“What am I going to do with you?” I murmur, tucking a strand ofhair behind her ear.
She sighs in her sleep, a small, contented sound.
I could stay. I could hold her like this all night, and I’d never want to leave.
But she’ll wake up eventually. And when she does, she’ll probably kick me out. Or worse, look at me with that confused hurt in her eyes that destroys me every time.
I need to go. But first…
Gently, I slip out from under her and lift her in my arms. She’s lighter than I expected, all soft curves and warmth against my chest. She produces another small note of protest before tucking her face against my neck, her breath hot on my skin.
I catch her scent again. No amount of perfume will be able to hide her from me anymore. Not after tasting her. Not after having her pressed against me. Underneath the wine and the faded perfume, there’s wolf. Yes. But it’s barely there. Muffled somehow, like her natural scent is wrapped in layers of cotton.
All of a sudden, I catch a whiff of a faint, chemical aroma that doesn’t belong there. My head tilts in my confusion.
What is that? And why is Violet’s natural scent so weak?
I carry her to the bedroom and lay her gently on the bed. Pull the covers up over her sleeping form, dress and all. Tuck them around her shoulders in a way I think she’ll like.
For a moment, I just stand there, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. The peaceful expression on her face. The way her lips are slightly parted.
Then, I make myself turn away.
The apartment is a mess, but I can fix that. I roll up my sleeves and get to work—washing dishes, wiping counters, taking out the overflowing trash.
My mother’s recipe comes to mind as I work, the one she would make for me when I was sick. A rich beef broth with noodles that settles the stomach and makes you feel cared for.
I find ingredients in her well-stocked fridge and start a pot simmering while I finish cleaning. The rhythmic work helpssettle the restlessness inside me. This is what I’m meant to do. This is my purpose: to protect and provide for my mate. Care for her even when she doesn’t know it. Even if she never knows it’s me.
By the time the noodles are done and portioned into containers with reheating instructions, the apartment is spotless. I mix a hangover remedy and leave it next to her bed, where she’ll see it first thing.
I stand in her kitchen at three a.m., surrounded by the evidence of my obsession. Clean apartment. Home-cooked meal. A mate who doesn’t know I exist beyond the surface.
This can’t last. I know it can’t. Eventually, I’ll slip. Eventually, someone will notice. Eventually, she’ll put the pieces together.
But not tonight. Tonight, I can pretend everything is fine.
I slip into her room one more time.
She’s still sleeping peacefully, curled under the covers. The glass of hangover remedy sits within easy reach on the nightstand.
I move to the bed and crouch beside it, unable to resist touching her one more time. My fingers brush her cheek lightly.
“Sleep well, baby.” The endearment slips out before I realize I’m saying it.
She doesn’t wake up. Just sighs and nestles further into the pillows.
The ache spreads through my ribs, settling deeper. Taking root.
I stand and take one last look at her sleeping form. Memorize the peaceful expression on her face, the way her hair spreads across the pillow, the gentle sound of her breathing.
Finally, I leave. I lock the door behind me and test it twice to make sure it’s secure.
The elevator ride down feels different than the one going up. Lighter somehow. Like something inside me has finally found its place.
I get in my car and sit there for a moment, staring up at the penthouse windows.
My mate is in there. Safe. Cared for. Everything she needs is waiting for her when she wakes up.
