More than the fire consuming our blood. More than the ache in our chest.
“Fuck.” I leaned back slowly, staring up at the ceiling as a warm breeze moved through the room.
Somewhere outside, waves rolled onto warm sand. Palm leaves rustled softly. The night was peaceful.
Inside me, war raged.
And every second I remained separated from my mate, the beast grew stronger.
I could transfer ten times the amount Chet promised to Tori tomorrow and never feel the loss. I could fund her veterinary school, her mobile clinic, her dreams of helping creatures that had no other to advocate for them. I could give her everything she needed so she would never again have to smile for cameras or endure the humiliations of this ridiculous show.
But every time I offered…
She refused.
I need to do this myself. Her voice echoed in my mind as clearly as if she stood beside me. I need to know I can stand on my own two feet. I need to know I can take care of myself.
The memory tightened something deep in my chest.
I did not want her taking care of herself. She. Was. Mine.
“Fuck.” I sounded like a broken record.
Where. Was. She?
I sent a text to Rohn. He answered at once. Assured me they were on their way back to the hotel. That Tori was safe.
Her rejection of my offer had not been cruel. If anything, they had been honest in a way I respected deeply. After Derek—after the cold arrangement he had forced her into, treating her like a legal convenience instead of a partner—it made sense that she needed independence.
Needed proof that she could build something of her own. That she would never fall prey to the whims of another. Strong and secure enough to stand on her own.
In her place, I would feel the same. She had just met me. Did not understand the level of my devotion to her. Did not trust it. Not yet.
But understanding her did not make the waiting easier.
I rose from the bed and began pacing the length of the suite. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged predator. I was a Warlord of Atlan. I had given Chet my word. And more importantly…
I respected my mate.
Even when her choices pushed me to the edge of sanity.
A soft knock froze me in place. I opened the door.
Tori stood in the hallway.
Thank the gods.
She wore a robe—white silk that shimmered softly in the hall’s dim light, belted loosely at her waist. Dark waves of hair spilled over her shoulders, still slightly damp as if she had just showered.
Her bare feet rested in fuzzy hotel slippers.
And her eyes… Her eyes burned. Hungry. Focused entirely on me.
"You look terrible," she said softly.
A rough laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
"The fever," I admitted, my voice low and strained. "It is worse now. Since I have known you. Since I have touched you.” There was no way to describe it. “I missed you.”
