His hand slides up my spine, slow and deliberate, until it cups the back of my neck. The touch is firm, steady. Protective. He tips my head back just enough to meet his eyes.
“You don’t have to run here,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you.”
Something inside me loosens at the certainty in his voice. The fear that’s been buzzing under my skin fades, replaced by a deep, aching relief. I lean into his hold without thinking.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
The praise sinks into me like heat. My pulse jumps. His thumb strokes slowly at the side of my neck, each pass sending a soft shiver down my spine. He watches my face like he’s cataloging every reaction, every breath.
His other arm wraps around my waist and draws me down until I’m half seated on his thigh. The movement is effortless, controlled. I gasp softly, my hands flying to his shoulders to steady myself. He doesn’t let me pull away. His grip is secure, anchoring.
“You’re safe,” he repeats, his voice low and rough. “Right here.”
The words settle deep in my chest. I feel held in the center of his attention, wrapped in the solid warmth of his body and the quiet authority in his touch. When he brushes his mouth against mine, the kiss is slow and claiming, like he’s sealing a promise.
I melt into it, into him, every nerve ending humming. His hand at my neck keeps me there, steady and grounded as theworld narrows to the heat between us and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
His hand tightens slightly at the back of my neck, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold me exactly where he wants me. His eyes drop to my mouth, and the look in them makes heat coil low in my stomach.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I do. I can’t do anything else. The world has narrowed to the space between us and the steady certainty in his voice.
“That’s it,” he says softly. “Stay with me.”
Then he kisses me.
It isn’t tentative. It isn’t a question. His mouth claims mine in a slow, deep press that steals the air from my lungs. The kiss is firm and unhurried, his lips moving against mine with a confidence that makes my knees weaken. His thumb strokes once at my neck as if to remind me he’s there, holding me steady.
A soft sound escapes me, and he answers by deepening the kiss, angling my head with gentle pressure so he can taste me fully. The warmth of him surrounds me. The solid line of his chest against mine. The arm around my waist keeping me anchored on his thigh.
Every sensation sharpens. The heat of the fire. The storm whispering at the windows. The steady rhythm of his breathing mingling with mine. He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against mine. His hand stays at my neck, his grip protective and sure.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
The praise settles deep, sending a trembling warmth through me. I lean into him instinctively, chasing the closeness,and he gathers me in without hesitation, his hold tightening just enough to make it clear I’m exactly where he wants me.
Safe. Wanted. Held.
The feeling wraps around me as the dream softens and drifts, his kiss lingering on my lips like a promise I carry with me into deeper sleep.
Chapter Eight
CALDER
The storm is still ragingwhen I wake.
Wind pushes against the house in long, low howls that rattle the eaves. Snow stacks thick against the windows, turning the world outside into a white blur. The fire in the living room has burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow across the ceiling.
For a second I lie there and listen. Then I remember she’s here. The thought settles into me with a quiet certainty that feels heavier than it should. I swing my legs out of bed and pull on a shirt, moving through the house on silent feet. The floorboards know me. They don’t complain.
The guest room door is cracked open. I pause in the hallway and look in. Wren is still asleep. She’s curled on her side in the middle of the bed, blankets tucked up under her chin. Her dark hair spills across the pillow in a loose tangle. In sleep, the tight lines of tension that usually bracket her mouth are gone. She looks younger. Softer. Peaceful in a way that tightens something deep in my chest.
Bear is stretched out on the rug near the foot of the bed, one massive paw twitching in a dream. He lifts his head when he seesme and thumps his tail once, slow and quiet. I give him a small nod. I don’t step inside. I just stand there and watch her breathe.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
