"Callum used to say that," she says softly, and her voice is hollow. Empty. "That I needed his protection. That I couldn't survive without him. That I was too naive, too trusting, too stupid to make it on my own."
My hands tighten on the steering wheel so hard I hear the leather creak.
"This isn't like that," I force out through clenched teeth.
"How do I know?"
I turn to face her fully, shifting in my seat so I can look at her properly. The porch light illuminates half her face, leaving the other half in shadow. She looks young. Scared. Nothing like the vibrant woman who used to light up our packhouse with her laugh, her passion, her joy.
"Because we're not asking you to be anything other than what you are," I say, and I pour every ounce of sincerity I have into the words. "We're not trying to change you or control you or make you smaller. We just want you safe, healthy and happy."
Her eyes search my face in the dim light, looking for the trap.
I let her look. I have nothing to hide.
"Okay," she whispers finally.
“You’ll stay?”
"Yes.” She takes a shaky breath. "But I'm setting ground rules."
"Name them."
"One: I pay rent. Whatever I can afford once I get a job. I'm not a charity case."
"Done."
"Two: I have my own space. Nobody comes into my room without permission. I need... I need boundaries."
"Absolutely."
"Three..." She hesitates, and I can smell the spike of anxiety in her scent. "Whatever happened tonight. The kiss. We don't talk about it until I'm ready."
That one stings. Burns. But I nod anyway because this isn't about what I want. It's about what she needs.
"Agreed."
"And four." She meets my eyes, and I see steel there. Determination. The fierce light that first made me fall for her. "If Callum shows up, you let me handle it. I'm done running. I'm done hiding. If he wants a confrontation, he can have one. But it'll be on my terms."
The fierce light in her eyes makes my alpha sit up and take notice. Makes pride swell in my chest.
"Done," I say. "But if he threatens you, all bets are off. If he so much as raises his voice at you, I'm stepping in."
"Fair enough."
I get out of the truck and circle around to open her door, because that's what you do. That's how I was raised. She slides out, clutching her bag to her chest like armor, looking up at the packhouse like it might swallow her whole.
It's a big house. Victorian. Three stories of wraparound porches and gabled windows and the kind of history that seeps into the walls. Built by Sergio’s great-grandfather, expanded by his parents until they died.
It's home. Has been my whole life.
And now Jessica's here. Finally. After six years of waiting, wishing, hoping.
"It's not as intimidating as it looks," I say, shouldering her bag.
"That's exactly what someone would say about an intimidating house," she counters, but there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I grin despite myself. "Fair point."
