I could smell the metal.
His breathing was even. I watched the slight expansion under the cheap shirt, the slow in-out that told me he was not panicked, only waiting for the other shoe to drop. The lollipop on the desk rolled to the edge and teetered, but he caught it before it could fall.
Impressive reflexes.
I catalogued everything: the faded scars on his knuckles, the calluses at the base of his fingers, the line of his jaw. The way he never broke eye contact, not even to blink. He was running the same assessment on me, and doing it faster.
There was a line from a book: The most dangerous animal is the one who has survived the hunt. I’d always assumed thatmeant wolves. But Flynn’s eyes said: I’ve met worse than you, and I’m still here.
The cherry blossom scent filled the office, a chemical solvent for my rational brain. If I’d known that true mates would smell this good, I might have invested more effort in finding one.
Now it was too late to hedge.
Flynn shifted in the chair, muscles coiling and relaxing. The move was deliberate—telegraphing tension, but not fear. He didn’t ask questions. He just watched.
I cleared my throat. “You were military.”
It wasn’t a question.
He nodded once. “Ranger.”
The wolf in me preened. Of course you were.
I pressed on. “The child. She’s not yours. Not biologically.”
He grinned, but it was sharp. “I don’t usually date outside my own species.”
I found myself smiling back. First honest laugh in weeks. “Fair. She’s pack, though. Whether you meant for it or not.”
“Yeah, well.” He looked away for the first time, eyes tracing the skyline. “The world’s full of orphans.”
I wanted to reach for him. Instead, I pulled the conversation back to safe ground. “You have a name,” I said. “Jai Flynn.” I pronounced it right: Jay, not Jy. I saw the surprise flicker behind his eyes.
“Braham Wolfe,” I said, offering the other half of the equation.
He considered it, then nodded. “Alpha?”
“Prime Alpha.” I watched the words land.
He made a low sound, unimpressed. “That why you sent the goons? Or is this just a personal hobby?”
“Neither. Security protocol. Once your face hit the cameras, every rival in the territory got your plate. The bikes on Belmont?Not mine. They were freelance. Lucky for you, I pay my people better.”
He let the logic unfold in silence. Then: “What happens now?”
I told the truth. “You’re safe here. Anyone comes for you, they answer to me.”
“Generous,” he said, but it was hard to tell if he meant it.
I leaned forward, hands folded. The glass desk caught the light, projected our two faces together in the surface. I looked at his reflection, the fine bones and stubborn mouth, and let myself feel the gravity of the moment.
“I have questions,” I said.
He shrugged. “I’ve got answers. Some of them are even true.”
We stayed like that for a minute, no one moving, each measuring the other.
He licked the lollipop, a slow, deliberate move, and I watched the tip of his tongue. The wolf in my head wanted to taste it, to see if it would coat my teeth the way his scent coated my brain.
