The door seals behind him with a soft hiss.
I am alone in the command center.
The holographic displays flicker around me, cycling through security feeds and financial projections and threat assessments.
But I am not looking at any of them.
I am looking at the biometric feed.
Heart rate: fifty-eight beats per minute.
Respiratory rate: twelve breaths per minute.
Core temperature: 98.3 degrees Fahrenheit.
She is waking up.
I watch the data shift in real time as her heart rate climbs to sixty-five, then seventy. Her respiratory rate increases. Her core temperature rises slightly as her body transitions from sleep to wakefulness.
She is safe.
For now.
But I cannot protect her from a distance anymore.
I cannot shield her from threats she does not even know exist.
I cannot keep her in the dark while my enemies circle closer.
The mate-bond hums beneath my skin, a constant, insistent pull toward her apartment across the city.
Toward her.
I close the biometric feed.
And I begin planning.
Chapter 9: Tamsin
Iwake up in a bed that costs more than my entire year's rent.
That's the first coherent thought my brain manages to produce as sunlight filters through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden light across Egyptian cotton sheets that probably have a thread count higher than my credit score used to be.
Used to be.
Because Cyprian paid off all my debts.
Because I'm his fated mate.
Because I had sex with a literal gargoyle last night and my body is still humming with the aftershocks.
I turn my head slowly.
He's asleep beside me.
Massive. Sprawling. His slate-gray skin catches the morning light, amber veins tracing soft, steady gold patterns across his chest and shoulders. His wings are folded against his back, the heavy membrane rising and falling with each breath. One arm is draped possessively across my waist, even in sleep.
He looks peaceful.
