“Sped things up.” He snorted. “We spent years dancing around each other.”
“We’re slow learners.”
“Speak for yourself. I knew what you were to me the moment I saw you.”
“You spent years investigating me.”
“Thoroughly researching. There’s a difference.”
“Stalking.” But she was smiling, her voice warm with teasing. “My mate is a stalker. I should probably be concerned.”
Mate.
The word hit him again, fresh and overwhelming. She’d called him her mate. Not just a lover, beyond a partner—her mate. The one she’d been waiting for her whole life, even if neither of them had known it.
“You should definitely be concerned.” He rolled her beneath him, pinning her to the blanket with his weight. “I’ve been watching you for years. I know your routines. Your habits. The way you tap your fingers when you’re nervous and bite your lip when you’re thinking.”
“Creepy.”
“Observant.” He kissed her nose. “I know the exact shade of gray you wear when you’re having a bad day. I know you make lavender candles when you’re stressed and cinnamon ones when you’re happy. I know you talk to your owl in full sentences and he judges you silently in return.”
“Ember doesn’t judge.”
“Ember judges everyone. He’ll be leaving dead mice on my doorstep for the next thirty years.”
“That’s a sign of respect.”
“That’s a threat.” But he was smiling too, the easy banter settling the muscles of his shoulders. This was what he’d been missing all those years. Not just physical intimacy, but this—lightness, laughter, the simple joy of being with someone who knew all his sharp edges and loved him anyway.
“You can make up for lost time other ways,” she murmured. Her hips shifted beneath him, deliberately provocative. “If you’re feeling ambitious.”
“Derren is still out there.”
“So we should conserve our energy.” But her hands were already pulling him closer.
Neither of them moved to stop.
They drove backto the cabin. The night had grown cold, but the bond pulsed warm in Wyatt’s chest, a constant reminder of her presence even when she sat just inches away. He kept one hand on her thigh, his thumb tracing circles on her knee, unable to break contact for long. She met his gaze. “Whatever comes, we face it.”
“We face it.” He glanced at her—his mate, his claimed, his everything. “Together.”
“No more doing this alone,” she said quietly.
“Never again.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “That’s a promise, Narla.”
He meant it. More than he could express. He pulled into the cabin’s driveway. Neither of them moved to get out immediately. Just sat in the quiet, the moon painting silver stripes across the dashboard, settling over them.
“Whatever happens next—” he started.
“Don’t.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Whatever happens, we face it. No contingency planning for failure.”
She leaned across the console and kissed him instead—soft and unhurried, her hand over the bond humming steady in his chest.
“Take me inside,” she murmured when she pulled back.
He did.
Dawn came too soon.
