Her fingers relaxed in my shirt, sliding instead to rest over my heart.
Wolf—protective, hardened, trained—felt that touch like something breaking open inside him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.
I stroked her hair back, letting my knuckles graze her cheek. “Me too.”
She curled against my chest, head beneath my chin, and I held her as if someone might try to take her away in her sleep.
They wouldn’t.
Not while I breathed.
Her voice came small but steady:
“Do you think he’s close?”
I hesitated—but only for a breath.
“I think he’s not far enough for my liking,” I admitted. “But that’s why we’re not giving him a second alone with you. Not day. Not night.”
I felt her nod against my chest.
For a while, we lay there in quiet.
Her breathing steadied.
Her trembling eased.
Her fingers curled in my shirt again—this time not from fear, but comfort.
When she finally drifted back to sleep, it was against my shoulder, her body warm and soft in my arms.
I stayed awake.
Listening.
Watching.
Waiting.
Because the nightmare might have been in her head—
But the danger wasn’t.
24
Wolf
Nora finally drifted back into sleep—soft, warm, tucked against my chest.
I stayed awake.
I always stayed awake after a nightmare.
Especially when it wasn’t mine.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the hallway light filtering under the door. The apartment was quiet—too quiet. Trigger’s boots weren’t pacing. Havoc wasn’t shifting in his chair. Even Saint’s low murmurs into his comm were absent.
