We sway, body to body, and I melt into him as he strokes the bare small of my back. He’s all alpha when he nuzzles my temple, marking me with his scent, all power and hot skin and rippling muscles, but he’s so much more than that, too. He’s impossibly sweet, stealing my breath with every soft, lingering touch.
Despite knowing this alpha longer than anyone else here, the affection between us feelsnew. After a saccharine summer romance and the tumult of being wrenched apart, after the bitter barbs we slung at each other and all the secrets we kept, we reach for each other like tendrils reaching for the sun. It’s love that grows between us, I know it is, and while it may be new, a single sprig forcing its way up from the dark and into the light, it’s strong.
The song ends just before I work up the courage to tilt my head up and capture his lips in a kiss. I let out a shuddering sigh and when I look up and meet his intent gaze, I know he feels exactly the same as I do.
My sweet, protective alpha. The alpha who would burn the world to ash just to keep me safe.
He is absolutely, irrevocably mine.
And as he presses a fervent kiss to my temple, I am his.
* * *
Simon blearily crawlsinto my nest on Saturday morning after spending the whole night at his computer. He sinks into my arms and rests his head on my chest, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh.
“I found it,” he murmurs. “A connection between the Soldiers of Saint Aldous and the Office of the Prime Minister.”
I thread my fingers through his rust-red curls as he yawns, and he leans into my touch—but he doesn’t relax.
“The Soldiers of Saint Aldous have funneled millions and millions of dollars into his pockets—enough to finance the biggest reelection campaign in Canadian history. It was nearly impossible to trace the so-called donations. They went through offshore accounts and shell companies, but they’re there if you know where to look. Plain as day. Our highest governmental official’s influence can be bought, and it has been. Saints only know what he’s promised the Soldiers.”
Simon has found what Graeme’s plant was looking for and it’s far worse than we’d imagined.
He nuzzles against me with a yawn, and I wrap my arms around him, curling against him as I run my fingers through his hair.
“Have a nap with me. We can face all of this after that.”
He lets out a soft hum of agreement and brushes a kiss over my collarbone, and though he finds sleep in the comfort of our embrace, I do not. Sleep eludes me, and when Simon rolls away, I cover him with one of my blankets and then dig out my Draughts and Potions textbook. I try to study, to memorize the potion recipes we’ll be tested on at midterms, but I can barely focus.
I have to tell Ian about Cadigan—and sooner rather than later—but I can’t figure out how to broach the subject, how to make him believe me. I have no proof other than the thoughts I’ve caught from the older alpha, and Cadigan could deny all of it. Ian could believe him. I want to believe that Ian will listen to me, that he’ll trust me and my affinity, but Cadigan has meant so much to him for so long.
Just as I’m trying to return my focus to the sleeping draught I’m attempting to memorize, my vision goes fuzzy and piercing pain rips through my head.
A knock sounds at the door to my nest and I call for the person on the other side to come in, grimacing as I rub my temples.
The knock repeats, and my vision clears with a rush of burning pain.
“Come… come in?” I repeat, frowning.
The door slowly cracks open, and Cassian pokes his head into my nest, brow creased in consternation. “Uh, Junes? You just told me to come in before I even knocked. Tell me you heard me coming.”
I didn’t. I was so absorbed in my thoughts and his steps were so light that I didn’t hear a thing. I bite my lip and shake my head.
“Affinity?”
“It wouldn’t be the first vision I’ve had,” I say quietly, trying not to wake Simon, but he’s already stirring beside me.
“What it is, Cass?” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He kneels at the edge of my nest, hesitant and uncertain, but I beckon him to join us. The moment Cassian settles in beside me, Simon goes into his arms, resting his head against Cassian’s shoulder.
“Hear from the detective?” Simon yawns.
Cassian’s lips press into a flat line. “His plant was found dead in her cell very early this morning. It was ruled a suicide, but Miller thinks otherwise.”
“After what I’ve found, so do I,” Simon says quietly, wrapping his arms around our alpha. Warm, midmorning sunlight filters in through the high windows in my nest, bathing them in golden light, and for a moment, they look so beautiful, so peaceful, that I can almost forget what Simon found.
“He’s been going through what you sent him all morning, says it’s brilliant work. He’s itching to offer you a job in the Office of International Investigations when you graduate, by the way.”
