Was someone terraforming or altering the environment with magic? Only one particular person could be involved. Bastian. The alpha of the northern pack had been testing our borders for years, probing for weakness. If he’d found a way to poison the territory rather than challenge it directly, then we weren’t dealing with a border dispute anymore.
“We can go home now,” Victoria said, brushing dirt from her skirts.
Home?
She’d said it without thinking, casual and easy.
My wolf perked up, pleased.
I filed that away too, right next to the duskburst question and the way she’d leaned into me when her legs buckled.
She looked up, met my eyes. An unspoken feeling passed between us. Before I could let myself examine it further, I shifted, dropped to my belly, and she climbed on.
Her thighs settled over my shoulders. Her fingers found my ruff.
And I ran us home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
VICTORIA
I’d developed a system.
Three mornings in a row, I’d woken draped across Feral like an affection-starved squirrel. Three mornings of his cock and my embarrassment and his insufferable smirk while Acorn provided running, rhyming commentary that definitely didn’t help.
Scientific observation required documentation, so I’d started a mental log.
Day one: woke at approximately seven-fifteen, my leg thrown over his thigh, my hand on his chest, and his arm around my waist. His state: awake, amused. My state: mortified. Acorn’s commentary: insufferable.
Day two: woke at seven-oh-three, my face buried in his neck, both my arms wrapped around him. His state: awake, openly laughing. My state: considering suffocation as a valid exit strategy. Acorn’s commentary: he sang in verse about wolves and witches tangling like vines.
Day three: woke at six thirty-eight. I’d apparently started waking earlier in anticipation of the upcoming mortification. This time, I found myself pressed against his side, his handcurved around my hip. His state: awake, watching me with an expression I couldn’t read and his cock exactly as problematic as the previous two mornings. My state: questioning every life choice that led to this moment.
After analyzing the data, the solution was obvious. We needed a physical barrier.
I constructed it before bed on the fourth night, using every spare pillow in the suite. A wall of cushions down the center of the mattress, tall enough that I couldn’t accidentally roll over it in my sleep.
Feral watched from the doorway to the bathing chamber, his arms crossed on his chest, water still dripping from his hair.
“That’s not going to work,” he said.
“It’s a perfectly logical solution.”
“Uh-huh.”
I adjusted a pillow that had slipped. “Physical barriers prevent unwanted contact during sleep.”
“If you say so, wife.”
I ignored him and climbed into bed on my side of the barrier, pulling the blanket up to my chin. Acorn had already claimed his spot on the headboard, grooming his tail in a way that could only describe as glee.
Feral slid into bed on his side. The barrier held. I closed my eyes, satisfied with my engineering.
I woke on the fourth morning to warmth and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath my ear.
My brain caught up slowly. Feral’s chest. My cheek pressed against bare skin. My leg thrown over his thigh. His arm around my waist, his hand splayed across my lower back.
I went absolutely still.
