Page 127 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.” He pulled the duvet up to his chin. “You’re a six-foot-two wolfman. You’re pretty scary. When you’re not hand-feeding me homemade desserts and thinking up pet names for me.”

I barked out a laugh. “Scary? Me?”

“Are you joking?” Felix’s eyes widened. “Kit, you’re terrifying.”

I huffed against his hair. “I hope I’m not that scary to you anymore.”

“Well, now that I know self-defence, I reckon I could take you on,” said Felix. “I’ve got excellent form now. You said so yourself.” He yawned, the sound soft and sleepy, and I reached over to click off the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, and I pulled him closer against my chest, wrapping both arms around him.

“This won’t come as a surprise to you,” I murmured into his hair. “But I’m a cuddler. You won’t be able to escape it.”

“I’ll try to cope with it,” he said, his voice already drowsy.

He relaxed completely against me, his breathing evening out. Usually my mind raced for hours at bedtime, replaying every conversation, every mistake, every threat. But with Felix warm and solid in my arms, sleep tugged at me like a tide.

My mind was already drifting into sweet oblivion when Felix’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Kit?”

I mumbled something unintelligible against his neck.

“I just…”

I forced my eyes open. “What?”

A pause. Then, “Nothing. Don’t worry.”

I grumbled and drew him tighter against me, one leg hooking over his, my arm tightening around his waist. Felix snuggled back as much as possible, pressing himself against every available inch of me.

“Tell me,” I whispered. “Please.”

But he remained silent, his breathing deep and even. Lost to sleep, or pretending to be.

I pressed my lips to his shoulder, breathing him in. Two years of wanting him, and here he was—mine, safe, perfect in my arms.

Present Day

December 2026

28

Kit

Iwoke to the taste of copper and the burn of silver against my skin.

My head felt stuffed with cotton wool, thoughts sluggish and disconnected. The sedative clung to my system like treacle, making everything feel distant and wrong. I tried to flex my fingers, but silver bit into my wrists. The itch crawled up my arms, making my wolf pace and snarl in the back of my mind.

The room came into focus slowly. Clinical white walls. A metal table bolted to the floor. Two-way mirror reflecting my own haggard face back at me. Everything sterile and calculated, designed to make me feel small and powerless.

I’d been in rooms like this before. During my Greywatch days, I’d sat on the other side of that mirror more times than I cared to remember.

My wolf clawed at my ribs, agitated by the silver and the confined space. The restraints made shifting difficult—not that I’d manage it with this much sedative still in my system anyway.

A figure stood motionless in the corner, rifle trained on me. The man’s face was obscured by shadow, but his build, his posture, the way he held himself… too still. Too vacant.

Malcolm.