She holds up a finger. “Be right back.” Going to the sink, she spits, rinses, and speaks around the faucet running, “I would have finished before I came to talk to you, but I was afraid you’d fall asleep without me.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “I don’t think that’s possible any longer.”
When she returns, she’s in pale blue silk pajamas that look too soft, too inviting, too dangerous—and every rational part of me snaps like a cheap string.
She pads toward me, brow raised. “Have I broken the big, grumpy alpha with my mere existence?”
Her tone is teasing, but the light in her kaleidoscope eyes is something else entirely—warm, bright, and claiming.
My smile pulls wider. “Would you have a problem with that if I said yes?”
She takes two slow steps toward the bed, then leans over just far enough that I can feel her breath touch my cheek. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Her lips quirk. “If you’re brave enough, you’ll find out.”
Our mate is challenging us, my wolf growls with approval.Don’t disappoint her.
I don’t intend to.
I reach for her face, brushing my thumb lightly across her skin—gentle, deliberate, but giving her every chance to pull away. She doesn’t. She leans in.
“You, Rowan Prescott,” I murmur, “became my entire existence the moment I broke through that window and saw your wide, terrified, absolutely beautiful eyes. In seconds, you shattered me, remade me, and ensured nothing in my world would ever be the same again. So yes, if you want to call me broken, fine. But the cracks you made in me? I’m not ashamed of them. Not now. Not ever.”
A single tear spills down her cheek, and she scowls at me through it. “You are… That was… Why?”
Before I can answer, more tears fall, and she crawls closer, practically climbing into my lap. I pull her against my chest and tug the comforter over her shoulders, wrapping her in warmth even as my chest tightens with something fierce and soft all at once.
“Because,” I whisper into her hair, “there will never be anything more important in my life than you. I may have tried my best to fight that truth at first, but not anymore.It’s me and you against the world, and I’ll be on whatever side you need me to be.”
She lets out a watery, incredulous laugh. “I think you’ve broken me now.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head, smiling. “Then I’ll put you back together just the same.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, the words small, tired, and done with the heavy for tonight.
Rowan settles against my chest, her head finding a natural fit over my heart, her hair spilling around us like a curtain. My hand drifts into the strands, brushing through them briefly before sliding to the warm skin of her shoulder—right where her new marking glows faintly beneath the low light.
“I’m sorry you had to hurt for this,” I murmur, pushing aside the strap of her silk shirt and tracing the edge of the sigil. “But you handled it better than anyone could’ve expected.”
She tugs at the collar of my shirt, pulling the fabric aside until black ink shows beneath. “Why doesn’t mine look like yours?”
“Because I was branded when I was eight,” I say simply. “Magic has come a long way in the last three or so decades. And you’re not just a shifter—your spell needed to be different. Exactly why I only trusted Mildred to do it.”
Her eyes nearly launch out of their sockets. “Eight? They tortured you like that ateight years old? What was wrong with your parents? That’s—Cade, that’s child abuse.”
A low laugh rumbles out of me. “It’s partof our world. I didn’t know any better. Besides, even wolf packs don’t want a bunch of naked kids shifting back and forth all over the place. Eight is about when boys and girls start getting curious about one another. Not that they’re having sex, but still.”
She blinks hard. “Seriously?”
I shrug. “We mature faster than humans.”
She yawns, long and slow. “I guess so.”
“You’ve had one hell of a day.” I pull the blankets tighter around her small frame. “Sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Her heavy-lidded gaze drifts toward me, pausing long enough that I know she’s only now noticing the fact that I’m still lyingon topof the comforter. Not under it with her. Not wrapped around her the way every bone in my body wants to be.
She doesn’t call me out. Instead, she murmurs, “It’s strange, isn’t it? How easy all of this feels. I should be panicking, or second-guessing, or making a pro-con list, but I’m not. I’m comfortable, right here with you. Faster than I expected.”
A slow heat crawls through my chest, and I adjust my position enough to face her fully. “Good,” I say softly, stroking her cheek. “It’s supposed to feel like that.”
