Page 9 of Mated By Sunrise

“You always know what’s going on with Rochelle,” said Gideon.

Caleb fought to keep his wolf in check. The protective need to turn around, head to the bank, and make sure she was okay clawed at him. But he refused. He wouldn’t let himself be pulled into that routine again, not today. Not after everything.

“It’s not my job to keep tabs on her.”

Gideon raised both eyebrows now, crossing his arms. “Since when?”

Elijah glanced out the window, his eyes narrowing as he spotted something. “Hey, speak of the devil… there she is.”

The world around Caleb slowed, the sounds of the coffee shop fading into the background as his wolf surged to the surface. His muscles tensed, his instincts screaming at him to turn, to look, to see for himself. For a split second, his control slipped.

Turn around. Look at her. You know you want to.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Caleb forced himself to stay still. He wouldn’t give in. Not after last night. With every ounce of strength he had, he pushed the urge down, locking his wolf, and his natural instincts, away.

“Is that right?” he muttered. “Well, good for her.”

Elijah blinked while Gideon studied him carefully, his eyes narrowing. They weren’t used to this Caleb—the Caleb who wasn’t hovering over Rochelle like a protective shadow, always waiting for her. And maybe that was the point. Maybe they needed to get used to it.

But even as he tried to keep his composure, the weight of Rochelle’s presence tugged at him like a chain around his chest,making it hard to breathe. She was right there, just outside the window, and every instinct he had screamed for him to go to her.

Instead, Caleb turned his attention to the human barista behind the counter. A soft smile pulled at his lips as he met her gaze. What was her name? Something to do with Christmas. She had always been shy around him, her cheeks flushing whenever he ordered coffee. He knew she had a crush on him—he could sense it, smell it even, the way her heart would race whenever he was near.

“Hey,” he said, glancing down at her name tag. “Holly, how’s your morning going?”

“Oh, um, good. Just… you know, the usual.”

Caleb nodded, smiling slightly. He didn’t care about the conversation. It didn’t matter. But it was a distraction—something to focus on other than the fact that Rochelle was so close, just outside, and he was doing everything he could to not turn around and look at her.

Elijah and Gideon exchanged another glance, their confusion deepening. “What the hell, Caleb?” Gideon muttered under his breath. “What’s going on?”

But Caleb didn’t answer. He just smiled at Holly, ignoring the pounding in his chest, ignoring the way his wolf was practically howling inside him.

He wasn’t going to give in. Not today.

Not anymore.

CHAPTER EIGHT

He wasn't there.

Rochelle's steps slowed as she approached the bank. Her gaze went toward the bench across the street—the same bench Caleb sat on every morning. His familiar silhouette, always there, like the sunrise over the mountains. But today, it wasn’t.

She stopped and stared. He didn't materialize. A frown tugged at her lips, and for a moment, she just stood there, staring as if she could will him into existence with her gaze. But the bench remained empty, the street eerily quiet without the subtle presence of him watching her.

He’s not there. The realization sunk in like a cold wave of water splashing over her.He’s always there.

She tore her gaze away, shaking her head as she scolded herself inwardly. This was what she wanted, right? She had told him last night that she was leaving, that she was moving to take the promotion. She had hesitated, but still, she had made her choice. Caleb had asked her to choose, and she had chosen her career, her independence.

So why, when he finally wasn’t hovering over her like some quiet guardian, did the absence of him feel so jarring?

With a tight breath, Rochelle pushed the thought away and went into the bank. It was for the best. He was moving on. They both were moving on.

But as the morning wore on, the strange, heavy feeling in her chest didn’t lift. It clung to her like the smell of coffee and ink in the air, growing heavier with every passing minute. She tried to lose herself in work. Her pen glided over forms and documents. The soft shuffle of papers was the only sound in her office.

It wasn’t until late morning, when an elderly couple stepped into her office, that she managed to shake the unsettling quiet from her mind. Mrs. Parker, a female shifter with sleek silver hair, and her husband, Mr. Parker, a human with a kind, weathered face, had been planning their retirement for some time now. They had been married for decades—longer than most human couples.