“She has opinions about everything.” Dahlia dropped a kiss on his shoulder. “She’ll get over it.”
Later,after they’d cleaned up and returned to bed, Dahlia traced the healing scars on his ribs.
The room had cooled, but neither of them reached for blankets. Cal’s arm was wrapped around her shoulders, her head pillowed on him, one leg thrown over his. It was the mostcomfortable he’d been in years—not physically, but deeper than that. In a place he’d stopped letting himself feel.
“That wasn’t stress relief.” Her voice was soft, thoughtful. “Was it?”
“No.” He pulled her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. The scent of her shampoo mixed with sex and sweat and everything uniquely Dahlia. “That was everything I’ve wanted for weeks.”
“Just weeks?”
He considered the question. Thought about the first moment he’d seen her—flour on her cheek and kind eyes. The feeling of coming home before he even understood what home meant.
“Since the first moment I saw you,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know how to want things for myself. Not anymore. I’d spent so long being productive—building, achieving, proving—that I forgot wanting was even an option. Every hour had to be useful. Every action had to have a purpose. And wanting someone?” He laughed softly. “That felt like the least useful thing imaginable.”
She was silent for a long moment. Her fingers continued their gentle exploration of his scars—the old ones from childhood accidents, the new ones from the fight in the forest. Each touch felt like acceptance. Like she was learning the map of his past and choosing to stay anyway.
“My grandmother used to say that the hardest thing in the world was allowing yourself to receive.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “She said I’d spend my whole life giving until I was empty, and then I’d wonder why I felt so hollow.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest.” Dahlia lifted her head, meeting his gaze in the silver moonlight. “I don’t feel hollow right now. I feel... full. Like a piece I didn’t know was missing clicked into place.”
Cal’s throat tightened. Here was this woman, soft and fierce and impossibly brave, telling him that he’d filled a space she didn’t know was empty.
He felt the same way. He’d never known how to say it.
“Tomorrow,” she said finally, “after the hearing—whatever happens—I want more of this. More of us.”
“So do I.” He tilted her chin up, meeting her eyes in the silver moonlight. “Whatever happens tomorrow, we face it. And when Magnus is dealt with—when the sleuth is safe and your bakery is secure—I’m going to claim you properly. If you’ll let me.”
Her smile was slow and sweet and promised everything. “I’ll let you.”
Cal kissed her—soft, tender, a seal on a promise they’d both keep. Something deep in him went quiet. Settled.
Mate,it said.Home.
Yes, Cal agreed silently. Home.
They fell asleep tangled in each other, the forty-seven anxiety croissants forgotten in the kitchen. The hearing would come with dawn, bringing uncertainty, danger, and the possibility of everything falling apart.
Magnus would be there with his lawyers and his lies. The Regional Council would weigh evidence that could destroy Cal’s sleuth or vindicate it. Dahlia would stand before strangers and testify, putting herself in the crosshairs of a man who’d already proven he was willing to kill to get what he wanted.
But right now, in this moment, Cal had everything he needed.
He had her.
And whatever tomorrow brought, they would face it.
FORTY-THREE
DAHLIA
The Regional Shifter Council Chamber was exactly as intimidating as Dahlia had expected.
Two hours from Haven Shores, nestled in a neutral building that looked like any other county courthouse from the outside. But inside, the circular chamber thrummed with ancient magic—wards designed to prevent violence, to compel truth, to ensure that disputes between supernatural factions could be resolved without bloodshed.
Dahlia hoped the wards were as strong as advertised.
