss turns molten, dizzying, a clash of warmth and salt and want.

My hands find his waist, then his back, fingers exploring the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. He shudders at the contact, then presses closer still, his hands moving down to grip my hips. He fits between my legs like he’s always belonged there, our bodies aligning with a soft, dangerous inevitability.

“Jake…” It comes out as a gasp.

He presses his forehead to mine again, breathing rough. “Tell me to stop.”

I don’t. I drag my hands up under his shirt, fingertips skating over hot skin, the muscles under his ribs jumping at my touch. He groans, low and broken, before kissing me again, deeper, slower, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.

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