“That’s not the same thing.”
“You claimed her in front of the whole pack, Connor. Whether she wants to admit it or not, whether you want to admit it or not, that means something. The bond doesn’t lie.”
I think about the way Fern kissed me back in her office. The way her body melted against mine before she shoved me away and called me a prick. The way she looked at me in the woods on our mating night, all fire and fury and something else underneath that neither of us was ready to acknowledge.
“She’s scared,” I tell him. “Of me. Of what I represent. Of everything that’s happened since she got here.”
“Can you blame her?”
“No. I can’t blame her for any of it. She has every right to hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.” Dylan steps closer, glances toward the cottage, and lowers his voice. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching. That’s not hate, Connor. That’s a woman who’s terrified of how much she feels and doesn’t know what to do about it.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe that somewhere underneath all her anger and fear, Fern feels even a fraction of what I feel for her. But wanting something doesn’t make it true.
“Go run your patrol,” I deflect. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
Dylan holds eye contact for a long moment and then sighs and shakes his head. “You’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever met.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He’s already backing toward the tree line, and he raises a hand in farewell. “I’ll check in later. Try not to freeze to death while I’m gone.”
I watch him disappear into the darkness, and then I turn back toward the cottage.
Fern’s heartbeat is slow and steady now. Deep sleep. Good. She needs it after everything she’s been through.
I make one more circuit of the property and check every door and window along the way. The sheet she pinned over the broken kitchen glass flutters in the breeze, and I wedge a chair under the back door handle and test it twice to make sure it holds. Tomorrow I’ll have someone come out to replace the pane. For tonight, this will have to do.
The front porch has a decent view of the street and the path leading up from town. I slide against the wall beside the door and stretch my legs out in front of me. The wood is cold and hard, but I’ve slept in worse places during training exercises and border patrols. At least here I can hear her breathing. At least here I can reach her in seconds if something goes wrong.
The hours crawl past. I track the moon’s arc across the sky, count stars, and listen to the small sounds of the town settling into sleep. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. An owl calls from the trees behind the cottage. A cat slinks across the yard and pauses to stare at me before disappearing into the shadows.
Dylan texts every so often, just like he promised.Perimeter clear. Eastern border quiet. No sign of movement.
I send back acknowledgments and keep my eyes on the darkness, and my ears tuned to the steady rhythm of Fern’s heart.
Around three in the morning, exhaustion finally catches up with me. I lean my head against the wall and let my eyes drift shut. Just for a minute. Just to rest them.
The next thing I know, the door is flying open, and Fern is standing over me with her mouth hanging open.
“What the hell?”
I blink against the morning and try to remember where I am. My neck screams in protest as I lift my head, and my back feels like someone spent the night beating it with a hammer. Every joint in my body aches from hours spent sitting on cold wood in the November chill.
“Connor, what are you doing here?” Fern’s voice climbs higher with each syllable.
I push myself upright and wince at the symphony of pops and cracks from my spine. “Morning.”
“Don’t you ‘morning’ me.” She crosses her arms over her chest and glares down at me. She’s still in the clothes she wore yesterday—rumpled now from sleep—and her hair is a wild tangle around her face. Dark circles shadow her eyes. “Have you been out here all night?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“I told you I’d have someone watching the cottage.” I stretch my arms overhead and feel my shoulders realign with a satisfying crack. “I never said it wouldn’t be me.”
“That’s insane.” She throws her hands up and paces to the edge of the porch and back. “You can’t just sleep on my porch like some kind of—”
