He would have said something.
I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. I’ve always tried to keep a distance from Kieran, but the more our paths cross, the deeper this attraction grows.
A knock at my door makes me jump.
“Come in,” I call, composing myself.
A familiar-looking shifter enters. Kieran’s right-hand man, Artisem. He’s carrying a wicker basket.
“From Alpha Kieran,” he says with a smile, setting the delivery down on my table. “He said to make sure you ate.”
I stare at the basket after he leaves. Inside are more of those exotic fruits, along with fresh bread and cheese and a sealed container that, when I open it, releases the aroma of rich stew.
Why does he keep sending me food?
My wolf rumbles contentedly. She’s thriving in all this attention, enjoying being cared for, being courted…
No. He’s not courting me. I look at the basket, confusion warring with something warmer in my chest.
What is he doing?
The next morning,I’m woken by a knock at my door before dawn has fully broken. When I answer, still bleary-eyed, I find a small army of servants from Kieran’s delegation waiting there.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Your relocation, miss,” one of them says cheerfully. “Alpha Kieran’s orders.”
I want to protest, but they’re already moving past me, efficiently gathering my few possessions. Within an hour,everything I own has been transported to my new chambers—the ones adjacent to Kieran’s.
When Artisem arrives to oversee the final arrangements, I turn to him with my arms crossed. “This is only a temporary assignment, you know.”
“Yes, of course.” His smile is far too cheerful for this early in the morning. “But we may be here for quite a long time, so this is just for your comfort.”
The door to my new chambers opens, and I step inside.
I stop dead in my tracks.
“There must be some mistake,” I say weakly, staring around at the space that’s easily three times the size of my old quarters. Rich tapestries hang on the walls. The bed is enormous, draped in silks that probably cost more than I make in a year. There’s a sitting area with plush chairs, a writing desk of polished mahogany, and is that a private bathroom?
“No mistake,” Artisem says, still smiling.
I turn to look at him, my mouth opening and closing. Throughout the morning, as the servants finish arranging my things, I notice something odd. They’re all incredibly respectful toward me. More than respectful—almost deferential. They bow when they pass. Ask permission before moving anything. Treat me like I’m someone important rather than just a soldier doing her job.
“Are they scared of me or something?” I finally ask Artisem, watching as a young woman practically curtsies before leaving the room.
He fights a smile. “No.”
“Then why—”
“You’re the liaison,” he says simply. “They respect the position.”
Something about his tone makes me think there’s more to it than that, but before I can press him, he excuses himself.
I’m just starting to settle in, running my fingers over the impossibly soft bedding, when a knock sounds at my new door.
This time, it’s Kieran.
The moment I see him standing in my doorway, warmth floods my face. Because all I can see is yesterday. Him. Water running down every ridge and plane of muscle. How he looked at me while I stammered like an idiot with the backs of my hands pressed against his bare chest.
