“Good,” she murmured sleepily. “Because I wasn’t actually giving you a choice.”
His chest vibrated with another laugh. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
He didn’t answer. But his arm tightened, pulling her closer, and that was answer enough.
She woke to grey morning light and the unfamiliar sensation of someone else in her bed.
For a disorienting moment, she didn’t remember—and then everything came flooding back. The kitchen. The confession. The hallway. The bed.
Ben.
She turned her head carefully, not wanting to wake him. He was still there. Actually, genuinely, miraculously still there—sprawled on his stomach with his face buried in her pillow, his ears relaxed in sleep, one arm thrown possessively across her waist.
He looked younger like this. Softer. The permanent furrow between his brows had smoothed out, and without his usual scowl, she could see the elegant lines of his features—the strong jaw, the high cheekbones, the delicate architecture of those ridiculous ears.
Beautiful,she thought.You’re beautiful, you grumpy, infuriating male.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he stirred. His ears swiveled towards her first, followed by a slow blink of those brilliant blue eyes.
“You’re staring,” he mumbled.
“I’m appreciating.”
His mouth curved. Sleepy and soft and devastatingly handsome. “Déjà vu.”
“It’s our thing now.”
“We have a thing?”
“Many things, apparently.” She stretched, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles she hadn’t used in a while. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in years.” He said it simply, like a statement of fact. “You?”
“Same.”
They lay there in the grey morning light, neither speaking, neither moving. Sara felt the moment stretch between them—fragile and perfect and terrifyingly real.
“I should make coffee,” she said eventually.
“Probably.”
Neither of them moved.
His hand found hers under the covers, their fingers intertwining. His claws pricked lightly against her knuckles, and she marveled at how natural the sensation had become. How quickly she’d adapted to the particular texture of his touch.
“I meant what I said last night,” Ben said quietly. “About you leaving.”
“I know.”
“I can’t control how I feel about it. The possessiveness. It’s…” He exhaled. “It’s part of who I am. Part of what I am. I’m trying to manage it, but?—”
“Ben.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No. But I can promise that I don’t want to go anywhere. And I can promise that if something ever changed, I’d talk to you about it instead of just… disappearing.”
