By the time the doorbell rang, I’d changed clothes three times, wiped down the already-clean counter twice, and made the monumental decision to let my kitchen exist in its natural state of organized chaos.
I wasn’t hosting a PR event. I wasn’t meeting someone’s parents.
Still, my stomach flipped as I crossed the room and opened the door.
Roan stood there, big and warm and so familiar now it almost startled me. No armor, no uniform, no scent of woodsmoke and snow. Just him. His eyes landed on mine, and for a second, we didn’t speak.
Then he held up a six-pack of ginger beer and said, “Told the others to come later.”
I stepped back to let him in, heart skipping a little. “Did you tell them why?”
He glanced at me sideways, his mouth curving. “Told them to grab something decent for dinner and give us space. They got the message.”
I liked that. Not the part where he took control, but that hemade spacefor this. For me. For us.
He moved into the kitchen like he’d been there before, setting the drinks on the counter and turning back to face me, easy in his body but alert under the surface, like he’d been turning this conversation over in his head for hours.
And then, without preamble, he said, “I wanted to talk to you. About how you want to handle… this.”
There it was.
This.
The unsaid, unclaimed territory between heat and real life. The thing that lingered after the mating haze cleared and you had to figure out if anything was still left standing.
I leaned against the counter, arms loose at my sides, heart ticking faster. “Handle it how?”
His gaze was steady. “You tell me.”
I hesitated, then asked the only question that mattered. “Do we have a relationship?”
His eyes flared faintly. Not startled. Justfierce. Then, very calmly, he said, “Yes.”
Before I could react or respond to that, a low growl slipped from somewhere in his chest. It wasn’t threatening. If anything it was almost… reluctant. Like it had broken free without his permission.
Roan paused, took a breath, and visibly dialed himself back.
“Yes,” he said again, quieter now. “We do. And if you need more convincing…” He stepped closer, not crowding butpresent, his voice dropping an octave, “I’m on board.”
There was no teasing in his tone. No manipulation. Just Roan being absolutely clear. He wasn’t asking if I wanted him to claim me. He wasofferingto stay. To be mine, if I’d have him.
I felt the corners of my mouth lift. Whatever awkwardness I’d braced for… it just wasn’t here. He didn’t leave room for it.
It wasn’t pressure. It was him being here, with me, in this moment—together. I should have known he would do this, thathe would sand the edges off and make this about us as a team. This was him saying,I’m here. What do you want?
I took a breath, giving myself a moment in the quiet humming between us.
“I think I’m still figuring out what that looks like,” I admitted. “For you. For Rhett. For Jay. For me. For all of us.”
While I may not know everything, I did know that there was anus. It had been there before they’d come for me and it was definitely present the morning after, the day after, and tonight now that we were home.
“No matter what or how we decide, I know I want something real.”
Roan’s nod was slow. “Then we’ll build it. On your terms. Butours, too.” The fact he added that last bit settled some of the unease in my system. He’d given me a lot of power while I’d been in the throes of heat and I adored him for it. But…
“Good,” I said, answering what felt like a promise from him with one of my own. “If you didn’t include your thoughts and feelings in this, I’d have more objections.”
“Oh, really?” A hint of challenge gleamed in his eyes. “Is that so?”
