She pushed it back.
It fell a third time.
Before I could think better of it, I reached out and tucked it behind her ear.
The contact registered like lightning. Her skin was soft and warm, and the bond between us flared bright enough that I felt it in my chest, my fingers, and every nerve I possessed.
I yanked my hand back fast, hissing through my teeth.
She blinked up at me, her hand rising to touch where mine had been. “What did you just do?”
“Nothing.” I turned away, heading for the door. “Finish whatever you’re doing.”
I made it to the threshold before I heard her moving behind me. Papers rustling. Glass clinking. The scrape of a chair against the wooden floor.
Then she walked past me and into the sitting area.
I followed.
She stuck her head into the hallway, speaking to someone I couldn’t see. Her voice carried the same calm authority she’d used with me in the office.
“Could you bring a meal to the suite? Something substantial. Heavy protein, prepared rare. And bread. The good bread from this morning. Helen knows what I like. Some of that yummy jam too.”
“Right away,” a voice I recognized as one of the staff replied.
She stepped back into the suite, closing the door. When she turned, she caught me staring.
“You need to eat,” she said, like it was obvious.
“I was planning to.”
“After days of doing who knows what?—”
“Territorial disputes. I was handling territorial disputes.”
“Alright, territorial disputes. You need specific nutrition to recover properly.”
I wasn’t sure what I thought about that. She’d ordered exactly what a wolf needed to recover full strength. The right kind of meat, the right preparation, and even bread to roundout the meal. I hadn’t told her any of this. She’d figured it out herself, asked my pack, or somehow knew.
And she stated it like it was nothing. A simple logical conclusion that required no acknowledgment or thanks.
It undid something in me I wasn’t prepared to let go of.
Before I could come up with a response, she crossed the room and took my hand.
I stared down at our joined hands, her small fingers wrapping around mine, our bond humming with contentment at the contact.
“What are you doing now?” I bit out.
“Taking you to bathe.” She tugged, and I found myself following her because the alternative was yanking free, and that felt like admitting something I wasn’t ready to face. “You smell like mud and wet fur and something I suspect is blood.”
“It’s notmyblood.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
She pulled me through the bedroom and into the bathing chamber. The large stone tub sat empty, but she moved to the spelled taps that would fill it with hot water, turning them on and adjusting the temperature.
“I can manage my own bath,” I said.
