The irony makes me grin despite my exhaustion.
For a woman who spent weeks claiming she didn’t want me, she sure as hell holds on tight when she’s unconscious. Her fingers are curled into my side, her breath soft and even against my skin. Her body is molded to mine as if she’s afraid I’ll evaporate if she loosens her grip even slightly.
I stroke her hair, the auburn strands silky between my fingers, and let my gaze drift over her bare back. Marks litter her skin—bite marks, scratches, bruises from my grip. Evidence of hours spent claiming her, reminding her that she’s mine.
My wolf rumbles with satisfaction, but it’s more than just the bond driving this contentment. It’s her.
I’ve had plenty of women over the years; I won’t pretend otherwise.But none of them drove me this insane. None of them matched me the way Selene does, her willing submission meeting my dominance until we’re both wrecked and gasping. The mating bond amplifies everything, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s the sounds she makes, the way her body responds, how she fights me and surrenders to me in the same breath.
She’s perfect.
My grin fades as reality creeps back in. We should be sharing living quarters now. Traditionally, mates move in together immediately after marking each other. But with the whole Zane situation, I haven’t pushed it. Can’t risk tipping him off that anything has changed. And if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t even brought it up because I know Selene doesn’t want to. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if the way she’s been avoiding me is any indication. Her body may surrender to me, may crave my touch, but her heart? That’s still locked behind walls I don’t know how to breach.
Still, the thought of leaving her here alone, of not being able to be here for her when she needs me, makes my wolf pace restlessly at the edges of my mind. The distance between us sets my teeth on edge. When she goes to work and I can’t follow, when she’s in her room and I’m not here, the separation gnaws at me until I can barely focus on anything else. My wolf whines constantly, a low, anxious sound that never quite stops.
I glance out the window. The moon hangs high; it’s nearly midnight. I need to get back to my duties. The night patrol won’t run itself, and I’ve already shirked my responsibilities for too long.
But leaving her feels wrong.
She makes a small sound in her sleep, burrowing closer, and my chest tightens. How did I ever think I could push this away? How did I convince myself she wasn’t worth keeping?
Carefully, reluctantly, I start to extract myself from her grip. She whimpers, her arms tightening, and I have to bite back a groan. In her sleep, she’s trying to keep me here.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Promise.”
Her hold loosens slightly, enough for me to slipfree without waking her. I ease off the bed, watching as she immediately curls around my pillow, her face buried in it, seeking my scent.
Gods, she’s going to be the death of me.
I retrieve my discarded clothes and pad toward the bathroom, already mentally running through what needs to be done tonight. The western patrol route needs checking, and I want to personally inspect—
I freeze.
Dried mud. In the corner of the bathroom, near the basin.
My brow furrows as I move closer, crouching to examine it. Not just mud—footprints. Bare feet, small and distinctly feminine, tracked mud across these pristine tiles before someone—probably whoever made them—cleaned up.
But they missed this corner.
I stand, scanning the bathroom more carefully. There—shoes. Women’s shoes, caked in mud, discarded carelessly in the corner behind the door. Hidden, but not well enough.
Selene’s shoes.
My wolf stirs uneasily. Selene is meticulous about cleanliness. Her quarters are always neat and organized. She would never leave muddy shoes lying around, would never track dirt through her bathroom without wiping it up immediately.
Still confused, I’ve just tucked my shirt into my pants when I hear the soft creak of a door opening.
My head snaps toward the sound, heart suddenly hammering. I hurry out of the bathroom, slipping my shoes on as I go.
The bed is empty. The sheets are tangled where she was sleeping moments ago, still holding the impression of her body. But Selene herself? Gone.
The door to her quarters stands wide open, swinging gently on its hinges.
“Selene?” I call out quietly, already moving toward the doorway.
No response.
I step into the corridor and check both directions. Nothing at first—just an empty stone hallway and flickering torchlight. Then, I catch movement to my left.
