Still cocooned inside his wings.
He shifts his weight, pulling me closer against his torso while simultaneously using his free hand to drag the plush furs into a tighter pile around us.
It's like watching a dragon hoard treasure.
Except the treasure is me.
And the hoard is a nest made of luxury massage linens.
"Are younesting?" I ask, my voice climbing an octave.
He doesn't answer.
He just continues his silent, hyper-serious rearranging, his expression completely stone-faced and formal, like he's performing some kind of ancient, sacred ritual.
I can't help it.
I start laughing.
Not a polite chuckle.
A full, breathless, borderline-hysterical laugh that makes my entire body shake against his chest.
"Oh my god," I gasp between laughs. "You're nesting. You're literally nesting. I just got claimed by a seven-foot gargoyle CEO and now he's building me a nest on a clinic floor like some kind of—"
He cuts me off by pressing his forehead against mine.
The laughter dies in my throat.
His eyes are glowing brighter now, the amber veins beneath his skin pulsing with a soft, steady light.
"You are mine," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "I will provide for you. I will protect you. I will ensure you never want for anything."
I blink.
"That's... very sweet. But also slightly unhinged."
"I do not care."
"Cyprian—"
"You saved my life," he says, his tone absolute. "You stripped away your own clothing and used your body to melt the stone that was killing me. You did not hesitate. You did not calculate the risk. You simply acted."
"Well, yeah. You were dying. What was I supposed to do, let you turn into a lawn ornament?"
His jaw tightens.
"Most humans would have."
I open my mouth to argue.
Then close it.
Because he's right.
Most people would have panicked. Called 911. Stood there uselessly while he petrified completely.
But I didn't.
