Her gaze shifts to me, and I feel it. Like she’s sizing me up, measuring me against something she’s not saying. “Do you even know what that means?” she asks me directly.
Before I can speak, Darius cuts in, his tone hard enough to make the space between us feel like glass about to crack. “She knows enough.”
Mary pushes off the wall, stepping closer to me. “Enough to know the second you carry his scent, you’re a target for anyone who wants to hurt him? Enough to know that shifters who smell that on you might test it, just to see if he bleeds for you?”
“Mary—” Darius’s voice is warning now.
“No,” I say, my own voice steady though my hands are curled tight at my sides. “I didn’t know that. But I also know I’d rather be marked than be treated like some unclaimed outsider.”
Her brow arches, something sharp flickering across her expression. “You think being claimed makes you safe? It makes you his responsibility, his weakness. And the ones coming for him won’t hesitate to use it. Darius, what were you thinking? Nevermind, I know you weren’t.”
Darius steps between us, his frame blocking her view of me entirely. “This isn’t your call.”
She doesn’t back down. “You think you’re protecting her, but you’ve just made her part of the fight, Darius. You can’t unmake that.”
He stares her down, the air between them tense enough to hum. “She’s already part of it by being here. Now she’s protected.”
Mary’s eyes cut to me one last time before she turns on her heel and walks away, the sound of her boots fading down the hall.
I exhale slowly, realizing I’ve been holding my breath. Darius doesn’t move for a moment, his shoulders still tense, like he’s expecting her to come back and push again.
He turns to me, and the tension in his eyes eases, just a little. “Ignore her.”
I shake my head. “She’s not wrong.”
His jaw works, but he doesn’t argue. He just steps closer, close enough that his scent—my scent now—wraps around me again. “Maybe not. But I’ll keep you breathing. That’s the only thing that matters.”
And with the way his eyes lock on mine, I almost believe him completely.
20
DARIUS
It’s been three days since I put my scent on her, and the air around the estate hasn’t been the same since.
Not because of Mary—though she still moves through the halls like she’s carrying some private storm about what I did—but because the whole place smells different now. Every breath I take, she’s there. Her scent clings to my hands, my clothes, the walls, the goddamn sheets. I thought it might fade a little with time, but instead it’s grown sharper, richer, like the claiming settled into her and decided to stay.
It’s grounding. Dangerous. And exactly what I wanted.
But tonight, the air changes again. Subtle at first, so faint a human would miss it entirely. Not me.
The wind carries it in through the north treeline, threading through the open windows like it owns the place. It slips under my skin, old and familiar, a rot-sweet tang undercut by something sharp and vulpine.
Roman.
I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved, crossing the study in three strides to the weapons chest. My hands are steady as I unfasten the lock, but my heart’s already gone to war. Thescent is deliberate: placed, not drifting. He wants me to know he’s been here. He wants me to smell it every time I draw breath until I choke on it.
It’s a message.
And I know Roman well enough to hear it without a single word:I can reach you. I can reach her.
I draw one of the silver-edged blades, the weight of it pulling my arm into readiness the way an old scar reminds you of the fight that made it. My other hand pulls the heavier crossguard sword from the rack. Steel and silver—always. I learned that lesson a long time ago.
By the time I hit the back doors, Mary’s already there, barefoot in black, her hair a loose tangle like she’s been moving fast. She doesn’t speak right away, just stands in the doorway and lifts her chin toward the woods.
“You smell it too,” she says finally.
“Roman.”
