The Lost Pack (Paige) novel Chapter 2

** Jake’s POV **

She’s close enough now that I can feel the heat coming off her skin, and I still haven’t touched her.

Every instinct I have is screaming at me to close the distance. To pull her in. To make sure she’s real and solid and not just something my bond-starved mind conjured up to survive the last eight months. But she’s standing right there, close enough to touch, and she stayed. That matters.

My hands are shaking, so I shove them into the pockets of my jeans before she can see. Leo hasn’t moved either. I can feel the tension in him like a coiled wire. His wolf is pushing hard, but he’s holding the line. We said we wouldn’t chase her, we said we wouldn’t corner her, and we said that if she came back, it would be because she wanted to. She said she chose this, and I cling to that like it’s oxygen.

She looks smaller up close. Not physically, just… softer. The sharp edge she walked away with isn’t gone, but it’s not aimed outward anymore; it’s aimed inward now.

“I’m scared.” She admits, and her words echo in my head.

She’s terrified of losing herself, and that does something to me. My wolf presses forward, not to claim or dominate; he just wants to soothe her. He doesn’t understand why she thinks we would ever let that happen.

“You won’t,” Leo says again, steady as stone.

I believe him; I do, but belief and fear can sit side by side.

She’s so close now I can see the faint tremor in her fingers where they grip the hem of her sleeve. She’s trying to look brave, but she doesn’t have to. My wolf lifts his head inside me, alert and aching. He doesn’t push like Leo’s does. He just waits, tense and hopeful; he’s afraid if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“You don’t have to figure everything out tonight,” I say carefully, and my voice sounds steadier than I feel.

She looks at me properly this time, and it hits. There’s no distance in her eyes, no wall, just uncertainty and something that looks dangerously close to hope.

“I know,” she says quietly, but she still looks like she’s bracing.

It’s like she’s waiting for the moment we change, for the moment we demand something.

I take a breath. “If you need space, we’ll give it to you. We can go back to the clinic, or you can. Or we can stay close, but stay out of your way. Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

The words feel like glass in my throat. I don’t want her to need space; I never want to be more than a few feet from her ever again. Leo doesn’t look at me, but I know he heard the slight break in my voice.

She studies me like she’s trying to decide whether I mean it. I do, even if it guts me.

“You’d really let me stay here with you and not…” She gestures vaguely between us.

“Not what?” I ask softly.

“Not be… fully in it.”

My chest tightens. I’d take half of her over none, but that’s not the answer she needs.

“We’d let you have as much or as little as you want,” I say instead.

Her breath stutters, and the fragile bond shifts softly into something warmer, as if it approves. “I know we are fated mates, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept me. I won’t think any less of you if you walk away, especially after I ran.” Her eyes drop to her feet, and her voice quiets. “I don’t want to be a burden you feel you have a responsibility to take care of.”

I almost break our rules and pull her into my arms. How could she possibly think we’d see her as a burden? That’s not even on the list of things we feel about her.

Leo finally speaks again. “Fate might have matched us together, but that doesn’t mean you’re an obligation,” he says. “And you’re not a prize. You’re a choice.”

Her eyes flick to his, and I see the exact second his words sink in. Something inside her settles, not completely, but enough.

I want this part over now. I don’t want to keep holding back. She’s right here, close enough that if I reach out, I could tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but I don’t. Because I promised Leo I’d restrain myself, that we wouldn’t scare her off again. And because this isn’t about what I want, it’s about whether she trusts us not to take.

Her gaze drops to the porch steps, then back to us, then down again. She’s overthinking; she’s spiralling. I recognise the signs. “Hey,” I say gently, and her eyes snap back to mine.

I don’t move, I just let her see me.

“You don’t have to divide us,” I tell her.

She frowns, her eyes meeting mine for another brief second before she pulls them away, back to the ground, to her feet, to anything but us.

“The eye contact thing,” I add, unable to stop the faint smile tugging at my lips. “We’re not keeping score.”

Leo moves another half-step, and now we’re close enough that if she leans forward even an inch, she’d be between us. Her eyes lift to his, properly this time, and whatever passes between them makes my pulse spike.

Leo lifts his hand, hovering near her waist without touching. He’s asking without words. Her breath trembles, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Leo,” she breathes, and he closes his eyes at the sound of his name on her lips.

Still, he waits. Goddess, his self-control is immeasurable. I don’t think she expected that. The tension is unbearable now. Every nerve in my body is hyperaware of where she stands between us.

If she pulls away, we let her go. If she steps closer, everything changes. Her free hand lifts slowly to the space between us. “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers.

Leo’s voice is rough when he answers. “You don’t have to.”

There’s another beat of silence. Then, finally, she leans closer. Just far enough that Leo’s hovering hand makes contact with her waist and her shoulder brushes against my chest.

I release a slow breath, and Leo’s fingers flex slightly against her side. Poppy stiffens for half a second. Fear, instinct, habit, I feel it all. My wolf flinches with her. He’s not angry, never at her, he’s just afraid. He’s afraid we’ve pushed too far, and this is the moment she’ll pull away again. I loosen my grip on her hand just a fraction, and we both freeze. Her breathing is uneven.

Will she pull away? Will she remember why she ran?

Then, slowly, she relaxes. Her weight shifts just enough that she’s standing fully between us now.

“I know I’ve made you wait, but I’m still not sure that I’m ready to rush into this,” she says, her voice barely audible. Leo’s thumb strokes once against her side before he catches himself. “We can take this as slowly as you like. We won’t rush you.”

I swallow past the thickness in my throat and nod once. “Not ever.”

The night air feels electric around us, the porch light casting shadows that make this look almost peaceful from a distance. But it isn’t peaceful; it’s fragile. It’s choice and respect, trying to find a balance between instinct and fear.

Leo lowers his head slightly, as if he’s fighting the urge to rest it against hers. I can feel how badly he wants to. He wants it just as much as I want to pull her fully into my chest. Neither of us acts on it, though, because this moment isn’t about what we want; it’s about whether she stays. Her fingers tighten around mine again. A small but deliberate move, and that’s when I realise this isn’t a will she, won’t she? Because she already did, she came back. Not just to the pack, or to her family, but to us. Now we just have to prove we’re worthy of her staying. My wolf settles low and steady inside me. He’s not fully at ease, but just ready to wait. However long she needs.