I wait another hour to be certain, listening to her breathing slow and steady, letting my own heart rate settle into something approaching normal. My rut has begun to recede as well, the urgent pressure easing as her pheromones lose their overwhelming potency. The relief is almost painful, muscles unclenching that I didn't realize I'd been holding for three straight days.
When I finally unlock the door and step inside, the sight that greets me stops me cold.
Iris lies curled in the center of the bed, surrounded by a nest of pillows and furs that she's dragged from every corner of the room. The blankets have been arranged in careful layers, creating a cocoon of softness and warmth. She's buried in the middle of it, only her face visible, her dark hair spread across the pillows like spilled ink.
She's nesting. The omega instinct to create a safe space, to build a den for herself and her mate. I doubt she even remembers doing it. The behavior is pure biology, surfacing from the depths of genetics she didn't know she possessed.
My wolf rumbles with satisfaction at the sight. This is right. This is how it should be. Our mate, in our territory, building a home for the family we'll create together. The possessivesurge that rolls through me is almost overwhelming, but I force it down. She's not ready yet. She's barely survived the heat. Pushing now would undo everything these three days have cost us.
I approach the bed slowly, letting her hear my footsteps, giving her time to register my presence. Her eyes flutter open as I sink onto the mattress beside her nest, red-rimmed and exhausted but clearer than they've been since the heat began.
She looks at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then her gaze travels over me, taking in the rumpled clothes, the shadows beneath my eyes, the haggard lines of a man who hasn't slept in three days.
"You didn't touch me," she says. Her voice is a ragged whisper, scraped raw from days of screaming.
"No."
"Why?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with everything we've both endured. I could give her the answer I've been telling myself, the one about conquest and surrender and wanting her to remember the moment she broke. It's true, as far as it goes. But looking at her now, pale and exhausted and watching me with something that isn't quite hate anymore, I find that a different truth wants to emerge.
"Because I've waited years to have you," I say slowly, choosing my words with care. "I've watched you grow from a fierce girl into a fiercer woman. I've memorized every detail your grandmother sent me, every photograph, every report. I've imagined this moment a thousand different ways." I pause, holding her gaze. "And in none of them did I take you while you were too lost in heat to know what was happening. Taking a woman who can't remember my name isn't a conquest. It's just rutting. I want more than that. I want you to know exactly who'sclaiming you, and I want you to feel it in your bones for the rest of your life."
Her brow furrows slightly, confusion mixing with the exhaustion. "You want credit for not raping me while I was delirious? You kidnapped me. You stole my pills. You locked me in this room and let me suffer for three days."
"Yes." I don't flinch from the accusation. "I did all of that. And I'd do it again, because it was the only way to strip away the lies your grandmother wrapped around you. The only way to make you face what you are." I lean closer, but I don't touch her. Not yet. "But taking you in the middle of your heat, when you couldn't think past the need, when you would have begged anyone to make it stop? There's no victory in that. I want you to surrender because I broke you. Not because biology did."
She stares at me, her lips parted slightly, her breath coming faster despite her exhaustion. I can see her processing my words, turning them over, looking for the trap she's certain must be hidden inside them. Smart woman. There is a trap, just not the kind she's expecting.
"So what now?" she asks finally. "The heat is over. I'm still here. Still your prisoner. Still bound by a pact I never agreed to." Her chin lifts, a shadow of her usual defiance surfacing through the fatigue. "What happens next?"
I reach out slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, and brush a strand of damp hair from her forehead. She flinches at the contact but doesn't retreat. Progress.
"Now you rest," I say. "You eat. You recover your strength." My fingers trail down her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, and I feel her shiver beneath the touch. "And when you're ready, when you can look at me without the heat clouding your judgment, we'll discuss what comes next."
"And if what comes next is me trying to escape again?"
The smile that curves my lips is more wolf than man. "Then I'll hunt you down again. And again. And again, as many times as it takes." I withdraw my hand and rise from the bed, putting distance between us before my restraint can slip. "But I don't think you will. I think you're starting to understand that running won't change what you are. It won't change what's between us."
She doesn't respond, but her eyes follow me as I move toward the door. There's something different in her gaze now, something that wasn't there before the heat began. Not submission. Not surrender. But perhaps the first crack in the armor she's been wearing since she arrived.
It's a start.
"Signe will bring you food and fresh clothes," I say from the doorway. "The door will remain unlocked. You're free to move about the keep as you wish, though I'd recommend resting today." I pause, looking back at her one final time. "And Iris? The next time you scream my name, I want it to be because you're coming apart beneath me. Not because you're suffering alone on the other side of a locked door."
The flush that colors her pale cheeks is deeply satisfying. So is the spark of fury that reignites in her eyes. Good. I want her angry. I want her fighting. I want her to come to me with all that fire intact, so I can feel it burn when she finally surrenders.
I close the door behind me and lean against the wall, breathing deep for the first time in three days. The worst is over. The heat has passed, and she's still here, still alive, still mine.
But as I push away from the wall and head toward my own quarters, where a bath and a bed and blessed unconsciousness await, I can't shake the image of her curled in that nest of pillows and furs. Building a den. Preparing a home.
For me. For us. For what's coming next.
My wolf settles in my chest with a rumble of contentment, and for once, I don't argue with him.
The waiting isn't over. But the shape of it has changed. And somewhere in that room behind me, Iris is learning what I've known for years.
She was always going to be mine. The only question was how long she'd make us both suffer first.
