CHAPTER 34: TREE JEALOUSY

Chapter 34

(Lenora POV)

I want to be a tree.

Yes. That tree. The one he’s punching like it owes him money.

I want to be bark and bark and bark under those calloused fists. Better yet—why can’t he take all that pent-up frustration out on me?

Preferably in me.

I groan dramatically and flop onto the grass like a maiden who’s been denied her rightful pleasures for far too long.

It’s been over a week. A week, since I jumped him in the forest like a woman possessed. And what has my mate done since? Nothing. Not a single move. Not a kiss stolen under moonlight, not a heated glance in the kitchen, not even an innocent groping while walking past me in the hallway.

He’s too busy being broody and emotionally unavailable.

Apparently, the nights are for his "sacredjourney" to connect with his inner wolf, and the days are for getting punched across the meadow by my father.

When is it time for me?

I have needs too! Emotional, spiritual, physical—veryphysical—needs.

Newly mated wolves are known to be insatiable. Most can’t keep their hands, mouths, or other parts off each other. Most get kicked out of community spaces for indecency. There are entire dens built just to house "honeymooning" couples away from polite society.

And then there’s me. The touch-starved she-wolf. Pining for her mate like some Victorian heroine wasting away in the attic.

This is so undignified.

I sigh again, longer this time, just to make sure the universe hears me.

My gaze drifts back to Cameron, shirtless, panting, sweat beading along the nape of his neck as he braces himself against the poor, abused tree. That cursed tree that’s had more of his attention than I have.

The muscles in his back shift as he breathes, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs, followed immediately by a full-body eyeroll at myself.

"Goddess, why do you test me so?" I murmur to the sky, flipping onto my back.

If I don’t move, I’m going to do something regrettable. Like march over there and push him against the tree. Or dropkick my father and steal Cameron for a day.

No. I need to run it off.

I shift in one smooth motion, bones rearranging, fur replacing skin. The burn of the transformation is a welcome distraction, a grounding pain. I shake my coat out once, let out a low huff, and take off into the trees.

The wind is a balm. My paws thunder against the earth, crushing leaves and twigs beneath me. I dart through the forest like a silver arrow, letting my frustration bleed into the wind. The world blurs past me in streaks of green and gold, and for a moment, I feel light again.

Free. Wild. Unburdened.

But it’s not enough.

Because no matter how fast I run, I can’t outrun him. His scent is in my lungs. His mark is on my neck. My soul feels like it’s straining toward him with every breath, every heartbeat.

*

I take the tray to my father’s room, nudging the door open with my shoulder. He’s not around, probably out staring at the moon day dreaming of mum.

Still, I set the food down on the nightstand and check that everything’s still warm before slipping back into the hallway.

Downstairs, I find Cameron doing the dishes.

He’s got his sleeves rolled up and his brow furrowed like scrubbing a pan is a corporate negotiation.

"I told you, you didn’t have to do that," I say, folding my arms and leaning against the wall.

"I know," he replies without looking up, "but I wanted to."

I don’t argue. Not this time. Instead, I step outside into the crisp night air, letting the door swing gently shut behind me. The porch creaks beneath my feet as I settle onto one of the old steps. The moon is out, full and pale like bone, casting long shadows across the woods.

Moments later, I hear the door open again.

Cameron sits down beside me with a quiet sigh.

"Thank you," he says softly.

I glance at him. "What for?"

"For showing me around today. The town. The forest. The hidden ward thing." He chuckles faintly. "It was... surreal. In a good way."

I shrug. "I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the life you’re used to."

And I mean it.

His world is high-rises and luxury cars. Glass towers and international meetings. Mine is moss and dirt and wolves running beneath moonlight. A forest wrapped in magic.

I wonder if he misses it—his old life. If he still dreams of leaving. I don’t ask, too afraid of the answer.

"It’s different," he says slowly. "But it’s got its own kind of charm. Honestly, I wasn’t always rich. So this... isn’t as drastic a shift as it might seem."

He looks out into the trees, lost in some far-off memory.

"There were moments in my childhood... well, let’s just say this is better."

I turn toward him, studying his profile in the moonlight. There’s a softness to it, a heaviness he rarely lets show.

"I think you’re very impressive," I say. "Getting to where you are now... I’m under the impression it’s not easy."

"It wasn’t." He huffs a quiet laugh. "But hey, now I have more money than I’ll ever need. Which is both awesome and mildly terrifying."

He glances at me. "Have you ever left the country?"

I blink. "I’ve barely left the town."

His eyebrows rise. "Really?"

I nod. "There’s not much reason to. I’ve never been curious about the outside world before. Not until you."

He smiles gently. "I used to travel all the time. Mostly for work. Sometimes personal."

My ears perk up. "Really? Have you ever seen elephants?"

He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. "Elephants?"

"Yes." I grin, suddenly shy about it. "They’re... fascinating. So big. So unlike anything in our forests."

He leans back in the chair, eyes bright. "Actually, yeah. I was in Zambia once. It’s a country in Africa. I stayed at this safari lodge, and outside my hotel room—no joke—two elephants walked right past."

My jaw drops. "That close?"

"That close," he says, laughing. "The hotel was inside a wildlife park. There were giraffes, zebras, even lions in the distance. The air smelled like dust and grass and wild things. You’d love it."

I try to picture it: endless plains, creatures I’ve only read about, seen behind a screen and I still can’t fully comprehend it.

For the first time in my life, I find myself resenting our seclusion.

Our people stay hidden. Isolated. We pride ourselves on it.

But now, listening to Cameron talk, I want more.

I want to see elephants. I want to taste foreign air. I want to learn what it means to live beyond the boundaries we were born into.

I want him to be the one to show me.

He turns to me suddenly, voice softer. "I’d like to take you there someday."

***

(Cameron POV)

I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d met Lenora in the human world.

If I saw her across a boardroom table, dressed in power suits and heels, maybe arguing with me over a contract. Or passing by at a gala, in a dress that stopped time.

I imagine I’d be smitten on sight. I’d send flowers. I’d pull out the big guns—five-star restaurants, yacht parties, private jet getaways. The kind of moves men like me use to win favor.

I smile at the image, lost in the fantasy for a moment. Her rolling her eyes at the extravagance, then secretly enjoying it.

But a hand on mine pulls me out of my thoughts.

I look over. Lenora is staring down at our hands, her expression unreadable.

"I’m sorry," she says suddenly.

I blink. "Huh? What for?"

"For taking you away from your life," she says quietly. "From your world."

Her voice is too calm for how heavy that sentence is. She doesn’t look at me.

I study her profile in the moonlight—the strong line of her jaw, the barely visible scar at the corner of her lip, the way her lashes cast shadows down her cheeks. She’s not someone who apologizes easily. Or unnecessarily.

But I get it now. The isolation. The hidden towns. The magic that masks everything. The weight of it all.

And her. With her strength, her legacy, her responsibilities.

"I mean..." I squeeze her hand gently. "I get it now. So no hard feelings."

I offer her a small smile. Reassuring. Real.

Then I lean in, slowly.

She meets me halfway.

Our lips touch, soft at first, tentative. But then she sighs into it, and I feel that spark ignite low in my spine. My heart stutters in my chest like it hasn’t had practice in years.

She kisses me back, firm and sure and warm.

And when we pull away, I search her face for something—hesitation, regret, even confusion. But she doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she looks away, toward the moon hanging low in the sky.

So I reach over and gently squeeze her hand again. The one still resting on mine.

She doesn’t pull away.