"Goodnight, Harper."
She went still, but I could hear the rhythm of her breathing. Quick and shallow, the rapid in-and-out cadence of someone whose mind refused to quiet, whose worry kept sleep at bay despite exhaustion.
"Harper?"
She rolled over to face me, the towels rustling with the movement. Her blue eyes caught what little light remained, luminous and bright, like twin stars in a void.
"I will keep you safe. No matter what. You have my vow."
A strange expression flickered across her features—gratitude bleeding into relief, and beneath it all, something deeper I couldn't quite decipher, couldn't quite reach. A tiny hand emerged from beneath the pile of towels, pale fingers seeking and finding my own, her skin cool against my palm as she wrapped her hand around mine.
"I know."
Her words settled over me like a benediction. She trusted me. This fragile human who had every reason to be wary had placed her faith in me without hesitation.
Something shifted in my chest, a tightening that was both painful and profound. I'd been a slave, a thing to be used and discarded. I'd been broken down until I barely rememberedwhat it meant to be a warrior, to have honor. Somehow, I'd found myself again, regained my honor through my work aboard theHistoria, but sometimes, I still felt like the male lost in the gladiator pit. I still felt the shame of being a male unable to save his own brother. And yet here she was, Xytol's mate, looking at me with those clear blue eyes and trusting me with her life.
I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve her faith, her warmth, the way her small hand felt in mine. But I'd die before I betrayed it.
I squeezed her hand gently, carefully, before releasing it. She pulled it back under the towels and turned away, settling into sleep.
I shifted on the float, the plastic membrane yielding beneath my weight with a series of soft squeaks and sighs as the air redistributed. The surface felt unstable, undulating with every adjustment of my body until I found a position that wouldn't send me rolling off onto the cold floor. Within minutes, Harper's breathing had deepened and slowed into the steady, rhythmic pattern of sleep.
But then her teeth began to chatter, a rapid clicking sound that battled with the howl of wind outside. The temperature had plummeted precipitously in just the last hour, dropping at least fifteen degrees since my arrival. While my kind registered fluctuating temperatures with the same sensory awareness we used to register any environmental data, I experienced no physical discomfort from such variations. Heat and cold were simply facts.
Without allowing myself to overthink the action, I shifted my weight and scooted closer across the squeaking plastic surface, closing the gap between us until my body heat could reach her. She responded instinctively, even in sleep, her small form curling against me like a flower turning toward the sun. I told myself it was merely practical. A necessary measure toprevent her from freezing, nothing more than fulfilling my duty to protect her. But a deeper, more honest part of me—the part I was trying desperately to ignore—knew the truth of why my heart had begun to race. Why the electric tingling at the base of my skull intensified to an almost unbearable degree.
She turned fully into me, her small body pressing against my chest, one hand coming to rest over my heart. The gesture was so trusting, so innocent, and yet it sent a wave of heat through me that had nothing to do with body temperature. I wrapped my arms around her carefully, telling myself it was only to share warmth more efficiently.
But the way she fit against me—perfectly—made my pulse quicken. Her scent filled my senses, sweet and distinctly human, distinctly Harper. I felt every breath she took, the rise and fall of her chest against mine.
Guilt crashed over me. This was Xytol's mate. My brother's bonded. The one person in the entire universe I should never allow myself to feel this way about. What kind of male was I, holding her like this, savoring the feel of her in my arms while my brother trusted me to protect what was his?
I should have pulled away. Put distance between us. But she shivered again, and I found myself holding her tighter, one hand coming up to stroke her hair before I could stop myself. Just to soothe her, I told myself. Just to keep her warm.
The lie tasted bitter even in my own mind.
Chapter 8
Harper
I woke up disoriented, my mind swimming through layers of fog, not knowing where I was—only that I felt utterly safe and enveloped in warmth. I shifted slightly, and the warmth around me responded, tightening like a living thing.
Xabat.
I lay curled against his broad chest, my cheek pressed over the place where his heart thudded in a steady rhythm. His muscular arms wrapped around me, and one hand splayed protectively across my back. I breathed in his scent—something warm and spicy that reminded me of cedar and worn leather, with an underlying note of the sea. My body felt heavy with a bone-deep contentment, my limbs languid and unwilling to move.
Not since my husband had I felt such a profound sense of safety around a man. I'd definitely never experienced such an immediate, visceral attraction to anyone like I did with Xabat.
I'd met Seth during my sophomore year in college, and he'd wooed me for six months before I gave in and agreed to go on a date with him. Two years later, we were married. I loved every moment of our lives together. Seth had been kind, patient, and understood me in a way no one else ever had. He'd been my first true love, and even though he was gone, I still loved him... always would.
But Xabat made me feel different. Not only did he make me feel safe, like he'd fight nature itself to protect me, but the attraction I felt for him was something wild and exciting—a spark that threatened to ignite and burn out of control—not the stable, comforting love I'd shared with Seth.
I turned my face more fully into his chest, breathing deeply. Goodness, he smelled good. Even with the lingering scent of beef jerky from last night's dinner clinging to his shirt, there was something about his natural scent that made heat pool low in my belly, made my skin feel too tight, made me feel like I might erupt in flames.
Outside, the hurricane had settled in with full force. The wind roared like a living creature and rain lashed against the windows. But here, in Xabat's arms, cocooned in his warmth and strength, I felt utterly safe.
It was my first time actually experiencing a hurricane. Hurricane Fran had torn through Wilmington back in 1996 when I was just three months old, too young to remember. Then, when Hurricane Florence barreled toward the coast in 2019, Seth and I had been newly married and tucked safely in our Raleigh home, watching the devastation unfold on television from a hundred miles inland. Hurricane Beatrice, as this monster was called, was the worst storm to savage the North Carolina coast in the last couple of years.
