“Suppressants,” I said. “Isolation. Two or three days, every month.”
He watched my face. “And now?”
“Now,” I said, holding his gaze, “it’s less generalized. More focused.”
He looked away, which was rare for him. “Complicated.”
I let the silence sit.
He broke it, but softer. “What happens if you don’t manage it?”
“Depends on the wolf. Some get violent. Some get reckless. Some just break down.”
He considered that, then asked, “What happens if you lose your mate?”
I let the words settle, the weight of them. “You survive,” I said. “Mostly. But the bond never closes. It’s like a wound that doesn’t heal. You carry it.”
He watched me, face more open than I’d ever seen it.
I added, “It won’t happen to me. I won’t allow it.”
He laughed, low and close. “That’s a bold claim.”
I looked at him, honest and unguarded. “I’m a practical man. I protect what’s mine.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re going to have to talk about the ‘mine’ thing at some point.”
“Not tonight,” I said.
He nodded, a small, almost invisible movement. “Not tonight.”
We sat, not talking, for a minute. Just breathing in the same room, two men who’d never asked for this and didn’t know what to do with it now that it had shown up.
He took a deep breath, then stood, holding Grace close to his chest. “I should sleep, or I’ll be useless in the morning.”
I stood too, not wanting to leave it on a weird note.
He looked at me, really looked, and there was no challenge in it—just a quiet, stubborn certainty. He said, “You’re not what I expected.”
“Neither are you,” I replied.
He nodded, as if that settled something.
Grace’s entire body weighed less than one of my hands, but Jai held her with the kind of care reserved for ancient artifacts or unexploded ordnance. Her mouth hung open, the tiniest pink oval, her lips shiny with formula and sleep. One fist curled, instinctive, against the pulse at the base of Jai’s throat.
He looked down at her for a long moment. Then he looked at me. The set of his jaw said reluctant, but the rest of him—shoulders sloped, weight balanced forward—said settled.
“I should put her down,” he said.
I nodded, and followed him into the hall. The penthouse was all edge and hush, the only light coming from the small, square fixtures set at floor level every third meter.
They threw a blue-white arc against the walls, rendering every surface at half-contrast, just enough to keep from breaking your toes but not enough to betray a location to the outside.
Jai padded ahead, silent except for the whisper of socks on tile, and stopped at the guest suite. I took up position at the threshold, one arm braced to the frame, not moving.
He crossed the room, his body angling toward the bassinet, and then—careful, deliberate—he bent at the waist and eased Grace into her nest. He moved with the practiced slowness of someone who’d paid the price for doing it too fast. He set her down, one finger on her back until the last possible second, and only after she exhaled a soft, squeaky sigh did he straighten up.
He checked the blanket, tucking it around her hips with two fingers. He checked her face, free and clear. He waited, just to make sure she didn’t wake, then turned.
