The Reason Why
Celine POV
I wake to the warmth of Sebastian’s arms wrapped protectively around me, his hold gentle yet firm. The faint scent of him—a mix of something earthy and smokey lingers, grounding me in the present. His steady breaths brush against my hair, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself feel safe. Then the memories of last night crash.
vivid and overwhelming. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as the details come rushing back.
What happened to me? One moment, I felt in control, and then.. everything spiraled. I’ve never experienced anything like it. The intensity, the need–it was all new, strange, and undeniably consuming.
over me,
I want to believe that this is it, that everything will settle now, but deep down, I know better. The weight of my past and the uncertainty of my future press heavily on my chest. This is only the beginning.
“What’s wrong, little one?” Sebastian’s deep voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I blink, meeting his steady, golden gaze. His expression is calm, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.
There’s so much wrong. I don’t even know where to begin, so I decide to tackle one thing at a time.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I whisper, my voice hesitant. The words taste awkward on my tongue, and my stomach knots. I still don’t fully understand what happened or why, and the uncertainty only makes it harder to face him.
Sebastian’s expression softens, his fingers tracing soothing patterns down my back. “Don’t ever apologise,” says firmly. “Being in heat is natural. Considering everything you’ve been through, you handled it better than most during their first time.”
I blink, surprised by his words. Heat? The term feels foreign, though it stirs faint memories of whispers I’d ignored or dismissed in the past.
“I’ve never heard of it before,” I admit quietly, ashamed. The admission feels like exposing a weakness, and I brace for his reaction. It’s bad enough that I don’t know the basics of my own kind–wolves, dragons, or otherwise. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, my voice trembling. “I really don’t know anything about wolves, dragons, or… anything. I was never taught.”
His gaze holds mine, steady and reassuring. “There’s no reason to apologise for not knowing,” he says softly. It’s not your fault, and it’s all things you can learn.”
He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at me more closely. The morning light filtering through the cracks in the heavy curtains catches in his golden eyes, making them seem to glow.
he
“Here’s a quick explanation,” he begins, his voice patient. Rut–or rutting–is when a male wolf experiences heightened sexual activity and aggression. It’s an instinctive drive to mate. During a rut, males become more possessive and territorial, often making it clear to others who their mate is. That’s the short version.”
I nod slowly, processing his words. “So rutting is the same for women? And dragons?” I ask hesitantly, unsure of where I fall in all of this.
“Yes and no,” he replies. “For dragons, it’s similar but called a mating flight. Female werewolves experience what’s known as being in heat. It’s tied to fertility and often heightens flirtation, desire, and the craving for intimacy. Again, that’s a simplified explanation, but the key is–it’s normal.”
His words ease some of my tension. It’s normal. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“I don’t w
want you worrying that you did anything wrong,” he adds, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm. It will happen again, but the more it happens, the more you’ll learn to control it, at least to some extent.”
The Reason Why
+25 BONUS
The room falls quiet, his words settling over me like a gentle balm. But as the silence stretches, my mind drifts back to the vision–the woman, pale and frail, her body swollen with pregnancy and sickness. The memory itches. at the edges of my consciousness, demanding attention.
I want to ask about her, but the thought of revealing that I have visions makes me hesitate. My mother–or the woman I thought was my mother–warned me never to speak of them. Still, the image of the woman lingers, her gaunt face and labored breathing haunting me.
Instead of bringing it up, I opt for a different question. “Sebastian,” I whisper, breaking the silence.
He hums in response, his chest vibrating gently beneath me.
“How old are you?” The question seems safe enough, though I’m suddenly struck by the realization that I don’t know much about him.
His lips quirk into a small smile. “I’m thirty–seven,” he says simply.
I tilt my head, considering his answer. “How old is Joseph?” I ask, confused for a moment by the gap between. them.
“Joseph is eighteen,” Sebastian replies, his tone light.
The math clicks into place, and I nod in understanding. For a brief, fleeting moment, I’d wondered if Sebastian had been impossibly young when he had Joseph–a ridiculous thought that now feels laughable.
The Vions
