The single word, so vulnerable, so unlike the fierce warrior who had commanded armies of technicians just minutes ago, made something twist painfully in his chest.
“I promise.”
Her eyes drifted closed. Within moments, her breathing evened out into the deep rhythm of true sleep.
He stayed kneeling beside the bed for a long time, watching her face relax, watching the tension drain from her body. His wolf settled into quiet contentment, satisfied that their mate was safe and protected, but Derek’s words still echoed in his mind.
What are you asking her to give up?
He looked around the luxurious room, thought of the high-tech command center below, the team that jumped at her every word,the world of screens and data and digital battles where she reigned supreme. Then he thought of the mountains. The forest. The pack compound with its rustic lodges and suspicious Elders and traditions that stretched back centuries.
How could he ask her to choose that life over this?
How could he ask her to give up the world where she was a queen for a life where she’d always be an outsider?
She shifted in her sleep, her hand reaching out. Her fingers brushed against his knee, and even unconscious, she seemed to relax further at the contact.
He covered her hand with his.
Maybe Derek was right. Maybe he was asking too much. But watching her sleep, feeling the bond between them pulse with new intimacy, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
He wasn’t letting her go.
Whatever it took—whatever compromises needed to be made, whatever battles needed to be fought, whatever traditions needed to be broken—he would find a way to give her everything she needed.
Chapter Twenty
Golden sunlight filtered through expensive silk curtains, painting warm stripes across Harper’s face. She blinked awake slowly, her mind fuzzy and pleasantly blank—a sensation so unfamiliar it took her a moment to identify it.
Rest. Actual, genuine, restorative rest.
When was the last time that had happened?
She stretched experimentally, cataloging the small aches and tensions that had become background noise in her life. Most of them were… gone. Her neck didn’t cramp. Her shoulders didn’t burn. Even the persistent headache that lived behind her eyes had retreated to a dull whisper.
Huh.
Then she registered the warmth pressed against her back, the heavy arm draped over her waist, and the slow, rhythmic breathing that stirred her hair.
Adrian.
He’d stayed. Just like he promised.
She carefully rolled over, trying not to wake him, but golden-brown eyes were already watching her with that intense focus that made her stomach flutter.
“Morning. Or perhaps I should say afternoon.”
His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual, and it sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“Afternoon.” She reached up to push hair out of her face, suddenly self-conscious about her appearance. She probably looked like a disaster—tangled ponytail, pillow creases on her cheek. “How long was I out?”
“Nine hours.”
“Nine—” She bolted upright, sheets tangling around her legs. “The servers! The trace data! Did anyone?—”
“Handled.” He caught her wrist and tugged her back down. “Your team ran the analysis. No secondary threats detected. The attackers have withdrawn completely.”
“But I should verify?—”
