Her voice was soft, but there was a weight behind it. Like she already knew the answer and was giving me the dignity to say it aloud.
I swallowed hard.
My throat burned. My stomach twisted.
“Luna…” My voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “I want my mate.”
There it was. Out in the open.
She stilled.
Not with judgment. But with something quieter. Understanding.
“I want to mark him,” I continued, trembling. “To claim him. I don’t want to wait anymore. Not for traditions, not for rituals, not for… permission.”
A long pause. The ciambellone sat forgotten on her lap now.
“I’m tired of pretending like I can keep pretending,” I whispered, voice breaking.
Alice squeezed my hand.
And then—she smiled.
Not a polite smile. A real one. Wide, warm, and knowing.
“Oh, cara,” she said, vo
