I tilt my head back to look at him.
His expression is serious. Absolute.
"You are mine," he says, his voice low and steady. "The fated-mate bond is permanent. Irrevocable. There is no undoing what happened last night."
"I know."
"And you are... acceptable with this?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"'Acceptable'? Wow. Really sweeping me off my feet here."
His jaw tightens.
"I am not skilled with words."
"No kidding."
"But I am skilled with action." He leans down, his forehead pressing against mine. "I will provide for you. Protect you. Ensure you never experience the fear and desperation you felt two months ago. You will never be cold. Never be hungry. Never be unsafe."
My throat tightens.
"That's... a lot."
"It is a promise."
I swallow hard.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." I take another drink of orange juice, letting the cold liquid ground me. "I mean, my life was already a dumpster fire. Might as well upgrade to a dumpster fire with premium orange juice and a nesting gargoyle."
His chest rumbles with that deep, satisfied purr.
I settle back against him, letting his wings wrap around us both.
The suite is still sweltering. The furs are still ridiculously plush. And I'm still sitting naked on a clinic floor with a seven-foot mythological cryptid who just claimed me as his mate.
But for the first time in years, I'm not worried about rent.
Or medical bills.
Or whether my car will start in the morning.
I'm just... here.
Safe.
Warm.
Provided for.
It's terrifying.
And addictive.
