He crosses the room slowly, carefully, giving me time to pull away if I need to.I don’t.When he reaches me, he doesn’t touch right away.He just looks at me, really looks, like he’s committing this version of me to memory.
“You did something incredible tonight,” he says.
I shake my head.“I did something necessary.”
“That too.”
I laugh softly, the sound shaky.“The ghosts are quiet.”
His expression shifts, curiosity and caution mingling.“Is that ...good?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.“It means they’re at rest.Or moving on.Or at least not screaming at me.”
“That sounds good,” he agrees.
I swallow, nerves fluttering low in my belly.“No one’s asked me to leave.”
“No,” he says simply.“Why would they?”
I study his face, searching for doubt.Finding none.“Xavia thanked me.”
He smiles faintly.“That’s basically a parade.”
Something in my chest loosens, tight coils finally unwinding.
“She also said I wasn’t the first one with this talent.”
“I don’t know anything about that.But you can always help her with her garden and I’m sure she will tell you.”
I smile, thinking of doing something mundane like gardening.“I was so sure this would end the way it always does,” I admit.“With fear.Distance.People deciding I’m too much.”
Grayson reaches out then, fingers brushing my wrist, grounding and warm.“You and your unique talent are a lot to take on,” he says calmly, his lips twitching.“But so is this pack.That’s why it works.”
Emotion swells fast and hot, threatening to spill over.I close my eyes, pressing my forehead briefly to his chest, breathing him in, woodsmoke, rain, and wolf.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I whisper.
“You already did,” he murmurs.“You trusted us.”
I pull back enough to look at him.“I trusted you.”
His gaze darkens, not with anger, but with something deeper.Something far more intimate.“And I’m still here.”
The bond hums between us, no longer tight with fear or guilt, but warm and steady, like it’s finally found its natural rhythm.I don’t think about it anymore.I kiss him.
It’s not tentative this time but it’s not desperate either.It’s a choice, clear and intentional, my hands sliding up his chest, my mouth moving against his with quiet certainty.He responds immediately, one hand bracing at my lower back, the other threading into my hair, careful of his injury but not distant.
When we break apart, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.
“This isn’t about proving anything,” I say softly.“I just ...need to feel us again.”
His thumb brushes my cheek, gentle.“I’m right here.”
We move together toward the bed, unhurried, shedding clothes like the weight they’ve carried is no longer necessary.The room fills with the sound of rain against the roof, the whisper of the wind outside, and our breathing slowly syncing.
Grayson settles back against the pillows, careful of his side.He watches me with open attention as I climb over him, his hands resting lightly on my hips, giving me control without question.
“You can stop,” he reminds me quietly.
