Page 85 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

Bollocks. She had him there.

He scrambled for something to say. Some way to walk it back without it being a complete lie. “Yours for as long as you’re under my protection,” he said carefully. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. “Until Blackthorn is dealt with. Until your curse is broken.”

Something flickered in her expression. Hurt? Disappointment? It was gone before he could name it, replaced by a careful neutrality that made his chest ache.

“Right,” she said quietly. “Day by day.”

“Day by day.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, and he had the uncomfortable sense that she saw right through him. That she knew he was holding something back. But she didn’t push. Just nodded once and turned to gather her things from the lectern.

He’d done the right thing. Reminded them both of the boundaries. Kept her from getting too attached to a wolf who was one bad day away from losing his mind.

So, why did it feel like he’d just made a terrible mistake?

“Come on,” he said, his voice rougher than intended. “Let’s go home.”

She didn’t correct him. Didn’t point out that it was his home, not hers. Just shouldered her bag and walked past him toward the door.

He followed, the wolf inside him howling in protest.

She was safe. She was here. She was his—for now.

It would have to be enough.

23

The coffee maker gurgled in the background as Axel poured two mugs, his back to me. I watched him from my spot at the island, chin propped on my hand, still wearing the oversized sleep shirt I’d claimed as my own. His shirt. One of many, now.

He set a mug in front of me without comment. Without letting our fingers brush. Without that little smile he usually gave me in the mornings.

Monday felt like a lifetime ago, but it had only been yesterday since he’d called me “mine” and then amended the words, putting an expiration date on them. It had hurt more than I cared to admit. Which is why I’d closed the bedroom door last night without inviting him in.

He hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t knocked. Hadn’t done anything except respect my wishes, giving me space to process.

So why did that feel so awful?

“Eggs?” He was already at the stove, reaching for the carton.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Polite. Careful. Like we were roommates instead of...whatever we were.

Basil chose that moment to thump loudly from his enclosure, demanding attention. I turned to look and found both bunnies pressed against the acrylic, watching us with their little noses twitching.

“Already fed them,” Axel said without turning around. “Did their boxes too.”

“You didn’t have to⁠—“

“Wanted to.”

Sparse words. That was all I’d gotten since we returned last night. Short sentences. Practical information. The bare minimum of communication.

Needing to move, I got up and opened the enclosure to give the buns some free roam time, then returned to the island. I wrapped my hands around my mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. The cabin smelled like coffee and woodsmoke, autumn creeping through the seams of the windows. October had settled in properly now. The trees on our drive to campus had exploded into color—burnt orange and deep crimson and bright gold. Normally it would have made my heart sing.

Today it just made me tired.

My phone buzzed on the counter. I glanced at the screen.