“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair, over and over. “I’ve got you, little wolf. You’re safe now. I’m here.”
And as I hold my trembling mate in the moonlit gardens, one thing is clear.
There is something in that forest, something that is hunting my mate.
I carrySelene back to her quarters, her body still trembling against mine. She’s quiet the entire way, her face buried in my shoulder, her breathing uneven. The mate bond thrums with her fear, her confusion, her fatigue.
When we reach her door, I push it open with my foot and carry her straight to the bathroom. She stiffens slightly in my arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you cleaned up.” I set her down gently on the closed toilet lid. “You’re covered in mud and lake water.”
She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious. “I can do it myself.”
“You can,” I say as I turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise. “But you’re shaking so hard, you can barely sit up straight. Let me do this for you.”
Her jaw tightens. “Seth—”
“I’m just trying to help, Selene.” I crouch in front of her, meeting her eyes. “That’s all. Nothing else. I promise.”
She looks away, her cheeks flushing. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” I reach out, tilting her chin gently until she meets my eyes again. “But you have me now. You don’t have to handle everything alone anymore.”
“That’s not—”
“And before you get shy on me,” I say, my voice steady and matter of fact, “remember, I’ve seen every inch of you. Kissed every inch of you. Tasted every inch of you.” Her flush deepens, but I hold her gaze. “You don’t need to be shy around me, little wolf.”
She bites her lip, still hesitant, and I lean forward, pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to her mouth. Not demanding, not possessive—just tender.
When I pull back, her eyes are calmer, some of the wariness fading.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmur softly. “Please.”
She is quiet for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Okay.”
I help her to her feet, steadying her when she sways. My hands move to the hem of my damp shirt—the one that was dry when I put it on her earlier—and I pause, giving her a chance to object.
She doesn’t. Just lifts her arms slightly, allowing me to pull it over her head.
“Come on.” I guide her into the shower, following her in without thinking twice about my own state of undress.
The hot water hits us both, and she lets out a soft sound of relief as the warmth seeps into her skin.
Reaching for her shampoo, I say, “Tilt your head back.”
She does, closing her eyes as I work my fingers through her hair. The tangles give way slowly; I’m patient, working through each one without pulling.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers suddenly.
I still. “For what?”
“For being so much trouble.”
The words make my heart twist painfully. “You’re no trouble, Selene. None of this is your fault.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then leans slightly into my touch as I continue washing her hair. It’s such a small gesture of trust, but it feels monumental.
