“Good. Because these are going to be impressive.” She moved to his ribs, applying the paste with the same careful efficiency. “You took on three jackals alone. Three trained killers.”
“They ambushed me.”
“And you won.”
“I survived. There’s a difference.”
Junie finished with the paste and reached for bandages. Her fingers were gentle as she wrapped the worst of his wounds, her touch professional and intimate at once. When she finished, she sat back and studied her work with a critical eye.
“You should rest. Let the healing work.”
“Stay.”
The word escaped before he could stop it. Raw and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be with anyone in years.
Junie’s expression softened. “Leo…”
“Just—” He caught her hand, threading his fingers through hers. Blood and all. Damage and all. “Stay. Nothing more than this. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
She looked at him. At this man who’d built his life on control and had let her see beneath all of it. At the wounds he’d taken fighting her battles, and the way he was looking at her now—like she was water in the desert, necessary and unexpected and more precious than he knew how to say.
“Okay.” She shifted on the bed, careful not to jostle his injuries. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
They arrangedthemselves with the awkward care of two people navigating new territory. Leo on his back, protecting his wounded side. Junie curled against him, her head on his uninjured shoulder, her hand resting where she could feel his heart beating.
Glimmer reappeared at some point, coiling at the foot of the bed with an air of tolerance. Her scales glowed soft amber in the darkness—not quite approval, but not the hostile crimson Leo had grown accustomed to either.
Progress.
Leo’s arm came around Junie’s shoulders, holding her close. The pain from his wounds had faded to a dull ache, manageable against the feel of her body pressed against his. Her scent filled his lungs with every breath—herbs and honey and the particular magic that was uniquely hers.
Mate. Safe.
“You scared me.” Her voice was quiet against him. “When I saw you in the hallway, covered in blood…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be more careful.” Her hand pressed harder against his heart, as if she needed to feel it beating to believe he was real. “Victor’s escalating. This was a warning. The next time might be worse.”
“I know.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
Leo stared at the ceiling. The question was practical—what was the plan, what was the strategy, how did they neutralize the threat? But underneath it was another question entirely.
What are we now? What does this mean? Where do we go from here?
“Tomorrow,” he said finally. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Tonight, I want this.”
Junie tilted her head to look at him. Her eyes were soft in the darkness, all the sharp edges smoothed away by exhaustion and emotion and the quiet intimacy of lying tangled in each other’s arms.
“This?”
“You. Here. With me.” His arm tightened around her. “Everything else can wait.”
She studied his face, searching. Then she pressed a kiss to his jaw—soft, brief, a promise rather than a question.
“Okay.” Her whisper brushed against his skin. “Tomorrow.”
