“I can sleep on the floor if you want,” Leyden offered. “Or in the guest room.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than Connor intended. Through the bond, he felt a spike of loneliness from his mate, quickly suppressed. Leyden had spent years surrounded by people, by bodies and heat and sex, but he’d still been alone. “I want to be with you.”
Leyden’s smile was soft, genuine. “Then get under the covers before you freeze.”
Connor slid beneath the blankets, careful to maintain distance between them. The sheets smelled like Leyden - clean and masculine with an underlying scent uniquely his. Connor’s wolf rumbled contentedly at being surrounded by his mate’s scent.
They lay side by side, a foot of mattress between them. Connor stared at the ceiling, every muscle locked tight.
“Breathe,” Leyden murmured.
Connor forced air into his lungs. Out. In. Out.
“Better.” Leyden shifted slightly. “Can I hold your hand?”
Such a simple question. Such a small thing. But Connor’s heart pounded like Leyden had asked for something monumental.
“Yeah.”
Leyden’s fingers threaded through his, palm to palm, warm and solid. Connor waited for the familiar itch, the urgent need to pullaway that always hit when someone touched him. But it didn’t come. Instead, warmth spread from their joined hands up his arm, settling into his chest like a banked fire.
Through the bond, Connor felt Leyden’s arousal - a steady hum of desire that never quite faded. But stronger than that was contentment. Peace. And something else Connor couldn’t quite name but recognized instinctively.
Love?
Not the desperate, consuming passion of the romance novels some of Connor’s packmates would sneak off and read. What Connor could feel was quieter, steadier…more intimate.
“This okay?” Leyden asked.
“Yeah.” Connor squeezed his mate’s hand. “This is good.”
His eyes grew heavy, the adrenaline from the fight and claiming finally draining away. For the first time in his life, Connor fell asleep with another person beside him.
/~/~/~/~/
Connor woke to an empty bed.
No panic followed, no confusion about where he was or why. Just the absence of warmth where Leyden had been, and through the bond, a steady pulse of presence from somewhere else in the house.
The clock on the nightstand read 7:47. Connor stretched, working out the stiffness in his muscles from yesterday’s fight. The claiming bite on his neck tingled when he rolled his shoulder.
He found his mate in the kitchen, barefoot in worn jeans and a T-shirt, reheating containers of food in the microwave. Leyden glanced up when Connor appeared in the doorway.
“Coffee’s fresh,” Leyden said, nodding toward the pot.
Connor poured himself a cup, watching Leyden move around the kitchen. His mate hadn’t tried to wake him, hadn’t climbed back into bed to cuddle or push for morning intimacy. Just gave Connor space to wake up on his own terms.
The quiet consideration settled warm in Connor’s chest.
“Hungry?” Leyden pulled a container from the microwave, steam rising from what looked like scrambled eggs and sausage.
“Starving.”
They ate at the kitchen table, forks scraping against plates, comfortable silence broken only by the occasional comment about the food or observation about the weather. Easy conversation. Natural. Like they’d been sharing breakfast for years instead of days.
Connor speared a piece of sausage. “What time do you think people will start showing up?”
“Soon.” Leyden checked his phone. “Walter texted at six. Said he’d be here by eight to give his decision personally.”
