He’s used to taking hit after hit and showing no pain, but I have a keyhole now.
I grasp for the bond and follow it, feeling my way in the dark, navigating by an intuitive sense I didn’t know I had. It’s a path, but it’s faint. Like trampled underbrush in the woods that has already sprung back straight.
The feelings are quiet, muted, but clear.
He hurts.
He regrets.
He’s immersed in the kind of prideful fear that drives males to posture and fight. And underneath it all, if I don’t let the ugliness distract me, there’s something else, glittering, strange and marvelous.
Gratitude.
In this moment, as the room turns gray with the first rays of a new day, I can feel what he feels, and he hurts, and he is grateful for it.
Because I’m here. With him.
I search his face, but there’s no evidence of any of it there. Only in the whispering between us.
Does he know I can see into him?
What do I do with something so huge and impossible?
I fold myself tight, squeezing my knees to my chest.
He sighs, fishing a quilt from under a tangle of thin sheets and placing it carefully over my shoulders.
“You need to rest. It’s okay. You’re safe. I swear.”
“I’m not tired,” I say, and then I yawn. I release the bond, and as his being ebbs in my consciousness, a wave of exhaustion takes its place.
I guess it wouldn’t hurt to nap a little. I’m too worn out to make any decisions. My wolf has already conked out. Now that I notice, she’s been down for a while.
Killian’s wolf growls softly, echoing the sentiment. I’m here. No harm can come to you. Sleep, mate.
So I do. I pull the quilt tight around me, and burrow into my nest. I’ll figure everything out tomorrow when I’m stronger.
For now, I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
I’m not alone.
Killian keeps watch at my back.
And I am safe.
He’s here.
And amidst all the wrong, that is perfectly, undeniably right.
When I wake up, I’m alone, and there’s meat cooking. My stomach growls almost louder than my wolf ever has.
Killian’s not here, but the bedroom door is wide open, and I can hear him in the kitchen. There’s a thump, and he curses under his breath.
I’m buck naked, and I’ve kicked off the covers.
I should grab a sheet and cover myself. I should be embarrassed. Last night, I let Killian touch me. Oh sweet Fate, I ground myself against his palm until I came. My cheeks burn, but I also stretch, arching my back and reaching toward the headboard until I can touch the metal bars with the tip of my fingers.
My body feels good. And I don’t feel like I did after the human or the male from North Border. I’m not in the wrong place. I don’t need to scrub myself clean, hide the scent.
I’m good. This is my nest.
I sit up, cross legged, and adjust some of the blankets that have been shoved to the foot of the bed.
Even my leg feels fine.
Of course, last night was a bad idea, and it’s going to smack me in the face as soon as I wake up fully, but in this moment, it’s so peaceful in this room. The light streaming in the crack between the curtains illuminates the tiniest motes dancing in the air, and the wood floor and polished dresser shine. The stucco ceiling is crisp white, and the clattering of pans makes it not the least bit lonely. This is a good place.
I close my eyes and breathe deep. This is what it would be like if I had a mate.
I reach out with my mind and find the cord running through the sun beam, out the door, and down the hall. The farther I get, the more it tends to slip from my fingers, and I have to stop, fumble a bit and focus with all my might before I’m sure of it again.
It’s like following a very old scent in the woods in spring. There’s so much else clamoring for attention, and the trail is so faint, you have to lean on intuition and luck to take the next step and the one after.
I hit a point where all I can do is hold the bond. I can’t follow any further. I’m lost somewhere in the hallway to the living room.
And then there’s a sharp tug.
Killian.
And another. It’s strong. Sure.
Meat.
Tug.
I grin. Breakfast is ready.
It’s like playing telephone with tin cans and string. My empty stomach clenches, and I throw my legs over the side of the bed. I have no idea where my clothes are in the pile, so I snag a big T-shirt and pull it on. It comes down to my knees.
I wish I had panties, but from the smell of my nest, the pair from yesterday is ruined.
The back of my neck heats. I’ve never done the walk of shame in a male’s house before.