He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay. Yeah. I'll move in.”
Relief flooded through me so strong it made my hands shake.
“But I'm keeping some tools at the old house,” he added. “And if living together means you get to be even more overprotective, we're having words.”
“I'll try to restrain myself.”
“Liar.” But he kissed me anyway, soft and slow and full of promises.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were drifting closed. “Love you,” he mumbled. “Even when you're impossible.”
“Love you too. Now sleep. I've got you.”
His breathing evened out within minutes. I watched him in the moonlight, silver patterns painting across his skin, and tried not to think about how close I'd come to losing this.
Eventually I slept, but it was restless, full of dreams where Michael bled out in my arms.
I woketo the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Soft, careful, the kind of steps that meant someone was trying not to be heard. My wolf surged up immediately, and I slipped out of bed without waking Michael.
The hallway was dark, lit only by moonlight. And at the far end, near the stairs, I saw a figure moving.
Rafe.
He stood at the top of the stairs, still and silent, looking back toward my door. Even from this distance I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had clenched into fists.
Our eyes met across the darkness.
For a second, I saw something in his expression that made every instinct scream danger. Rage, carefully controlled. Hatred,carefully masked. The look of someone who'd watched their plans fail and was recalculating.
Then his face smoothed into something pleasant, and he moved toward me.
“Daniel,” he said quietly. “I heard you got back. Is Michael okay?”
“He's fine.” I kept my voice neutral, but my wolf was snarling underneath. “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn't sleep.” His eyes tracked past me to my closed door, and something flickered in his expression. “I'm glad he survived. Would have been a real loss.”
The words were right. The tone was right. But something underneath felt wrong. Like concern wrapped around malice.
“Get some rest,” I said. “Evan's got perimeter covered.”
“Of course.” Rafe smiled, and it didn't reach his eyes. “Just wanted to make sure everyone was safe.”
Then he was down the stairs and gone.
24
TRAITOR
MICHAEL
The café smelled like coffee and cinnamon rolls and the particular warmth that came from Martha's domain. She looked up from behind the counter, took one look at my face, and her expression shifted into something knowing and fond.
“Well,” she said, voice carrying just enough to make me want to sink through the floor. “Someone's having a good morning.”
“Coffee,” I managed. “Please.”
