“Perfect?” I finish for her.
“Yes,” she agrees, nestling closer.
I listen as her breathing gradually deepens, feeling the moment she surrenders to sleep in my arms. This woman—this incredible, complicated, beautiful woman—trusts me enough to be completely vulnerable. The responsibility of that trust, the precious gift of it, makes my throat tight with emotion.
For the first time in my life, I understand what the old songs mean when they speak of finding your other half. She fits against me like she was made for this exact spot, like the Goddess herself carved out this space in my arms just for her.
Is this what a soulbond feels like? The elders always said you’d know—that recognition would hit like lightning, that you’d see a shimmer around your mate in the right light. But I always imagined it would happen after months of courtship, not hours.
For just a moment, as I look down at her sleeping face in the moonlight, I could swear I see something. A faint red shimmer, barely visible, like heat rising from summer pavement. I blink, and it’s gone.
Impossible. Soulbonds don’t form this fast. They require time, trust, deepconnection, and commitment. This is just the euphoria of great sex with someone I’m wildly attracted to. That’s all.
But the way my entire being wants to claim and protect her… the way every instinct I have is screaming “mine”… that feels like something deeper than chemistry.
I push the thought away. Too soon. Too fast. Too… everything.
Mine, I think drowsily, pressing a kiss to her hair. It feels like fate settling into place.
Whatever this is—soulbond or not—it feels right.
Chapter Ten
Jordan
I wake up in Forge’s arms, and regret slams into me before I open my eyes.
The morning light filtering through his bedroom window feels too bright, too cheerful for the panic clawing its way up my throat. His arm is a warm, unwelcome weight across my waist. All I can think is: How could I be so weak?
The realization hits me like ice water: I’ve done it again. Fallen too fast, trusted too quickly, let someone past my carefully constructed walls before I even knew who they really were. The scene plays on repeat in my mind: me, completely wrecked beneath him, telling him it was perfect, agreeing when he said what we had wasn’t just physical.
Oh my God, did I really wholeheartedly say, “Yours. All yours.”?
We’ve known each other for less than forty-eight hours, and I was ready to give him my whole heart. What is wrong with me?
I slide out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him, my heart hammering against my ribs. Every rational thought I’ve had about relationships, every lesson I learned from David’s betrayal, every promise I made to myself about taking things slow (if I ever take them at all)—gone. Obliterated in a single night by amber eyes and gentle hands and the way he made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.
I find my bra on the bedside table and my ruined panties on his bedroom floor, so I leave them there. I gather the rest of my clothes from the kitchen and find my purse by the front door where I’d dropped it in my… enthusiasm last night.
In the bathroom, I look exactly like what I am: a woman who’s made a terrible mistake. Hair tangled, lips swollen, yesterday’s clothes announcing every bad decision like an above-the-fold headline.
What terrifies me is how perfectly natural it felt to fall asleep in his arms, to feel safe and… claimed. Like I belonged somewhere. That’s exactly the kind of thinking that got me married to David after six months of dating. This intensity, this “instant connection”—it’s a warning sign, not a fairy tale.
I swore I’d never fall this fast again. Or… ever. I never want another divorce decree with my name on it.
I return to the bedroom to grab my panties. The last thing I want to do is leave… evidence. Forge is awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with concern written across his handsome features.
“Morning,” he says softly, his voice still rough with sleep. “You okay?”
How can he read my emotions so easily? Especially when we’ve known each other for such a short time. The gentleness in his tone almost breaks my resolve. Almost. But then I remember David’s voice filled with affection on dozens of mornings, right before he went to work and forgot I existed until he needed something from me.
“I need to go,” I say, not meeting his eyes as I turn to grab my shoes from the living room.
“Hey.” He sits up, the sheet pooling around his waist. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“I shouldn’t have let this happen. It was a mistake.” The words come out sharp, staccato, as I turn to face him. They weren’t meant to be harsh, but maybe that’s better. Cleaner. “Last night… we got caught up in the moment, but we barely know each other. Literally—we’ve had one coffee date. This is the kind of mistake I swore I’d never repeat. Ever.”
I can see the confusion and hurt flickering across his features, but I push forward before I lose my nerve.
