I paused at the doorway, looking back at him. He remained where he stood, watching me with those unreadable amber eyes. His tail had ceased its twitching, hanging perfectly still.
“I don’t know the protocols,” I admitted, feeling foolish but needing to say something. “For breakfast. For anything, really. The counselor went over some basics, but there’s so much I don’t know.”
He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that seemed curious rather than judgmental. Through our bond, I felt not frustration at my ignorance, but something more like patience. And beneath that, a hint of pleasure that I’d asked rather than assumed.
Still, the silence was becoming unnerving. Did he ever speak beyond those few words during our consummation? Would our life together be conducted primarily through this strange emotional connection rather than conversation?
I had so many questions, and standing naked in a doorway didn’t seem the right place to ask them. With a small nod, I continued through the door, finding as I’d suspected a luxurious bathroom beyond.
As I closed the door behind me, I caught a final glimpse of him. He’d moved to where I’d been sitting, his massive hand hovering over the depression my body had left in the bed, as if trying to capture something of my essence from the cooling sheets.
The gesture was so intimate, so vulnerable, that I felt like an intruder witnessing it. I quickly shut the door, leaning against it as I tried to process everything. The bond, the breakfast, the bowing, the slippers. The silent, watchful presence of the hellhound who was now, in every legal and magical sense, my mate.
What had I gotten myself into?
six
TAMSIN
After cleaning up and finding clothes laid out for me—all in shades of red and orange that complemented Solantus’s natural coloring—I emerged from the bathroom determined to establish some form of communication with my new mate. The silence between us, punctuated only by the occasional emotional pulse through our bond, couldn’t sustain us forever. Three days of cultural briefings during my acclimation period hadn’t prepared me for the reality of living with someone who barely spoke. I needed words, not just feelings transmitted through magic. I needed to know the being I was now bound to for life.
Solantus had moved to stand by the window, his massive silhouette outlined against the morning light. He’d dressed as well, in what appeared to be loose-fitting garments of a material that resembled leather but shimmered like silk when he moved. His tail remained visible, swaying gently behind him.
“The view is beautiful,” I offered, moving to stand beside him. It wasn’t entirely true—the landscape beyond Sanctuary still bore the scars of the Great Diaspora War—but the morning light softened the devastation, painting it in hues of gold and amber.
He inclined his head slightly but didn’t speak. Through our bond, I felt his agreement, along with something deeper—a sort of melancholy tied to the ruined landscape.
“Did you live out there? Before?” I asked, gesturing toward the wasteland beyond the walls.
A low rumble emanated from his chest, neither confirmation nor denial. The emotions filtering through our bond became more complex—loss, rage, determination. History I couldn’t begin to understand without words.
I sighed, frustration building. “Look, I know we’re technically married, and I know we’ve been intimate. But I don’t know anything about you. Your world. Your people. The briefings told me hellhounds come from a realm of perpetual fire, that you’re guardians of some kind of boundary between worlds, but that’s textbook stuff. I want to know you.”
His amber eyes shifted to my face, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with heat that had nothing to do with his natural temperature. Still, he remained silent.
I threw my hands up. “Is this how it’s going to be? Me talking and you just rumbling occasionally? Because I don’t think I can?—”
His ear twitched—a pointed, furred appendage partially hidden among the thick black hair atop his head. The movement caught my attention, distracting me from my building tirade. Without thinking, I reached up and touched it, curious about the texture.
The reaction was instantaneous and alarming. Solantus dropped to one knee before me, his head bowed low, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. His entire body trembledslightly, and through our bond came a wave of emotions so complex and intense that I stumbled back a step.
Submission. Pleasure. Pride. Belonging.
“What—what did I do?” I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.
Before he could respond—if he even intended to—the door to our suite burst open. The counselor from my acclimation period rushed in, her dark eyes wide with concern.
“Oh gods,” she breathed, taking in the scene before her. “Tamsin, step back slowly.”
I obeyed automatically, confusion and alarm making my heart race. “Counselor Patel, what’s happening? I just touched his ear and he?—”
“In his culture, that’s a domination cue,” she explained quickly, her voice dropping to a more soothing tone. “He thinks you just claimed him.”
Horror washed over me as I processed her words. “Claimed him? But we’re already bonded. I signed the papers yesterday.”
Counselor Patel moved into the room fully, the door sliding shut behind her. “The legal bonding is one thing. This—” She gestured to Solantus, who remained kneeling, his throat still exposed. “This is a hierarchical claim. Among hellhounds, touching the ears is reserved for establishing dominance within a bond. It’s typically done after days or weeks of assessment, once the dominant partner has determined the hierarchy.”
My face burned with embarrassment. “I had no idea. It wasn’t in any of the briefings.”
