Ican’t stop watching her sleep.
Emma lies curled against my chest, one leg hooked over mine, and her warm breath puffing against my skin.
Her contentment hums beneath my ribs like a second heartbeat. Different from my own emotions, softer somehow. And even unconscious, she radiates a sense of finally belonging that makes my throat thick with emotion.
Mine.
The word loops through my head, my bear’s smug possessiveness not fading one bit. My mate. My woman. And my responsibility now, in ways that go beyond simple protection.
I trace my fingers over her shoulder blade, following the path of her spine. The temptation to wake her, to lose myself in her body again, is strong. After I took her over and over, driven by a hunger that wouldn’t quit, she needs rest.
The bear has gone quiet for the first time in months. No pacing beneath my skin, no constant push for violence. Just satisfied and content with the knowledge that she’s here and she’s safe. The rest will come. Once we’re together, we’ll be okay.
A sharp knock shatters the peace.
Emma jerks awake, her whole body going rigid against mine, her terror floods my system like ice water. Heart hammering and adrenaline spiking, a vice-like tightness of panic now grips her chest.
Fuck.
I pull her tight against me, hand cupping her nape. “Just someone at the door. You’re okay.”
She blinks, focusing on my face, but the fear still pulses between us. Her body stays tense, ready to bolt.
“Sorry.” Her voice shakes. “I didn’t mean to. I was just startled.”
“Stop.” I press my forehead to hers, breathing slowly until she matches my rhythm. “No apologies. Not for this.”
Another knock, but louder. My growl vibrates through both our chests, and Emma’s eyes widen. She can feel my anger through the bond now, that intensity I usually keep hidden.
“Stay here.” I grab my jeans off the floor. “I’ll handle it.”
I wrench the door open, ready to tear into whoever’s interrupted us, until I find Mitch standing on the porch, already backing up at my expression. He takes in my appearance: sleep-messed hair, scratches down my neck, and jeans barely buttoned.
“Bad time?” He winces.
“What do you think?”
His gaze lingers on the nail marks Emma left across my throat. “Right. Newly mated. Got it.” He clears his throat. “The Anderson pack sent a messenger. They want to meet with the new alpha. Figured you’d want to know.”
“Next week.” I start to close the door.
“Bodhi, they seemed eager to…”
“I said next week.” My voice drops to a growl. “I’m newly mated. Anyone who pushes that will deal with a very pissed-off bear. I doubt that’s the version of me they want to meet.”
A grin spreads across Mitch’s face. “Fair enough. Congratulations, by the way.”
I shut the door before he can say more.
Back in the kitchen, I make coffee while the bond pulses with Emma’s lingering anxiety. She’s embarrassed by the panic attack; I can feel that too. The brave mask she wore yesterday with Ray, the strength she showed deciding to stay, all of it is real. But underneath, there still lives the woman who spent days in Kozlov’s hands. That trauma won’t vanish overnight, no matter how much she wishes it would.
When I bring two mugs back to the bedroom, she’s sitting against the headboard, sheet pulled up to her chest. Through the bond, her emotions swirl: happiness at seeing me, shame at the panic earlier, worry that I’ll think less of her.
“I should hate that you can feel everything now,” she says quietly. “There’s nowhere to hide.”
I settle beside her and pull her against my chest. “You’re not supposed to hide from me. It means I’ll know when you need me. When to hold you or give you space.” I kiss the top of her head. “And when to murder whoever knocks on our door at inconvenient times.”
Her laugh is small but real. She sips her coffee, and I feel her anxiety gradually settle, replaced by something steadier. After a few minutes of quiet, she sets the mug on the nightstand and looks up at me.
