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Thirty-Two

Iwoke up in a warm and cozy cocoon, the scent of vanilla and spice tingling my nose. Watery daylight cast shadows inside the tent.

I wiggled my toes and opened my eyes, realizing right away I was not on my side of the tent.

Soren’s arm was slung over my waist, his nose buried in my hair. I almost laughed out loud because the man was absolutely massive. I wasn’t that small of a woman, but lying in his arms like this made me feel like a tiny doll.

Last night’s incident washed over me, and I expected to feel shame or embarrassment, but none came. All I felt was peace.

Huh. Weird.

I tried to gently extricate myself, but Soren grunted and tightened his grip.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered into my hair, his voice a husky murmur.

Dammit. After what he did for me last night, I couldn’t begrudge him a few more minutes.

Shifters were physical creatures. They needed physical touch to keep them healthy.

I stilled, my mind whirling as it connected some dots. Soren implied he had no one. Was that one of the reasons for his constant chain of females? Had he done the best he could to satisfy his need for touch through an ever-revolving bedroom door? But none of them had ever stuck, and Soren never stayed for long.

Whatever his reason for running had nothing to do with his revolving bedroom door. Shifters always looked for their mates. Soren seemed to have done the opposite.

Empathy for him filled me. We all had trauma, just in different ways. I scooted closer to Soren, snuggling my back into his chest, molding myself against him.

The Lord let out a soft sigh and went boneless. His breathing grew deeper and heavier until I knew he’d gone back to sleep.

How long had it been since he’d held someone without the expectation of anything else? Empathy flooded me.

Shit. After the job with Soren, I never expected to be friendly with him again. Nor did I expect to feel any empathy toward him.

But I’d never really dug into who Soren was. He never allowed me to, and I allowed him to steer me into less murky waters with his charm and wit.

Soren was an expert dodger. He used humor and charm to skate through anything serious, and when that didn’t work, the clever bastard used his looks.

He’d done this for the gods knew how long, so now everyone thought Soren was a materialistic lothario. Myself included.

Oh, I’m on to you, Soren Vale. From one expert dodger to another, I was going to dig at him until I got to know the real Soren—the one who held me in the dark, guiding me through a panic attack.

I let him sleep far longer than five minutes, but when the sun began to warm the tent, I gently nudged him.

“We have to go,” I said, a note of apology in my voice.

I turned in his grip to face him, cupping his cheek in my hand. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Soren cracked open a brilliant blue eye. “Awful woman.”

I grinned and scooted out from his embrace. “Awful woman who let you sleep in an extra forty-five minutes.”

Soren’s eyes widened. “What did I do to deserve such a precious gift?”

“I’m in a good mood this morning. Don’t make me regret it.”

We got up and choked down another protein bar. I glanced over to see Soren staring outside.

“You must be starving. Need to hunt?”

He shook his head and tapped his pec. “Not sure what the hell is in this thing, but it’s like an energy implant. I don’t feel hungry at all. Just drawn to complete the task.”