Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 587

Chapter 587: his touch

Olivia’s POV

The moment his arms closed around me, everything I had been holding back shattered.

Not quiet tears.

Not controlled ones.

Ugly, shaking sobs ripped out of my chest, raw and loud and uncontrollable. My hands fisted into the fabric of the towel at his back as if I needed something—anything—to keep me upright. My knees felt weak. My chest burned. My throat hurt from all the grief I had swallowed for days.

I cried like someone who had lost everything.

Because I had.

His body went still at first.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then his arms tightened around me—too fast, too instinctive—before he seemed to realize what he was doing. His chest was warm. Solid. Familiar in a way that made my breath hitch painfully.

That was when it hit me.

His scent.

Not the soap. Not the steam from the bathroom.

Him.

Something deep and comforting wrapped around me, sinking into my lungs, calming the storm in my chest far too quickly. My wolf stirred sharply, lifting her head inside me, alert in a way she hadn’t been since—

Since Lennox.

That scared me.

My sobs slowed against my will, even though my heart was still breaking. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. The shaking eased just a little. My breathing steadied.

Too fast.

This wasn’t normal.

I pulled in a shaky breath, my forehead pressed against his chest, and suddenly I became aware of something else.

His heartbeat.

Strong. Steady.

Familiar.

The realization sent a cold shiver through me.

I knew that rhythm.

I had fallen asleep to it.

Listened to it in the dark.

Felt it beneath my ear when the world felt too heavy.

My fingers twitched.

No.

Stop it.

Grief does this, I told myself. Grief makes you imagine things. Grief makes you cling to shadows and echoes and ghosts.

But even as I told myself that, his embrace felt—

Right.

Exactly right.

And that was the problem.

His arms tightened again, just slightly, like he was fighting himself. I felt the tension coil through his body, sharp and controlled. Then, abruptly, he pulled back.

Not gently.

Not roughly.

Decisively.

Like someone who had just caught himself crossing a line he couldn’t afford to cross.

"I—" he started, then stopped.

He took a step back, putting space between us, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn’t have—"

The sudden absence of his warmth made my chest ache.

I wrapped my arms around myself, blinking hard, embarrassed by how exposed I felt. My face burned. My eyes were swollen. I hated that he had seen me like that.

Weak. Broken.

"I’m sorry," I said at the same time, my voice hoarse. "I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have—"

We stopped.

Silence filled the room again, thick and uncomfortable.

He turned his face slightly away from me, as if even looking at me was dangerous. "You didn’t do anything wrong, Luna."

That word again.

Luna.

It should have felt respectful. Professional.

Instead, it made something twist in my chest.

I wiped my cheeks quickly, angry at myself for falling apart in front of him. Angry for needing him. Angry for how easily my body had responded to his presence.

"This won’t happen again," I said, forcing my voice to steady. "I shouldn’t have broken down like that."

He shook his head once. "You’re grieving."

The way he said it—soft, certain—made my throat tighten again.

He inhaled slowly. I noticed the way his shoulders rose, then fell, like he was bracing himself.

"He wouldn’t want you breaking like this," Kaine said quietly.

My head snapped up.

The words landed too close. Too sharp.

"What?" I whispered.

He met my eyes again, something raw flickering there before he masked it. "From what I’ve heard," he added quickly. "From the warriors. From the pack."

I didn’t respond.

My vision blurred.

Those were Lennox’s words.

Almost exactly.

My heart began to race again, this time not from grief—but from something colder. Something uneasy.

Why does he sound like he personally knows Lennox?

I took a step back, creating distance this time. My arms folded tightly across my chest.

"This isn’t normal," I said, more to myself than to him.

His brow furrowed. "What isn’t?"

"This," I gestured vaguely between us. "The way I feel when you’re near. The way my wolf reacts. The way you—"

I stopped myself.

I sounded ridiculous.

Unhinged.

He stayed very still, watching me carefully. "Grief does strange things," he said gently. "It makes the mind reach for comfort wherever it can find it."

That was exactly what I had been telling myself.

And I hated that he said it.

Because it made sense.

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