Trigger muttered, “Man’s not even pretending anymore.”
Saint didn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Nora didn’t blush this time.
She stepped into my space—trusting me with all of it.
“Show me,” she whispered.
And I did.
I led her back toward the room we now shared—not out of convenience, but necessity, protection, and something deeper neither of us was ready to name yet.
Not out loud.
But the truth was simple:
I wasn’t letting anything touch her.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
27
Nora
Wolf’s hand stayed on the small of my back as he led me down the hallway—steady, warm, grounding. I didn’t realize how much I needed that touch until it was there… and then I couldn’t imagine letting it go.
The others moved with silent purpose, posting themselves at choke points, checking windows, updating sensors. I knew they were securing the building, but it was Wolf I watched.
The way his shoulders stayed tense.
The way his eyes scanned every shadow.
The way he positioned himself between me and anything that might be a threat.
Not possessive.
Protective.
When we reached the room, he opened the door slowly, checking first like the space might suddenly contain something dangerous.
Only when he was satisfied did he nod for me to enter.
I stepped inside.
Everything felt different.
Like danger had seeped into the walls.
Wolf shut the door behind us, then slid the deadbolt home with a decisive click that echoed.
He turned to me, bracing one hand on the wall beside the door, head lowered, breathing controlled—but barely.
“Come here,” he said softly.
It wasn’t a command.
