Beau gave a lazy, smug grin and kissed the top of my head. “Little late now.”
I turned about ten shades of red.
Rafael rolled his eyes with a half-smile. “Glad to see you awake. We were worried.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You guys didn’t have to bring all this.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow. “You survived a psycho wolf attack during a baking competition. This is the least we could do.”
“We made muffins,” Dorian added. “Leo tried to make a banner, but it just said ‘Yay, You Didn’t Die.’”
Leo shrugged. “I thought it was catchy.”
Beau grunted and shifted to sit up, extricating himself from the bed and letting the others crowd around me.
He stood behind them with crossed arms, still radiating protective energy but letting me enjoy the attention.
“Any word on Orin and Vito?” he asked Rafael.
Rafael’s smile faded. “Yeah. They’re in police custody. The sheriff’s got a deputy posted at the clinic keeping an eye on them.Miller said an agent from the Paranormal Police is supposed to swing by and take over. Someone’ll probably stop by today to get our statements.”
Beau nodded, unsurprised. “Figured.”
Leo leaned in and mock-whispered, “If you guys need a distraction to make a run for it, I can stage a muffin-related emergency.”
“We’re not fugitives, Leo,” I said, laughing.
“Yet.”
The mood stayed light. The others didn’t stay long, just long enough to check in and leave me with more baked goods than I could possibly eat.
As they filtered out one by one, Rafael was the last to pause in the doorway.
He glanced at Beau. “You did good. We’ve got things covered back at the shop. Take your time.”
Beau gave him a short nod. “Thanks, Rafe.”
When the door closed behind them, the room felt soft and quiet again. Beau came to sit back at the edge of the bed, eyes searching mine.
“You feeling okay?” Beau asked.
“Better,” I said honestly. “Still sore. But… better.”
He reached for my hand, calloused fingers sliding against mine. He held it gently, like he didn’t want to break me. But I leaned into it, squeezing back.
His gaze met mine and something in his expression shifted. It turned serious. Gentle, but serious.
“Sean,” he said, voice low, “move in with me.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Move in,” he repeated, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. His touch was warm and steady, like everything else about him. “I don’t want to spend another night wondering if you’re safe. I want you home. With me.”
My throat tightened, but in a good way. The way it does when something beautiful sneaks up on you.
“You’re sure?” I whispered, not because I doubted him, but because I needed to hear it again. Needed to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
