Chapter 3
The light slanted softly through the curtains, pale gold cutting across the tangle of sheets. Rory stirred first, her lashes fluttering, the weight of sleep sliding off her shoulders. For a moment, she didn't move, just breathed, her cheek pressed against warmth.
Then the memories came rushing back.
The tree. The hunger. The trail of clothes up the stairs. Hope's mouth, Hope's hands, Hope's body inside hers, claiming her in ways she hadn't thought possible.
Rory jerked upright in bed, her chest heaving.
Hope was still there.
Lying on her back, one arm curled under her head, lips parted in sleep. Her hair was a wild halo of curls against the pillow, her bare chest rising steady with each breath. Rory's eyes dropped lower, and heat punched her gut. The sheets were kicked halfway down, baring the curve of Hope's hip, the shadow of her morning wood straining, thick and insistent, beneath the loose blanket.
Rory swallowed hard, her whole body lighting up at the sight.
She should tell her to leave. That was the smart thing, the right thing. This girl wasn't hers, shouldn't be hers. She didn't even know what she was—not just a wolf, not just a vampire, not just a witch, but something impossible, something dangerous. Rory had spent weeks fighting her own hunger, the gnawing emptiness that had only quieted when Allison's mouth was on her skin.
And yet now... she felt sated. Fed. Whole.
Because of Hope.
Rory's hands clenched in the sheets, torn between shoving her away and crawling back down into her arms. Her heart pounded. Her body screamed at her to move.
Every part of her soul whispered the same truth: she belongs to you.
Her thighs pressed together, slick already pooling, need rolling through her so hard it left her dizzy.
"No," Rory whispered, shaking her head. "I can't—"
But her body was already betraying her.
She shifted forward, straddling Hope's hips. The blanket slid down further, baring the length of her morning wood, flushed and hard against her stomach. Rory's breath caught, her cunt clenching tight at the sight, at the memory of how full it had stretched her, how deep it had gone.
Her hands shook as she wrapped her fingers around the base, stroking once, slowly. Heat radiated off her skin.
Hope groaned in her sleep, hips twitching up instinctively.
Rory bit her lip, a whimper breaking free. Her walls crumbled. She lined herself up, the head thick and hot against her entrance, and without another thought, she pushed down.
Her body gave way around her, stretching, swallowing Hope inch by inch. The breath tore out of her chest, sharp and broken, as she sank lower, deeper, until her thighs pressed flush against Hope's.
Hope's cock throbbed inside her, thick and perfect, and Rory's eyes rolled back.
Her voice cracked on a moan, her head falling back as she ground down, rocking her hips.
Hope stirred beneath her, lashes fluttering, lips parting with a groggy sound. Her hand came up automatically to grip Rory's waist, steadying her as she moved.
Her eyes opened.
And the first thing she saw was Rory riding her.
For a heartbeat, the world went still.
Hope's natural blue eyes locked on her, wide and stunned, drinking her in—the wild tangle of her hair, her flushed face, her luminous blue eyes glowing faintly, the way her body rippled around her cock.
"Rory..." her voice was a husky rasp, still thick with sleep.
Rory leaned forward, her nails digging into Hope's chest as she slammed down hard, crying out. "Don't—don't say my name like that—"
Hope's grip tightened, her own hips bucking up to meet her. "You started this."
Rory whimpered, her body clenching, her walls milking her deeper. "I—fuck—I couldn't—"
Hope sat up in one fluid motion, her mouth catching Rory's, kissing her hard as she thrust up into her, fucking her slow but deep. Rory moaned into her lips, hips rolling, her body trembling.
Every thrust felt like a claim—every moan like surrender.
Rory's inner war screamed, her mind still trying to convince her to push Hope away, to end it. But every nerve in her body, every beat of her soul, told her she belonged here, that this was right.
Her head tipped forward, pressing her forehead against Hope's. "I hate you," she whispered, tears burning her eyes. "I hate that I want this—"
Hope kissed her again, soft this time, almost tender. "Then stop fighting me."
Rory broke, her cry ripping from her throat as she bounced on Hope's cock, chasing pleasure, chasing oblivion, chasing her.
The sheets tangled around their hips, the bed creaked, sunlight spilled across their skin, and the world shrank to nothing but this: Rory's body, Hope's cock, their moans, their breath, their impossible bond threading tighter with every thrust.
---
Hope's hands gripped Rory's hips tighter, guiding her down hard onto her cock, each thrust sending a pulse of pleasure that tore groans from both their throats. The bed rocked beneath them, sunlight spilling across sweat-slicked skin.
Rory's nails dragged down Hope's chest as she moved, her breath breaking on every bounce. Her body wanted this—needed this—despite the voice in her head screaming push her away, don't let her in.
"Fuck—Hope," Rory gasped, losing herself in the rhythm.
Hope's grip shifted, one hand sliding up to cup her face, thumb brushing her lip. "You keep trying to run," she rasped, hips snapping up to meet Rory's every roll. "Why?"
Rory clenched around her, the answer clawing free before she could stop it. "Because if I don't—I'll break."
Hope's eyes locked onto hers, steady, burning blue. "Or fall?"
The word shattered her. Rory's body faltered, rhythm breaking as tears pricked her eyes. "Both," she whispered, barely a breath.
Hope surged up suddenly, flipping them in one smooth motion, driving her down into the mattress with her cock still buried deep. Rory cried out, legs flying wide as Hope set the pace, hard, relentless, pinning her in place.
"Then do it with me," Hope growled, forehead pressed to hers, every thrust a demand.
Rory sobbed out a broken laugh, clutching at her shoulders. "You don't understand—"
"I don't need to," Hope cut her off, slamming in deeper, groaning as she buried herself to the hilt. "I just need you."
The rhythm snapped, sharp and brutal, but beneath it was something protective, claiming, unyielding. Rory's walls clenched around her, the pressure inside unbearable, building higher with every thrust.
"Don't fight me," Hope demanded, her voice low, breaking, desperate. "Stay with me. Give me everything."
Rory screamed as her orgasm tore through her, body convulsing, glowing eyes flickering between green and that impossible luminous blue. Her nails carved crescents into Hope's back as wave after wave split her open.
Hope groaned, burying deep, spilling hot inside her, hips jerking once, twice, before stilling. The sound she made was low, guttural, and so raw it carved through Rory's chest.
They shook together, trembling, breathless, sweat and heat binding them as much as the invisible tether curling between their souls.
Rory should have felt hollow after—the way she always did, the way her hunger left her emptier. But she didn't. She felt fed. Content. Whole.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Her chest heaved, panic rising in the spaces between the aftershocks. This isn't normal. This isn't safe. I don't even know her.
She blinked hard, turning her face away, tears streaking her cheeks before she could stop them. It's too much. Too soon. I can't love her. Not after Allison. Not after everything.
Her body betrayed her, though—legs still locked around Hope's waist, nails clinging to her shoulders, cunt milking every last pulse of warmth out of her. Her soul thrummed like a wild thing finally caged.
Hope kissed her damp temple, murmuring "Mine," as if she could hear the war inside her.
Rory squeezed her eyes shut, whispering back, "I can't do this—I can't—"
Hope pulled back, her gaze sharp, blue, and unwavering. "Yes, you can. You already are."
Rory shook her head, heart pounding, fighting against the pull. "I don't even know why I feel like this. It doesn't make sense. It's just need—it's instinct."
Hope's hand cupped her jaw, steady, grounding. "Then fight everything else. Don't fight me."
Her words hit like a brand, searing straight through Rory's panic.
Rory's lips trembled, her voice breaking. "I don't want to love a girl I just met."
Hope kissed her, slow and deep, as if sealing the lie away. "Then don't call it love yet. Just call us ."
When Rory's vision finally cleared, she lay there in silence, trying to force the pieces of herself back together. Her wolf side hummed content, sated, marking Hope as hers with every instinct screaming mate. The other thing inside her—the hunger she'd fought for weeks—was silent for the first time, purring, dangerously pleased.
Her human mind, though, reeled. I don't even know her. I don't know what she'll take from me. Allison said forever, and she still left me for Scott.
Rory pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes, as if she could shove the feelings down. But the more she tried to separate them, the tighter the knot inside her pulled. Her heart, her wolf, her hunger—they were all in agreement for once, dragging her toward the girl still inside her, the girl who held her like she was something precious.
And Rory... she didn't know how to fight that.
She turned her head, finally looking at Hope, and that was when she saw it.
The faint scar on Hope's shoulder—her own bite.
Rory froze, her breath catching sharp in her chest. That mark should have healed clean. It should have been gone already.
Her stomach dropped.
She shoved Hope back just enough to see her own throat in the mirror across the room. The bite Hope had given her glowed faintly under her skin, scarred instead of gone.
Her heart hammered.
Then her gaze fell to her wrist. She froze.
Letters. Not ink, not tattoo—just there. H.A.M.
She jerked Hope's wrist up, turning it over— N.A.H.
They stared, breath still uneven.
"What the fuck..." Rory whispered.
Hope's thumb brushed the letters on Rory's skin, eyes wide but steady. "I've heard... rumors. About soulbonds. Old magic. Rare. Supposed to be stronger than any pack bond. Permanent." Her voice dropped, reverent. "Unbreakable once sealed."
Rory's throat tightened, eyes flickering faint blue. "So we're—"
"Tied," Hope finished, her hand cupping Rory's cheek. "Forever."
Rory trembled, panic surging sharply through her chest. "No. No, that's—this can't—" She shoved at Hope's chest, twisting to pull free, her breath coming too fast. "I don't even know what I am! I don't even know you! This isn't—this isn't supposed to happen!"
Her voice cracked, jagged with fear. She curled her fists into her hair, tugging hard like she could claw the truth out of her own skull. "It's too much—I can't—I can't do this again—"
"Hey." Hope caught her wrists, firm but not cruel, pinning them to the mattress. Her voice was low, steady, not letting Rory spiral away. "Look at me."
Rory shook her head, tears stinging hot, chest tight with terror.
Hope released her hands only to wrap her arms around her instead, dragging Rory against her chest, holding her there no matter how she writhed. "You're not alone," she whispered into Rory's hair. "Not anymore. I've got you."
Rory struggled once, twice, but Hope's warmth and strength anchored her, the steady beat of her heart pressing against her ear. Slowly, shakily, the fight bled out of her.
She sagged in Hope's arms, trembling, silent tears cutting down her cheeks.
Hope only held her tighter. "Panic later. Run later. Right now—you're safe. With me."
Rory bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, but she didn't pull away. Couldn't. Her body, her wolf, her hunger—they had already chosen.
And as much as her mind screamed no, her soul curled into the girl holding her like she was home.
---
The room smelled like sex, sweat, and wolf heat. Morning light cut across the tangled sheets, painting both girls in pale gold.
They moved quietly, the silence thick but not empty.
Hope stood first, pulling her hair back with a hand before slipping into the hallway to gather the trail of clothes they'd left from the night before. Rory stayed behind, tugging on clean jeans and a tank top, bare feet padding across the floor as she collected the ruined pile of her own clothes. She shoved them into the laundry basket with more force than necessary, like she could scrub away the memory clinging to every piece of fabric.
When she turned, Hope was back in the doorway, her shirt hanging half-open, eyes watching her with that too-intense, steady blue. Rory swallowed, forced herself to look away.
"You hungry?" she asked, her voice tight but soft.
Hope's lips curved, just a hint. "Starving."
Rory nodded, grateful for the excuse to move. "Come on. I'll make breakfast."
The kitchen filled with the sizzle of bacon and the sharp scent of frying hashbrowns. Rory moved on autopilot—eggs whisked, sausage browning, orange juice poured into tall glasses. Her wolf side always calmed when she cooked, something grounding in the ritual.
Hope leaned against the counter, watching. Still in that damn shirt, half-buttoned, collarbones showing. Rory tried to ignore how her heart thumped harder every time she caught her looking.
"Didn't think I'd get a home-cooked meal out of this," Hope teased, smirking slightly.
Rory rolled her eyes, though her mouth tugged into a reluctant smile. "Don't get used to it. I'm only feeding you because you look like you'd burn water."
Hope chuckled, low and rich. "Guilty."
She stepped forward, grabbing plates from the cupboard without being asked, moving like she belonged there. Rory's stomach twisted at the sight—too easy, too natural. Like Hope had been here a thousand times before.
They ate at the table, forkfuls of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon filling the silence until Hope finally broke it.
"So," she said, sipping her juice. "Beacon Hills. This place has always been home?"
Rory chewed slowly, then nodded. "Yeah. Born and raised. My adoptive mom—Melissa McCall—she's a nurse. Works nights a lot. She should be home soon, actually."
"Melissa McCall," Hope repeated, eyes sparking. "Scott's mom?"
Rory's jaw tightened at the name, but she nodded. "Yeah. She's... better than him."
Hope caught the edge in her voice but didn't press. Instead, she cut into her sausage, eyes thoughtful. "I like her already."
Rory snorted, shaking her head. "Careful. She'll adopt you too if you're not paying attention."
Hope's smirk softened into something quieter. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."
The words hit Rory square in the chest. She dropped her gaze to her plate, pushing eggs around with her fork.
They slipped into easier conversation after that—school, favorite foods, stupid childhood stories. Hope admitted she hated mornings but loved black coffee strong enough to chew. Rory confessed she couldn't stand spicy food despite being half-wolf. They laughed, slow and real, the tension curling into something warmer.
Without thinking, Rory plated another portion of food, wrapped it, and slid it into the fridge. Hope raised a brow.
"For Melissa," Rory explained. "She won't eat unless someone makes her. Too busy taking care of everyone else."
Hope's smile grew, soft and admiring. "You take after her."
Rory froze for a second at that, her chest tightening, before shaking her head and muttering, "Shut up and eat your bacon."
Hope laughed again, and this time Rory let herself smile back.
The front door creaked open, the sound of keys hitting the counter following a moment later.
Rory froze mid-bite, eyes snapping to the clock. Shit.
Melissa's voice floated in, warm but tired. "Rory? You up?"
Hope straightened instantly, trying to fix her shirt, fingers fumbling at the buttons. Her hair was still a wreck, her lips swollen from kissing, and Rory knew—just knew—her mom would clock all of it in a second.
Melissa stepped into the kitchen, still in scrubs, with dark circles under her eyes. She stopped dead when she saw them—Rory at the stove with an extra plate already wrapped in the fridge, and Hope sitting at the table like she belonged there.
Her gaze flicked between them, narrowing. Both girls flushed, guilty as hell.
Melissa raised one perfectly unimpressed eyebrow.
Rory groaned, dropping her fork. "Hi, Mom," she muttered, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Meet my... uh... one-night stand who's apparently also my soulmate."
Hope choked on her orange juice.
Melissa's face went through about three expressions at once—confusion, shock, and then a long-suffering What the fuck did I just walk into look.
Her voice came out flat, laced with disbelief. "I worked a twelve-hour shift, and this is what I come home to?"
Rory shrugged helplessly, cheeks burning. "In my defense... I didn't plan it."
Hope muttered under her breath, "Neither did I," and immediately wished she hadn't said it aloud.
Melissa just stared at them, rubbing her temple like she could erase the sight.
Then she stabbed a piece of bacon off the plate Rory had made for her, sat down at the table with them, and gave them both that mom look.
"Alright," she said finally, voice calm but edged with steel. "You're going to give me my food... and then you're going to talk."
Rory winced. Hope swallowed hard.
Melissa chewed her bacon slowly, eyes never leaving them.
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