“You absolutely are,” Silas said cheerfully. “But we love you anyway. Part of your charm.”
The casual way Silas said love made us all freeze. Because we’d bonded, and we’d claimed each other, but no one had actually said that word yet. Like saying it out loud would make it too real, too vulnerable, too risky.
“Did I say love?” Silas backtracked. “I meant tolerate. We tolerate you. That’s totally what I meant.”
“Too late,” Sable said, a smile playing at her lips. “You said love. It’s out there now. We all heard it.”
“Well, shit.” Silas rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed in a way I’d never seen him before. His usual confidence completely absent. “That’s awkward.”
“Why is it awkward?” Dane asked. “We’re bonded. Claimed. Pack. Love is implied.”
“Love is never implied,” Sable corrected. “Love is chosen. Spoken. Given freely, not assumed.”
She was right. And now we were all looking at each other, wondering who would say it first, who would be brave enough to make it real.
I thought about the nightmares that had plagued me for three years. About how she’d held me through the worst of it without judgment or pity. About how her presence made the guilt bearable instead of crushing.
About how I wanted to spend the rest of my life learning to be the partner she deserved.
“I love you,” I said, the words easier than expected. “All three of you. Didn’t plan it, didn’t expect it, but it’s true anyway.”
“I love you too,” Sable said immediately, her hand tightening on mine. “Even when you’re brooding and carrying guilt that isn’t yours to carry. Maybe especially then.”
“This is getting sappy,” Dane complained, but his voice was rough with emotion. “Fine. I love you. All of you. You make me want to be better than I am.”
“Same,” Silas said quietly, his usual humor stripped away. “I love you. And that scares me more than anything because I’ve spent eight years keeping people at exactly the right distance to protect myself. But you three made me want to let you close anyway.”
The words hung in the air between us, significant and permanent and more binding than any claiming bite.
We were pack. We were bonded. We were in love.
And somehow, despite all our individual damage and trauma and reasons why this shouldn’t work, we were going to figure out how to build something worth keeping.
“Eat,” Dane ordered, because apparently giving orders was his love language. “Then we need to talk about practical matters like when to go back to town and how to handle work.”
“Later,” Sable said, taking a bite of eggs. “Right now, we’re just going to sit here and be pack. The logistics can wait.”
“Can they?” Dane asked.
“They can,” I confirmed. “Silas was right earlier. Sometimes you have to live in the moment instead of planning for every contingency.”
“I hate when you all gang up on me.”
“Get used to it,” Silas said cheerfully. “That’s what pack does. We lovingly gang up on each other to prevent self-destructive tendencies.”
We finished breakfast in comfortable silence, the kind that came from people who didn’t need to fill every moment with words. Through the bonds, I could feel everyone’s contentment. The beginning of something that looked like family.
When we were done, Sable yawned and stretched. “I need more sleep. Heat recovery is exhausting.”
“Go,” Dane said immediately. “We’ll handle cleanup. You rest.”
“Are you ordering me to rest, or asking if I’d like to rest?”
“Asking.” He caught himself, and I saw the effort it took. “Please rest. Your body needs recovery time.”
“Better,” she said, standing and kissing his cheek. Then mine. Then Silas’s. Small gestures of affection that felt enormous. “Wake me if anything important happens.”
“Define important,” I said.
