Page 75 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

I throw a napkin at her head. She catches it, laughing, and I’m laughing too, and for a moment everything feels simple. Good. Like I’ve found something I didn’t know I was looking for.

The bomb drops without warning.

I’m near the drinks table, refilling my glass with lemonade because Diana’s pink concoction was making me dizzy, when someone throws an arm around my shoulders.

A round, silver-haired woman named Winnie, one of the pack elders Diana introduced me to earlier, her cheeks flushed and her eyes carrying the unmistakable glaze of someone who’s been hitting the lycan-strength punch. She’s grinning at me like we’re lifelong friends.

“About time,” she announces, loud enough that several nearby conversations pause. “About time our king found his mate! I was starting to think it would never happen.”

I go very still.

“When’s the bonding ceremony?” she continues, oblivious. “Has he talked to you about the traditional formats? Some people do moonrise ceremonies, very romantic, but personally I’ve always thought the midnight hunt is more…”

“I’m sorry.” My voice sounds strange. Distant. “What did you say?”

“The ceremony? For the bond?” She squints at me with the cheerful confusion of someone who doesn’t realize they’ve just detonated an explosive. “You do know you’re his fated mate, right? That he’s known since the crash?”

The yard goes church-quiet.

Every conversation within earshot stops. Heads turn. Somewhere behind me, I hear Theo say “Oh, fuck” with feeling.

Mate.

Fated mate.

Known since the crash.

The words don’t make sense at first. They just sit there in my brain like puzzle pieces that refuse to fit together. And then, slowly, horribly, they start clicking into place.

The intensity. The protectiveness. The way he showed up at my hospital bed for a stranger. The way he’s watched me every night since like I’m precious, like I’m vital, like I’m the one thing he can’t bear to lose.

Known since the crash.

Since before I opened my eyes.

“Oh,” the woman says, and her face crumples with dawning horror. “Oh no. I thought you knew. I assumed, everyone assumed, oh god, I’m so sorry…”

I set down my lemonade.

I walk away.

The crowd parts for me like I’m contagious, faces blurring past, concerned, pitying, curious, and I don’t care about any of them. I just need to find him. I need to understand.

He’s at the tree line when I reach him, already turning toward me with an expression that tells me he knows. He heard. Of course he heard, he can hear a whisper from across my bookstore; he definitely heard this.

“Fable…”

“Fated mate.” The words taste like betrayal. Like every sweet thing we’ve shared has been recontextualized into something I didn’t consent to. “You knew. Since before I opened my eyes, you knew we were, whatever this is, and you let me think I was… what? A coincidence? A choice?”

“You are a choice.” His voice is urgent. Desperate. “Fable, everything you feel…”

“Is it real?” My voice cracks. “Can you honestly tell me that what I feel is mine and not some supernatural side effect? Some cosmic programming that made me want you whether I actually wanted to or not?”

“Yes.” He steps toward me, hands raised, palms out, like I’m something wild he doesn’t want to spook. “The bond doesn’t create feelings. It just… it recognizes compatibility. It connects people who would be good together. Everything between us, every conversation, every kiss, every moment, that’s real. That’s us.”

“But you knew.” The hurt is rising now, a tide I can’t hold back. “Since the crash. Since you were at my hospital bed. You knew what I was to you, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t.”