The evening air is cool against my skin as we step outside. Maya hesitates at the edge of the lot, looking toward the subway entrance fifty yards away. For a second, I think she might bolt—might make a run for it rather than get in my car. But then her shoulders drop slightly before she turns toward where I've parked.
I reach the car first, unlocking it with a soft beep. The sound makes her flinch slightly—another indication that her senses are heightening, the blockers wearing off completely now. I open the passenger door without asking, stepping back to give her room.
“I can get my own door,” she says, but she slides into the seat anyway.
I close the door gently and circle to the driver’s side, settling behind the wheel. The car smells like her now—that soft scent that's grown stronger with each passing day. No longer faint enough to disappear into the background. Impossible to miss.
The scent settles low in my chest, triggering an instinctive response I don't bother pretending isn't there. I force myself to focus on the road as we pull out of the lot.
“How was your day?” I ask, keeping my tone conversational. “Besides the obvious.”
She stares out the window, her profile sharp against the darkening sky. “Fine,” she says after a moment. “Busy. Normal. Until you showed up.”
She's talking more than she realizes. That's enough for tonight.
I nod, accepting the jab without reacting. “The water sequence looked complicated. Lots of moving parts.”
“Thirty-seven people, two set changes, and a practical effect that may or may not work on the first take,” she says automatically, then stops, like she’s surprised she answered at all. “Turn left at the next light.”
I follow her directions without comment, watching her from the corner of my eye. Her breathing has evened out, the tight set of her shoulders relaxing slightly as we put distance between us and the set. But she’s still alert, still aware of my presence in a way that has nothing to do with the confined space of the car.
“Right at the next intersection,” she says. “Then it’s three blocks down, the building with the blue awning.”
I make the turn, following her directions carefully. My attention stays divided between the road and Maya. The tightness in her throat is easing—I can see it in the way she swallows, in the gradual loosening of the muscles in her neck.
We reach her building five minutes later, a modest mid-rise with a security door and a small lobby visible through glass doors. I park in a spot across the street, killing the engine before she can object.
“I can walk myself to the door,” she says, already reaching for her seatbelt. “You don’t need to—“
I‘m already out of the car, moving around to her side before she finishes the sentence. She freezes when she sees me standing there, door open, hand extended.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice tight again.
“Walking you to your door,” I say. “Part of our arrangement.”
She doesn‘t take my hand, sliding out of the car on her own instead. “We don’t have an arrangement,” she says, the words sharp. “You decided on your own. I didn’t agree to it. That’s not an arrangement. That’s you making decisions about my life without my input.”
I nod once. “Fair. But you’re still in pre-heat, Maya. And that means you don’t walk to your door alone. Not when I can make sure you get there safely.”
Anger flashes across her face, but it doesn't quite hide the fear beneath it. “This isn’t happening,” she says, stepping past me toward the crosswalk. “I’m going to my apartment. Alone. And you’re going to get back in your car and drive away. That’s the only arrangement I’m interested in.”
She starts across the street without waiting for my response, her steps quick and determined. I follow at a steady pace, not rushing to catch up, not stopping when she increases the distance between us. Just maintaining my pace, keeping her in sight as she reaches the other side and hurries toward her building.
She’s at the door when I reach the sidewalk, key already in the lock. She turns when she hears my footsteps, her expression hardening as she registers that I’m still there.
“What part of ‘I want to be alone’ are you not understanding?” she demands. “I don‘t need a babysitter. I don’t need an alpha following me around making decisions about what’s best for me. I need you to back off and let me handle this my way.”
“I understand you’re upset,” I say, keeping my voice even. “And I understand you want to handle this on your own terms. Butyou’re not just dealing with this anymore, Maya. You’re dealing with a fundamental change in your biology, one that makes you vulnerable in ways you’re not prepared for.”
For a heartbeat, fear breaks through before her expression hardens again. “I’m not vulnerable,” she says. “I’m the same person I was yesterday and the day before and the day before that. The fact that my body's changing doesn't change who I am or what I can handle.”
“It changes what you need,” I tell her. “Not who you are.”
She shakes her head, turning back to the door. “This conversation is over. Goodnight, Elias.”
She unlocks the door, pushes it open, and steps inside without looking back. The door closes behind her with a firm click, the lock engaging with a soft thunk.
“I told you I’d stay close in the evenings,” I say, stepping closer and leaning lightly against the door frame, holding my position without pushing it further. “This is me doing that.”
