The Professor's Mate Clause novel Chapter 124

Chapter 124

FREYA’S POV

“We need a break,” Clara announces, barging into my office without knocking

I look up from the supply requisitions I’ve been reviewing for the past two hours, blinking away the numbers that have started blurring together. “A break from what?”

“From this.” She gestures broadly at the paperwork-covered desk, the wall calendar marked with meetings and deadlines, the organized chaos that’s become my daily existence. From being Alphas every single second. When’s the last time you and Adrian did something just for yourselves?”

“We-” I stop, actually thinking about it. Between managing pack growth, coordinating with allied territories, and preparing for the continental Alpha gathering, every moment has been scheduled, allocated, purposeful. “I don’t remember.”

“Exactly.” Clara crosses her arms, wearing what I’ve come to recognize as her ‘I’m right and you know it expression. “You need a honeymoon. An actual, proper honeymoon where you leave pack territory and just be together without worrying about who needs what.”

“We can’t just leave. There’s too much-”

“We can handle it,” she interrupts firmly. “Kelvin, Dr. Chen, Chief Winters, Emma, and I have been running things alongside you for months. We can manage a week without you hovering.”

The suggestion is simultaneously tempting and terrifying. Leave? Actually step away from responsibilities? Let go of control even briefly?

But through the bond, I feel Adrian’s immediate interest. He’s in a meeting two buildings over, but he’s listening through our connection, hope flickering in his chest.

“A week?” I ask tentatively.

“A week minimum. Two would be better.” Clara sits on the edge of my desk. “Look, you’ve built something amazing here. But you’ve been running on crisis mode since before the war. The crisis is over. Let yourself celebrate that.”

She’s right. I know she’s right.

“I’ll talk to Adrian,” I concede.

Clara grins triumphantly. “Already did. He said, and I quote, ‘wherever Freya wants to go.’ So where do you want to go?”

The question catches me off guard. I’ve spent so long fighting for survival, for acceptance, for basic rights that I haven’t thought about simple wants. Where would I go if I could go anywhere?

“Somewhere quiet,” I hear myself say. “Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere that’s just… ours.

Three days later, Adrian and I are boarding a small plane to the Pacific Northwest.

+15 Burn

Clara, true to her word, has everything organized Kelvin will oversee the eastern expansion. Emina handles new arrivals, Dr. Chen manages medical needs, and Chief Winters maintains security. Theyve created a communication protocol for emergencies only, with strict instructions not to contact us unless the compound is literally on fire.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask Adrian as we settle into our seats.

He takes my hand, threading our fingers together. “Very sure. We’ve earned this, Freya Let’s take it

The cabin we rented sits on a cliff overlooking the ocean, surrounded by old-growth forest that muffles sound and creates the illusion of complete isolation. It’s small, cozy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the Pacific like a living painting.

When we step inside, the silence is profound.

No pack bonds humming in the background. No urgent requests or scheduling conflicts. Just us, the crash of waves on rocks far below, and endless sky.

“It’s perfect,” I breathe.

Adrian drops our bags and pulls me into his arms. “Dance with me.”

“There’s no music.”

“Don’t need it.” He starts swaying gently, and after a moment I follow his lead, letting him guide me in a slow circle around the living room.

We move together without speaking, foreheads touching, breathing synchronized. Through the bond, contentment flows warm and golden. This is what we needed. Space to exist without purpose, without audience, without anything expected of us except what we choose to give.

That first night, we make love on the floor in front of the fireplace, too impatient to make it to the

bedroom.

Adrian’s hands are reverent as they undress me, his mouth following the path of fabric sliding away. When I’m bare beneath him, he pauses, just looking.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re mine,” he says simply. “Completely mine. And I still can’t quite believe it.”

I pull him down into a kiss. “Believe it. I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s not changing.”

We take our time, relearning each other’s bodies without urgency, finding new ways to make each other gasp and moan. The bond amplifies everything, pleasure doubled and reflected between us until I can’t tell where my sensations end and his begin.

When we finally join, it’s slow and deep, Adrian’s forehead pressed to mine, eyes locked as we move together. The orgasm builds gradually, a wave that crests and breaks and leaves us trembling in its wake.

Afterward, he carries me to bed, tucking us both under soft blankets and pulling me against his chest

“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair

“I love you too.

The days blend together in the best way.

We wake late, make breakfast together, spend afternoons exploring the forest trails that wind through the property. Adrian shifts and runs with me through the trees, two wolves playing without purpose or destination, just for the joy of movement and freedom.

We discover a hidden beach, accessible only through a narrow path carved into the cliff face. The cand is black volcanic glass, the water so cold it steals my breath, but we strip anyway and wade in, laughing at our own recklessness.

Adrian catches me around the waist when a wave nearly knocks me over, pulling me against him. Water streams down his face, his hair plastered to his skull, and he’s never looked more beautiful.

I kiss him there, tasting salt and laughter and absolute happiness.

We make love in the water, careful of the cold but too needy to care, bracing against slippery rocks while

the ocean crashes around us. It’s wild and reckless and utterly perfect.

On the fourth night, we cook dinner together in the cabin’s small kitchen.

Adrian handles the meat while I manage vegetables, both of us moving around each other with the ease of practice. We open a bottle of wine, share stories from before we met, filling in gaps in each other’s

histories.

“Tell me about your first shift,” I request, settling onto the couch with my wine glass.

He joins me, pulling my legs across his lap. “Terrifying. I was twelve, earlier than most. Marcus found me in the woods, completely out of control, scared I was dying.” His expression softens with memory. “He stayed with me through it. Talked me down. Taught me to breathe through the fear. I think that’s when I knew he’d be my Beta. He had this calm certainty, even then.”

“I wish I’d known him better,” I, say quietly.

“He would have loved you. Probably would have given me endless shit about being wrapped around your finger.” Adrian’s smile is bittersweet. “But he’d be proud of what we built. What you helped me become

I lean over to kiss him, trying to pour comfort and understanding through the bond and my touch.

We end up making love again, slow and tender, letting the grief and joy tangle together until they’re inseparable. Because that’s what life is. Not one emotion or the other, but everything mixed together, messy and beautiful and real.

On the sixth day, I wake to nausea rolling through my stomach in uncomfortable waves.

I make it to the bathroom just in time, retching into the toilet while my body rebels against… what? We

ate the same dinner last night Adrian is fine, still sleeping peacefully in the other room

Food poisoning doesn’t make sense

When the nausea finally subsides, I sit back against the cool tile, pressing a hand to my stomach Through the bond, I feel Adrian stirring, concern bleeding into his awareness as he registers my distress

He appears in the doorway moments later, hair disheveled, wearing only sleep pants Freya? What s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just felt sick suddenly.” I accept his help standing, letting him guide me back to bed its passing now.”

But it’s not.

The nausea returns that afternoon, stronger this time. And again that evening. By the seventh morning. when it wakes me before dawn, Adrian is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“We need to talk,” he says carefully.

“About what?”

“When was your last heat?”

The question makes me pause, mentally counting back. Wolves don’t have regular cycles like humans, but heats come roughly every three months when not pregnant, more frequently when trying to conceive, and not at all when…

Oh.

Oh.

“Two months before the war,” I say slowly. “I thought it was just stress. Everything that was happening, the fighting, the fear. I thought my body was just responding to trauma.”

“And you haven’t had one since.”

“No.” My hand finds my stomach again, this time with different intent. “You think I’m pregnant.”

“I think it’s possible.” He shifts closer, covering my hand with his. “The timing would be right. We haven’t exactly been careful.”

The realization settles over me like snow. Quiet. Soft. Transformative.

might be pregnant.

We might have created a life in the midst of war, in the spaces between fighting for survival and building a future. A child born into the world we fought to make safe, the equality we bled to establish.

“We should test,” Adrian says. “Make sure.”

“Tomorrow,” I decide. “We have one more day here. Let’s take it. Just in case this is our last moment of it

being just us

Understanding flickers across his face. He pulls me against him, wrapping protective arms around me and the potential life growing inside

Whatever happens,” he promises, “we face it together.”

“Together,” I agree, letting the word settle into certainty.

Our last night in the cabin is quiet, filled with soft touches and softer words. We make love carefully, Adrian treating me like I’m made of glass, every movement deliberate and tender

When we finish, he stays inside me, keeping us connected, one hand splayed possessively over my stomach

“If you are pregnant,” he whispers, “if we did make a life together, that child will grow up knowing exactly what their parents fought for. What love looks like when it’s equal. What it means to choose your mate freely.”

Tears slide down my temples. “They’ll know they were wanted. Chosen. Worth every sacrifice.”

“Always,” he agrees.

The next morning, we pack our things slowly, neither of us quite ready to leave this sanctuary we’ve carved out. But the pack waits, and responsibilities call, and we’ve never been the type to hide from what needs doing.

As we lock the cabin door behind us, Adrian takes my hand.

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