I stumble backward, nearly tripping again. “I’m so sorry! I’ll just…I’ll wait outside!”
I practically run from the bathroom, cheeks blazing, heart thundering so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t burst from my chest. In the main room, I press my back against the wall and try to remember how to breathe.
What the hell is happening to me?
I’m a trained warrior. I’ve killed enemies without flinching. I’ve stood beside the Queen and never wavered. But five seconds in that bathroom, and I turn into a blushing, stammering mess?
The image is seared into my mind. His shoulders. The defined muscles of his stomach. How his damp skin gleamed like bronze in the light filtering through the window. The scars that marked him—proof of battles fought and survived.
And…other things. Things I definitely should not be thinking about. Things that make heat pool low in my belly and my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin. I didn’t know men could be that…big! I’ve never seen—
My face burns even hotter, and I squeeze my eyes shut again, refusing to let my mind go there. Gods, what is wrong with me?
“Get yourself together,” I mutter, pressing my palms to my hot cheeks. “He’s an alpha. Your temporary assignment. That’s all.”
I hear movement from the bathroom. The rustle of fabric. He’s getting dressed. Thank the heavens.
I straighten my spine and school my expression into something resembling professionalism. I am Daciana, personal guard to the Queen, skilled warrior, survivor of near-fatalattacks. I will not be undone by the sight of a naked man, no matter how magnificent he is.
The door opens.
Kieran emerges, fully clothed now in simple, dark trousers and a loose, white shirt that is still unlaced at the collar. His hair is damp, pushed back from his face, and his eyes find mine instantly.
“Are you alright?” he asks, genuine concern beneath the amusement.
“Fine,” I say too quickly. “Perfectly fine. I apologize for barging in like that. It won’t happen again.”
He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he moves toward a table where papers are spread out, giving me space. Letting me breathe.
“I wanted to discuss your new role as liaison,” he says, his voice professional now. But I catch the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
I clear my throat. “Of course. What do you want me to do?”
He glances back at me, and for just a second, heat flashes in his eyes. It’s gone so quickly, I think I might have imagined it, but it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Many things,” he says quietly. Then, more briskly, “But we can start with coordinating communication between my delegation and the royal court.”
I nod, trying to focus on his words instead of how his shirt hangs open at the throat, revealing a glimpse of the chest I just had my hands on.
This is going to be a very long assignment.
An hour later,I’m back in my own quarters, finally alone. The meeting was professional. Straightforward. Kieran outlined my duties: coordinating schedules, facilitating communication, ensuring his delegation’s needs are met while maintaining diplomatic protocol. Nothing unusual. Nothing inappropriate. Except for the fact that he expects me to be by his side constantly. Even at night: he’s making arrangements for me to be housed in the chamber next to his.
Why?
I’m supposed to be a liaison. What does he think he’ll need me for at three in the morning? A few ideas certainly come to mind, and each makes my head spin. He wouldn’t want that from me, though. I’m sure he has plenty of females back in his pack. And I know I’m not the most feminine woman around.
But the entire time he was outlining my role, all I could think about was the feel of his skin beneath my fingers. How he’d looked at me with amusement and something darker, something that had made my wolf whine and pace restlessly.
I sink onto my bed and bury my face in my hands. “What is happening to me?” I mutter.
I’ve never reacted like this to a man before. Never felt this pull, this overwhelming awareness of another person’s presence. It’s more than just physical attraction, although that is potent enough to make my knees weak.
It’s something deeper. Something that causes my wolf to surge forward every time I’m near him, like she recognizes him in ways I can’t comprehend. Like there’s a thread connecting us that I can’t see but can feel pulling taut.
But it’s not a fated mate bond. I would know.
Wouldn’t I?
