TESSA
Idon’t sleep. Not really.
I lie in Archer’s bed, staring at the ceiling while everything he told me rewires my entire understanding of reality.
Mate.
The word echoes over and over again in my head, equal parts ridiculous and terrifying and… something else I’m not quite ready to name. Because the worst part isn’t the supernatural explanation. It’s that itfits.
Every charged glance. Every strange pull. Every moment where being near him felt like standing too close to a live wire. It wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper. Something that makes my chest feel tight just thinking about it. I turn onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow with a frustrated groan.
“This is insane,” I mutter into the darkness.
Except it doesn’t feel insane. It feels inevitable. And that’s what scares me. Because I’ve spent my entire life making my own choices. Building my own path. Recovering from the consequences of trusting the wrong people.
And now I’m supposed to believe that fate—or biology or whatever this is—just… decided for me? Yeah. No. Not without a fight.
I sit up abruptly, throwing the blankets aside. The clock on the nightstand reads just after three in the morning, but sleep is clearly not happening tonight. There’s only one thing left to do.
I need answers. Real ones. And I’m not getting them lying here pretending I can justaccepteverything Archer dropped on me like it was no big deal.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, grabbing the oversized shirt I’d borrowed from him earlier and tugging it down over my thighs. It smells like him—woodsmoke and something warm and wild—and the scent alone is enough to make my pulse pick up.
Annoying. Very annoying. I step out into the hallway, the house quiet around me, but I can feel him before I even see him. That pull. It’s stronger now. Sharper. Like something invisible has snapped into place between us. My breath catches as I follow it, down the stairs and into the living room.
Archer stands near the window, shirtless, his back to me as he stares out into the dark.
Of course he does. Of course the man looks like a walking fantasy even at three in the morning. My irritation spikes, giving me just enough backbone to push forward.
“Convenient,” I say, leaning against the doorway. “You being awake already. Saves me the trouble of dramatic knocking.”
He stiffens slightly before turning to face me. His eyes find mine immediately. And the air changes. God, I hate that.
“You should be sleeping,” he says, his voice low.
“You should be better at explaining life-altering supernatural revelations,” I shoot back.
A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—touches his expression before it fades.
“Fair point.”
The tension in Archer's cabin has been building for hours, and I can't stand it anymore. He's pretending to read some report, but I can see the way his jaw keeps ticking, the way his fingers tighten on the paper every time I shift on the couch.
"Stop," I say, and my voice comes out sharper than I intended.
Archer doesn't look up. "Stop what?"
"Pretending." I stand up, crossing the space between us in three quick strides. "Pretending you don't feel this. Pretending you don't watch me when you think I'm not looking. Pretending your entire body doesn't go rigid every time I get close."
His eyes finally snap to mine, and they're burning—gold bleeding into the brown, the tiger rising to the surface.
"Tessa, don't."
"Don't what?" I press closer, until I can feel the heat radiating off him, until I'm standing between his knees where he sits in that leather chair. "Don't name it? Don't admit that whatever this is between us is driving us both insane?"
Archer drops the papers. His hands grip the armrests so hard I hear the wood creak. "You don't understand what you're asking for."
"Then explain it to me." I lean down, bracing my hands on either side of him, caging him in. "Because I'm tired of feeling like I'm on fire every time you're near, and I'm tired of you running from it."
