Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Destined Mate

Lila’s POV

A flame suddenly ignited in Jasper’s eyes, like a star that had lain dormant for years, finally set ablaze.

“But,” I added immediately, my voice turning cold and hard again, though without its previous sharpness. “Psychologically, I was hurt this time. Badly. I need time to recover.”

The light in his eyes didn’t go out. It simply softened, settling into a deeper, more tranquil state of waiting.

“I understand.” He nodded, his voice low and solemn. “However long it takes, I’ll wait.”

“So,” I stared at him, enunciating each word, “for now, I will not accept any form of intimate contact.”

He smiled.

It wasn’t a brazen, aggressive smile, but a faint, gentle, yet incredibly genuine one. It was like the first ray of sunlight piercing through the winter clouds, landing softly at the corners of his eyes.

“Okay.” His agreement was crisp and clean, even carrying a hint of relieved ease. “I was planning on being celibate anyway.”

I froze.

“Celibate?” The word tumbled out of my mouth, my voice tinged with a sharp disbelief I hadn’t even realized was there. “You? A Werewolf? You can be celibate?”

He looked at me, a sudden glint of slyness in his eyes, along with a hint of… something I had never seen in him before—an almost childlike earnestness.

“Lila,” he said, his voice low yet holding a strange, soothing power. “What do you think a Werewolf’s ’instinct’ is?”

I frowned. “…The mating instinct?”

He shook his head gently, the smile on his lips deepening. “No. It’s ’connection’.”

He leaned forward, closing the distance between us until we could hear each other breathe.

“A Werewolf’s instinct isn’t about procreation, but about confirming a sense of belonging. It’s about using scent, body heat, heartbeat, the pulse of blood, to confirm who that person is—the one with whom you can share your life, your soul, your death.”

He paused, his gaze falling to my gently rising and falling chest, his voice as soft as a sigh.

“In other words, the legendary—Destined Mate.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Does every Werewolf… have a Destined Mate?” I heard my own voice, as light as a feather, drifting in the silent air of the study.

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

The question was too foolish, too weak, too much like a fledgling bird just coaxed back into its nest, still testing the wind.

But I had asked it anyway.

It wasn’t born of genuine curiosity, but from a deeper craving that threatened to tear me apart. ’I need to know, what am I in his eyes?’

’A breeding vessel to be “evaluated”?’

’Or a Priest to help soothe the Wolf King’s bloodline?’

’Or… the legendary “destined one” who could make his soul tremble, his blood resonate, the one he would willingly protect with his life?’

The thought had barely surfaced before I brutally stamped it out.

’No.’

’We’re just a contractual couple.’

’Transitional partners of convenience, a temporary arrangement we agreed to from the start.’

But in that moment, my body betrayed my reason.

The images flooded my mind, uncontrollable—

The real, searing, passionate unions, filled with intense emotion and the scent of life.

The moments he was deepest inside me, when my soul was forcibly dragged into the abyss of his memories.

The peak of every climax, when the sea of my consciousness opened to him, completely defenseless.

’Those weren’t hallucinations.’

’That was the resonance of our souls.’

’It was two forces, drawn together by the same ancient bloodline, truly recognizing each other in the dark.’

I sucked in a sharp breath. My fingertips curled unconsciously, my nails digging deep into my palms.

Just then, Jasper moved.

He didn’t answer my question.

He simply leaned forward and gently pressed his forehead against mine.

His skin was cool, carrying the scent of gunpowder and cedar. His breathing was steady, yet it carried a heart-stopping heat that brushed against the tip of my nose with every exhale.

“I know you’re overthinking again,” he said, his voice low and husky like the deepest notes of a cello, each syllable striking my most fragile nerves with precision. “I know there have been too many plots and schemes surrounding you in the past. And there still are.”

He paused, his forehead still pressed to mine, as if to carve his words directly into my bones.

“So, you lack a sense of security. That’s normal. In fact… it’s precious.”

I closed my eyes, my lashes trembling faintly against his brow.

“The Destined Mate,” he continued, his voice calm but infused with an unquestionable certainty, “is indeed just a legend. No one has seen it. No one has verified it. According to the stories, it happens without any pattern—it could befall a Wolf King, or it could befall a commoner Werewolf who sells bread in a border town.”

“Before anyone has truly experienced it,” his voice grew softer, yet it was like a silent bolt of lightning that split all my doubts asunder, “nothing can be described with words.”

He paused, and that brief silence was more powerful than any words.

Then, he finally gave his answer.

“But in the legends, one thing is absolute.”

I held my breath, waiting.

“Once a Werewolf recognizes his Destined Mate, there is an absolute certainty in his heart.” His voice was low, yet as firm as a rock. “He will never be mistaken. He will never waver. He will never… let her go.”

My heart gave a heavy thud in my chest.

“As for what’s between you and me…”

He didn’t finish.

But the unspoken words hung in the air, heavier and more real than any promise.

I lifted my head to meet his gaze.

“I have a feeling,” he said softly.

’Not “I believe.” ’

’Not “I’m sure.” ’

’It’s “I have a feeling.” ’

I looked at him, at the tranquil depths in his eyes that threatened to drown me.

My intuition—the one that had never betrayed me, the one that was truly my own—spoke in that moment with the clearest, most undeniable voice:

’I have a feeling, too.’

’Words… were too pale.’

And before I could organize my thoughts into words—

A searing, hard pressure pressed against my lower abdomen without any warning.

Through the thin fabric of my clothes, I could clearly feel its shape, its heat, its vigorous vitality that felt like it could melt me.

My entire body went rigid. My cheeks instantly flushed, and the tips of my ears burned.

“You…” My voice was tight, trembling with panic. “How could you…”

He didn’t pull away or explain.

He just pressed his forehead deeper against mine, his voice so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable. “It’s painful.”

Two words. Simple, direct, and carrying an almost honest misery.

I saw the fine beads of sweat on his temples, the taut line of his jaw, the storm churning in his eyes, held back only by sheer force of will.

A strange emotion, a mixture of shyness and heartache, seized me.

“Painful?” I blurted out, my voice soft and rushed. “Should I… Should I…”

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