Before Corvus can analyze the micro-expressions that might betray how terrified I actually am of what I just committed to.
But also how certain.
Because for the first time since they marked me in that study room, I'm not reacting.
I'm acting.
And that makes all the difference.
Chapter 14: Heat POV: Vespera
The storm arrives after lunch.
My skin starts tingling. The fabric of my shirt dragging across my nipples makes me gasp. Between my thighs, warmth builds. Slickness.
Corvus is reading in the chair across from me. Close enough that I can smell him. Mint and alpha and something that makes my mouth water.
Shifting on the couch, I press my thighs together. Watch him over the edge of my book.
Attractive. Objectively. All sharp angles and controlled power. Those long fingers turning pages. That mouth that kissed me yesterday in the pool.
What would those fingers feel like inside me? What would that control look like when it snaps?
Heat curls low in my belly. Not quite painful yet. Insistent.
He looks up suddenly. Catches me staring.
His nostrils flare. "You should probably go upstairs."
"Why?"
"Because you're looking at me like—" He stops. Sets down his book with careful precision. "Your heat is starting."
"Maybe."
"Definitely." He stands. Backs toward the door. "I should leave before—"
The front door bangs open. Dorian and Oakley stumble in carrying bags. Multiple bags. Shopping bags overflowing with soft things.
"We're back!" Oakley announces. Then stops. Looks at me. His eyes go dark. "Oh."
"It's starting," Corvus confirms.
Dorian sets down his bags carefully. Deliberately. Like he's fighting not to drop them and cross the room to me. "How long?"
"Hour maybe?" Another shift. The ache is building. "What's all that?"
"Supplies." Oakley starts unpacking on the coffee table.
The first thing he pulls out makes me stop breathing.
A blanket in the softest cream cashmere I've ever seen. The kind that costs more than my monthly food budget. He sets it down and pulls out another—this one's a weighted blanket in charcoal gray, the expensive kind filled with glass beads that distribute perfectly. Then a throw in butter-soft merino wool. Another in silk that catches the light like water.
Pillows come next. European down in Egyptian cotton cases. A long body pillow. Smaller ones in velvet, in linen, in something that feels like clouds.
"We went to three different stores," Oakley says quietly.
Dorian pulls out more items. My favorite tea—the expensive loose-leaf kind I can never afford. A box of dark chocolate truffles from that place downtown. Protein bars. A heating pad still in its package. A hand-blown glass water bottle. The fuzzy socks I was looking at online last week.
