"I'm fine," I said automatically.
"You're not." His reflection appeared in the mirror behind mine. He was dressed in the loose clothes the staff kept for shifters—simple, functional, easy to remove. His dark eyes found mine in the glass.
"The council session is tomorrow," I said instead. "Cole's report. Twilson's arguments. Everything we've fought for comes down to—"
"Tomorrow." Cal's hands settled on my shoulders. Warm. Steady. "Not tonight. Tonight, you need to stop."
"I can't stop. Stone needs—"
"Stone is stable. The gray one is stable. The others are being monitored." His grip tightened slightly. "What they need is for you to not collapse before the session. What they need is for you to take care of yourself for one night."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to list all the reasons I couldn't afford to rest, couldn't afford to let my guard down, couldn't afford to be anything other than vigilant.
But Cal's hands were warm on my shoulders. And his presence in the bond was steady—so steady, like bedrock beneath churning water. And I was so tired.
"I don't know how to stop," I admitted.
"I know." He turned me gently, away from the mirror, until I was facing him. "Let me help."
His hands came up to cup my face. His thumbs traced the shadows under my eyes, the tension in my jaw, the places where exhaustion had carved itself into my skin.
"Let me take care of you," he said. "Just for tonight. Let someone else carry it."
I should have said no. Should have insisted on going back to Stone, back to the vigil I'd been keeping for weeks. But Cal was looking at me with such tenderness, and his hands were so gentle, and the bond between us was humming with something I'd been too exhausted to feel.
Want. Need. Love that had been patient for so long, waiting for a moment when I could receive it.
"Okay," I whispered.
He took me to one of the private rooms on the second floor.
Not Stone's room—somewhere separate, somewhere that wasn't saturated with crisis and fear. A small space with a bed and soft lighting and a door that locked.
Cal locked it behind us.
"We don't have to do anything," he said, turning to face me. "I just wanted you somewhere quiet. Somewhere you could—"
I kissed him.
I don't know which of us was more surprised. But once I started, I couldn't stop. Weeks of fear and exhaustion and desperate hope poured out of me and into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him in a way I hadn't let myself need anything.
Cal made a sound against my mouth—surprise shifting to understanding shifting to hunger. His arms wrapped aroundme, lifted me, and then we were moving toward the bed without breaking the kiss.
"Lumi." He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath ragged. "Are you sure? You're exhausted, you're—"
"I'm sure." I pulled him back down. "I need this. I need you. Please."
He didn't argue again.
Cal let out a low, vibrating growl—a sound born in the throat of a wolf. He didn't just kiss me back; he devoured me. His tongue was a hot, demanding invasion, and his hands fisted in my hair, tilting my head back to expose the line of my throat.
"Lumi," he rasped, his hands trembling as they tore at my shirt. "I don't... I don't remember how to be gentle. I don't know if I ever knew."
"Don't be gentle," I begged, my fingers digging into the hard, roped muscles of his shoulders. "Just take me. Make me forget everything else."
He stripped me with a frantic, clumsy hunger, his eyes wide and glowing with a faint, predatory amber. When his skin finally hit mine, I gasped. He was burning. He ran his large, calloused hands over the curve of my waist and the swell of my breasts as if he were memorizing the feel of silk after a lifetime of stone and ice.
"So soft," he choked out, his breath hot against my skin. "I’ve dreamed of this in the dark. Years of dark, and I dreamed of you."
