"You require a specific sleep environment," he says. "I researched optimal conditions for human comfort. Temperature regulation. Pillow density. Mattress firmness."
I stare up at him.
"Youresearchedhow I sleep?"
"Yes."
"That's—"
"Necessary."
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Open it again.
"You're unhinged," I say finally.
"I am thorough."
"You're obsessed."
"I am in love."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
I look up at him—At this towering, ancient, terrifying creature who has spent the last forty-eight hours tearing himself apart because he thought he'd lost me.
And I realize something.
He's not going to apologize for this.
He's not going to tone it down.
He's just going to keep being overwhelming and intense and completely devoted.
And I'm going to have to learn to live with it.
"Okay," I say.
He blinks.
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. You win. This is our bed. I live here now. You're allowed to obsess over my sleep environment."
Something shifts in his expression.
Relief.
Raw, overwhelming relief.
He drops to his knees in front of me.
His hands settle on my thighs, his touch feather-light despite the size of his claws.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
