Derek Sterling would receive no such mercy from me. He had issued his challenge. I accepted it the moment he threatened my mate.
The beast’s voice slid calmly through my mind. We will tear him apart.
For once, the beast and I were in perfect agreement.
But my mate did not need to see that. Not yet.
I lifted her into my arms before she could protest.
Her soft gasp brushed warm across my throat as I carried her into our suite. The large sofa waited near the window, sunlight spilling across the cushions in a golden pool.
I sat, settling her easily on my lap. Her body curved instinctively against mine.
My arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close, breathing in the scent of her hair.
For now, I would comfort her. Soothe her fears. Let her believe patience and law would solve this.
But even as I held her, the beast and I were already planning.
Watching.
Waiting.
And deciding the most efficient way to lure Derek Sterling into our grasp.
Another day with Chet. Another ridiculous costume. Another contest. Another date that—of course—Tori won.
I could not tolerate spending hours away from her. After the threats from Derek, my beast was completely out of patience and Chet was, apparently, smart enough not to push me.
This time, we were being taken to a resort in another country. Canada. A place called Churchill, Manitoba. Glamour dating, Chet called it.
I would have told him to fuck off, but when Tori heard the description of the exclusive, heated, outdoor domes under the Northern Lights, her gasp of pleasure sealed my fate.
I could deny her nothing.
Seven hours on a private jet was an exercise in restraint.
Tori sat across from me, close enough that I could see the faint pulse at the base of her throat, separated by nothing more than a narrow aisle. The distance was insignificant to human eyes.
To me, it was like a chasm.
Cameras occupied nearly every seat around us. Lenses glinted beneath the cabin lights, quiet and patient, capturing every shift in expression, every glance that lingered too long. The crew pretended disinterest, but the hum of the equipment and the subtle tilt of microphones made it clear—they were watching everything. Recording everything.
My body remained still, but every instinct strained toward her. I wanted to touch her. Needed to.
The beast still prowled beneath my skin, restless from Derek's threat, from the promise I had made to Tori not to hunt him down immediately. The knowledge that another male had dared use me as a weapon to threaten my mate burned like acid in my blood.
The urge to keep her close—where I could see her, scent her, guard her—pressed against the fragile barrier of control. But the cameras watched. And so I sat with my hands braced against my knees, my jaw tight, forcing patience.
"We'll be landing in Churchill in two hours," a production assistant announced from the front of the cabin. "The glamping site is ready. Northern Lights forecast is excellent for tonight. We should have clear skies."
Tori had already turned toward the window.
Her forehead rested lightly against the glass as the world outside shifted from endless white cloud to the darkening blue of evening sky. The reflection of her face shimmered faintly in the pane, soft and thoughtful.
Excitement vibrated through her. Not the sharp awareness that pulsed between us. Something brighter. Something innocent.
The realization tugged unexpectedly at my chest. She was excited about the lights.
