Part of me admires that. Another part wants to shake her until she understands that out here, in my territory, her independence could get her killed.
Stone and Scottish Larch greet me when I unlock the door, familiar scents that settle something restless within me. Lights reveal the single main room that serves as kitchen, living space, and office. A narrow hallway leads to the bedroom and bathroom, the only other spaces in the structure. Exposed beams stretch overhead, a stone fireplace dominates the wall across from us, and furniture built for both function and rustic beauty fills the space.
Catriona steps inside, her cop instincts taking over immediately. She scans exits, notes the reinforced door, observes the lack of curtains on the windows.
Her gaze lingers on the weapons mounted above the fireplace, a collection that includes silver-edged blades, iron-tipped spears, and firearms loaded with ammunition designed to kill supernatural threats.
"You're prepared." She sets her bag down carefully, maintaining distance between us even in the enclosed space.
"I'm a smuggler who pissed off the wrong people and an exile who can't go home. Being prepared keeps me breathing." Kindling crackles under my hands as I lay it with practiced efficiency. "The cottage has minimal cell service, no internet, and the nearest neighbor is twenty miles away. You wanted safe. This is as safe as it gets."
"And just as isolated." She hasn't moved from near the door, her hand resting on the weapon holstered at her hip. She's still treating me as a potential threat despite everything that happened tonight. She's a smart woman.
A match flares, catching the kindling. Flames build slowly, pushing back the darkness. "Which is why we need to establish ground rules before this arrangement goes any further."
Her chin lifts, defiance sparking in her expression. "I was about to say the same thing."
Of course she was. A growl builds low in my chest, responding to her challenge with predatory interest. She's not prey. She's not submissive. She's a threat and a temptation and something the beast in me recognizes as worthy despite every logical reason to walk away.
Facing her across the small room, I let her see the predator I keep leashed. "You go nowhere without me. Not for a walk, not to explore the coastline, not even to the woodshed behind the cottage. The island has dangers you can't see yet, and I won't be scraping your corpse off the rocks because you decided independence mattered more than survival."
Her hand tightens on her weapon. "I'm not a prisoner."
"No. You're under my protection. There's a difference."
I take one step closer. Her body language shows no fear, no submission, just readiness.
"Protection means following instructions when I give them, trusting that I know this territory, these threats, these predators better than you ever will. Your badge doesn't mean shit out here, Catriona. The only law that matters is survival, and right now, your survival depends on me."
Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken conflict. She's used to giving orders, used to authority, used to being the most dangerous person in any room.
Now she's facing something that could kill her before she drew her weapon, and her training shows in the way she catalogues threats, though nothing in the police academy covered predators that walk on two legs or four at will.
"Fine." The word comes out clipped, conceding ground without surrendering the war. "But I maintain my weapon, I keep my phone charged, and if you try to lock me in this cottage like some damsel in a tower, we're going to have problems that end with someone bleeding."
The threat should anger me. Instead, satisfaction purrs inside me at her refusal to submit completely.
She'll be trouble. Beautiful, infuriating trouble that's going to test every ounce of control I've built over the past decade.
"Bedroom's through there." I gesture toward the hallway. "Bathroom too. There's a generator for hot water, but supplies are limited, so don't waste it. I'll take the couch."
She frowns. "There's only one bedroom?"
"I don't entertain guests." The words come harsher than intended, old wounds surfacing. "This is my safe place, not a vacation rental. You wanted protection. I'm providing it. The sleeping arrangements aren't negotiable."
"Everything's negotiable."
But she picks up her bag, moving toward the hallway with controlled grace that speaks to years of physical training. At the threshold, she pauses, looking back.
"And Kian? Thank you for tonight, for this. I know you risked exposure to save me, and I won't forget that."
Then she's gone, disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door with deliberate gentleness that's somehow louder than a slam.
Standing alone in the main room, I listen to her moving around through walls that do nothing to muffle sound to my enhanced hearing. Water runs. Drawers open. The rustle of clothing being changed.
Every sound spikes awareness I can't afford, reminding me that a woman I'm attracted to, a woman the beast has claimed as mate, a woman who represents everything I can't have, is spending the night under my roof.
The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows across stone walls that seem to mock me. Head in my hands, I sink onto the couch, trying to ignore how heather and determination already permeate my sanctuary.
