But Avine was looking at him with vulnerability on her face, the mask she’d worn all morning finally down, and walking away felt impossible.
“You did well today.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “With all of them. You stood your ground.”
“Years of practice.” A small, tired smile. “Corporate boards aren’t that different from Elder councils, it turns out. Same power dynamics, slightly fewer glitter explosions.”
“Piprick is… unique.”
“That’s one word for it.” Her smile widened, and ease spread through the air between them. “Thank you. For today. For translating. For…” She gestured vaguely. “The interference.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You were.” Gentle, but certain. “Every time Georgia got too sharp, every time Isandro’s skepticism started to show, you were there. Redirecting. Protecting.” She held his gaze. “Don’t pretend it was about the wards.”
He couldn’t lie to her. Not when she was looking at him like that.
“It wasn’t about the wards.”
The words hung between them. Avine’s breath caught, almost imperceptible, but he heard it anyway—wolf senses, attuned to her whether he wanted them to be or not.
He didn’t move.
“Theo.” His name in her voice was devastating. Soft. Uncertain. Real.
He was crossing the room before he could stop himself. Standing in front of the couch. Looking down at her. And every good reason he had for keeping his distance was dissolving like morning fog.
She looked up at him.
The afternoon light painted her face gold. Her lips parted. And Theo understood, with sudden crystalline clarity, that he was about to do something irreversible.
He left.
Not gracefully. Not with explanation. Turned and walked out the door before he could close the distance between them and do something stupid.
Like kiss her.
The sea air hit his face like a slap of sense. He made it to his truck, hands braced against the door, breathing like he’d run a mile.
What are you doing?
He didn’t have an answer. His wolf did, snarling it through every nerve ending.
She’s not mine.
But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. Something had shifted between them—in the flooded basement, in the magic they’d woven together, in the quiet aftermath when he’d steadied her and felt his whole world shift.
She wasn’t his.
Not yet.
And that yet broke a door open in his chest. A door he’d locked years ago, swinging wide.
The most dangerous word of all.
THIRTEEN
AVINE
The lightbulb in the second-floor hallway exploded at 2:14 a.m.
