8
T he hum of quiet conversation filled the small office, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards mingling with the occasional rustle of papers. Celine sat at the long wooden table, her sketchbook open before her. Maize and Liza sat across from her, each immersed in their own work—Maize with a set of blueprints sprawled out in front of her and Liza with fabric swatches and color palettes.
After a rocky start—especially between her and Liza—things had finally begun to smooth out. Liza had been cautious at first, clearly confused about Celine’s previous connection with Rylan, but once they’d cleared the air, the tension had lessened. The three women had fallen into an easy rhythm, their individual strengths aligning for the betterment of both the Ironwood and Sequoia packs.
“So,” Maize said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I’ve been thinking about the central community hub for the development. It’s going to be the heart of the new territory, so we need to make it inviting, functional, but also… special, you know? Something that represents both packs coming together.”
Celine nodded, her fingers moving absently over the sketch she’d been working on—a mural idea for one of the community buildings. “What about incorporating both pack symbols somehow? Like a shared history, but also highlighting their individual identities?”
Liza’s eyes lit up, her hand pausing over the fabric swatches. “That’s a great idea. Something woven into the architectural details or highlighted in the design elements. Something that people will notice, but it won’t overpower the space.”
“Exactly.” Maize tapped the edge of her blueprint. “We could do that with the layout, too. Make certain areas reflect the Ironwood pack’s style—strong, earthy, more rooted—and other areas more reflective of Sequoia, which is lighter, more open.”
Celine grinned, feeling a spark of excitement. This was the part of the project she loved—the creative collaboration, the way they bounced ideas off each other. Despite the complexities of merging the packs and the weight of their individual roles, moments like this reminded her of why she’d gotten involved in the first place. The opportunity to create something meaningful for their future.
“I could paint something for the community hub,” Celine offered, her voice a bit tentative. “Something that represents the connection between the packs. Another mural, maybe?”
Liza glanced at her, a smile softening her features. “That would be perfect. Your work could really bring it to life, Celine. I mean, it’s not every day that we get to work with an artist who understands both packs.”
Celine felt warmth flood through her at Liza’s compliment. She was starting to feel like she belonged. Not just in the project, but with these women.
“I’ve always believed that spaces should feel like they belong to the people who live in them,” Maize added thoughtfully. “So between your mural, Liza’s designs, and the layout, we can really give this community a soul.”
The synergy between the three women felt electric. For the first time in a long time, Celine felt a sense of purpose beyond just the project. She had found allies in Maize and Liza, maybe even friends.
Celine’s smile faltered for a moment as the thought of allies drifted too close to the memory of Elijah. He hadn’t fought for her, hadn’t even come for her after Rylan rejected the arranged marriage. She had tried to push past it, bury it under the work. But every now and then, it crept up, stealing her breath for just a second.
She'd only been on site for two days, but the whispers around the pack about Elijah’s playboy lifestyle had only grown louder. Apparently, commitment wasn’t his thing. That’s why he didn’t want her, why he didn’t want their bond. The rumors only fueled her frustration, her hurt. Maybe he wasn’t interested in having a mate at all. Maybe he was just... content living his carefree life.
The sound of the office door creaking open cut through the air. Celine’s body tensed. She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. She felt it. The familiar, electric hum that filled the room whenever Elijah was near. His presence was unmistakable. His scent—a mix of sandalwood and the crisp outdoors—immediately washed over her, pulling her senses into sharp focus.
Her pulse quickened. Her breath caught in her throat as the air grew heavier. The cramped office room felt too small. She kept her eyes locked on her sketchbook, willing herself to remain calm, to keep her composure. But it was impossible to ignore the way her heart hammered in her chest, the way the bond between them thrummed with life the moment he stepped into the room.
"Afternoon, ladies." Elijah's deep, steady voice filled the space.
Celine’s fingers twitched. Her body reacted to the sound even though her mind screamed at her to stay still, to keep her distance.
Liza and Maize glared at him. Celine was thankful for their show of solidarity. She hadn't told them much about what had happened between her and Elijah. But they had seen his absence.
"I’ve been assigned to the project," Elijah replied smoothly. "Rylan thought I’d be useful in implementing communications in the new development."
Celine’s heart lurched. Assigned to the project? He was going to be working here? With them? With her? How was she supposed to be around him every day, knowing what they were? Knowing that he didn’t want her?
She finally looked up, her gaze meeting Elijah’s. His eyes locked on to hers instantly, dark and intense. The world narrowed to just the two of them. The air between them crackled with tension. The bond pulsed like a living thing.
Celine shoved it all away. He hadn’t fought for her. He hadn’t come after her. The bond didn’t change that.
"Welcome aboard, then," Maize said. "You see, we're kind of tight in here. But there's some space on the porch for you."
Elijah’s eyes lingered on Celine, ignoring Maize. "Celine," he said, his voice lower, rougher, as if her name carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said to each other.
"Elijah." Celine kept her voice cool, detached. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. Not now. Not after everything.
The bond between them hummed in the background, always there, always pulling at her, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Its presence was a constant pressure against her skin, like the weight of something inevitable. As much as she tried to fight it, a part of her—a small, traitorous part—wanted to give in.
But she couldn’t. Not after what he’d done. Or rather, what he hadn’t done.
She swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of frustration in her eyes, and kept her focus on the work in front of her. It was the only thing she could do. Because no matter how much she wanted him, Elijah Blackwood had made his choice.
And it hadn’t been her.