How many days had it been since they’d gone into hiding?

  Two.

  At least, Noah thought it was two.

  Living with four werewolves had completely obliterated his sense of time, sanity, and will to live.

  Honestly, it was a miracle he remembered his own name.

  The romantic tension between him and Micah had only gotten worse — painfully worse.

  But the tension wasn’t the only problem.

  There was the family.

  The chaos.

  The constant fear of being arrested.

  And the nagging feeling that Micah was hiding something huge from him.

  It made Noah feel… untrusted.

  Unwanted.

  Replaceable.

  If only he knew.

  If only.

  Micah wasn’t avoiding him because he didn’t care.

  Micah was suffering from a severe case of I?wanna?mark?you?itis.

  ---

  Early that morning, Noah was still asleep — sprawled across the bed, wrapped in Micah’s hoodie like a burrito — while the werewolves were already awake.

  “Dad, can I talk to you?” Micah whispered.

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  Nico’s ears perked instantly. “Ooh! Can I listen?”

  “No. Nico. This is important. Dad only.”

  Nico let out a dramatic whine and shuffled away, dragging his tail like a disappointed puppy.

  The Chief crossed his arms. “Son. What seems to be the problem? Do you need me to kill the human?”

  Micah’s soul left his body.

  “No! Dad, no — it’s not that!”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, ears burning. “It’s… something else. Something embarrassing.”

  The Chief’s expression shifted into something surprisingly serious.

  Micah swallowed. “It’s Noah. I—I…”

  “You’re in love with the human,” the Chief said flatly.

  Micah choked. “Yes, but—”

  “He carries your scent. He is your mate. If he were anything but a human, I would gladly support this relationship. But a human? Despicable. I’d rather he be a turtle!”

  “Dad!” Micah snapped. “Noah is different. He’s… he’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

  The Chief blinked.

  Then nodded once.

  “Son. I have never been a romantic person, and I never will be. But that was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Micah sighed, shoulders slumping. “He’s my mate. I know that. But… I have this constant urge to bite him. I feel like I might hurt him. And we’ve kissed before and—”

  He covered his face with both hands.

  “I want to mark him as mine. But I don’t even know if he loves me.”

  The Chief stared at him for a long moment.

  Micah’s ears drooped. His tail curled around his leg. He looked small — vulnerable — nothing like the confident, teasing werewolf Noah knew.

  The Chief finally spoke.

  “Son… you are doomed.”

  Micah groaned into his hands.

  And in the next room, Noah slept peacefully — completely unaware that his werewolf was one emotional crisis away from imprinting on him like a baby duck.