The statement was simple, matter-of-fact. Like helping was a given. Like there was no question Reese would do anything else.
The movement was subtle, the kind of shift that might have gone unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. Except Sonny was always paying attention, wired for it, every muscle and nerve stretched to the limit. A few inches was all Reese needed to close the gap between them. Sonny responded instantly. His pulse sped up, every cell straining toward Reese.
Reese’s eyes locked onto his.
“It just is,” Reese said, the words slow and careful. “You’re mine.” There was no inflection of possessiveness, just a flat assertion of fact. Sonny felt the words settle deep in his bones. “That means I protect you, and anything you care about, no exceptions.”
Sonny didn’t know what to do with any of this. The room, the clinic, the faint chemical tang of disinfectant and lemon, the distant sounds… It all blurred at the edges. It was ridiculous how quickly his body adapted to the idea of being protected, how desperately it wanted to relax into it, even if his mind was still screaming it was too much.
He tried to pull away, or at least tried to convince himself he should, but every instinct told him to stay right where he was, just inside of Reese’s gravitational field. “I don’t need protecting,” he mumbled, but it sounded less like a protest and more like a lie he almost believed.
Reese didn’t argue. Just stood there, solid and unmoving, as if he could wait out Sonny’s resistance the same way cliffs outlasted waves. The silence between them was full with things Sonny didn’t know how to express.
Down the hallway, someone laughed—a sharp, startling sound—and Sonny flinched. Noticed the way Reese’s eyes tracked the direction of the noise, then slid back to Sonny with a softness that was almost embarrassing. It was the first time Sonny realized Reese wasn’t just saying the words out of obligation. He meant them.
Sonny caved a little, just enough to let the warmth in. He looked up, meeting Reese’s gaze.
“You make it sound simple,” Sonny whispered.
Reese shrugged, the movement rolling through the thick muscle of his shoulders. “It is,” he said with easy confidence. “At least on my end.”
Sonny stood there, not leaning in but not pulling away, just letting the shared air and the weight of Reese’s presence press against him. He realized Reese was waiting for Sonny’s permission.
The cut-glass blue of Reese’s eyes softened. “The bond doesn’t care about timing, hon.” Reese’s voice was low. His problems became Sonny’s problems instantly, but Reese didn’t let the thought settle that way.
Instead, he leaned into it, crowding Sonny’s defenses with the sheer inevitability of his claim. “Your problems are my problems, and I don’t let anyone or anything hurt what’s mine.”
His entire life Sonny had never belonged. The idea was so foreign he didn’t know where to file it.
Still, he looked up at Reese, searching for mockery, for the sharp edge of a joke, but all he found was the open sincerity of a man who believed what he said down to the bone.
His mate stepped a fraction closer, tilting his head until he was looking Sonny straight in the eyes. “I mean it,” he said, softer but no less intense. “Nobody gets to hurt you. Not while I’m around.” He might’ve sounded threatening if he weren’t so damn gentle about it, as if protecting Sonny was less a duty than a privilege.
Sonny wanted to argue, wanted to say that being claimed was just another way of being trapped, but the words got stuck somewhere behind his lips. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the ache in his chest expand with every breath. He was used to being alone in a crowd, to filling up empty space with nervous chatter and laughter, but here, in this hallway with Reese and a cracked tile beneath his heel, he was exposed. There was no script, no performance, just the raw, trembling truth of being wanted.
He tried to summon up the old bravado, to smirk or shrug it off, but Reese just stood there, waiting him out. The silence was almost unbearable. Sonny’s ears picked up the faintest shuffle of feet from the exam room, the hum of the lights overhead, the echo of his own heartbeat.
It would’ve been easier if Reese had made a joke or looked away or given him space to run.
But his mate didn’t even blink. And the longer Sonny stood there, the more he believed that maybe Reese was telling the truth. That maybe belonging didn’t have to mean surrendering his whole self but could mean finding a place to land, just for a little while.
Swallowing, he forced himself to hold Reese’s gaze. The intensity was almost too much, but Sonny let himself be seen.
He didn’t have a response. Not one that made sense, anyway. And Reese seemed content to wait, like he had all the time in the world.
Chapter Five
Reese watched Sonny move through his bedroom that night, the clothes hanging loose on his small frame. The sweatpants dragged on the floor with each step. The shirt was three sizes too large, the collar slipping off one shoulder to expose pale skin. Sonny had showered again after they’d gotten back from the clinic with the dogs, his blond hair still damp and sticking up in directions that defied logic.
The dogs were settled downstairs in the guest room. Ryan had agreed to monitor them through the night again. Delilah’s infection was responding to the antibiotics. Hercules’s ribs would need surgery eventually, but Dr. Sullivan wanted to wait until the dog was stronger. Both animals were as comfortable as they could be, given their conditions.
Which meant Reese had no more excuses to avoid the conversation his bear had been demanding since they’d met. His mate was here, in his room, smelling like Reese’s soap and wearing his clothes. The scent of it made something possessive coil low in Reese’s gut, made his bear rumble with satisfaction that Sonny was theirs.
The guy was talking, had been talking for the last ten minutes about something related to the clinic and Dr. Sullivan’s treatment plan. His hands moved as he spoke, gesturing in ways that made the too-large shirt slip farther off his shoulder. Reese tracked the movement, watching as the fabric revealed more skin. The bunny was lean, built for speed rather than strength. His collarbone was prominent, his throat exposed when he tilted his head to emphasize a point.
Reese moved closer without conscious decision. His feet carried him across the room until he was standing directly in front of Sonny, close enough the bunny had to stop talking and tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. Those hazel eyes went wide, pupils dilating as Reese’s scent surrounded him.
“You smell like me,” Reese murmured, his bear too close to the surface.
