Page 20 of Talk Howly to Me

Finally, they stood back together at the entrance to the dining area, surveying their work. The tables were set, the buffet gleamed under the chandeliers, and the rich scent of tomato and garlic hung in the air.

Kozue bumped his shoulder gently against hers. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

Sloane looked up at him, exhaustion and accomplishment and a fragile, budding hope mingling inside her. She gave him a smile that was completely unguarded, letting him see the genuine appreciation and the spark of attraction she could no longer deny.

"Yes," she said softly. "We really do."

His answering smile was slow and devastating, a promise of warmth and safety and something more thrilling that made her forget every reason she had to be afraid of losing this good thing she'd somehow found.

EIGHT

KOZUE

Hours later, Kozue walked Sloane back through the quiet hallways of Hale Lodge, the echo of the successful communal dinner still humming between them. He'd watched her navigate the crowded dining area with a confidence that was its own kind of magic. She'd listened intently as elderly guests shared stories, accepted a high-five from a pack teenager, and even made Emerson laugh with a dry remark Kozue hadn't quite caught. Seeing her there—among them, not just visiting—had sparked a dangerous, hopeful fire in his chest. His wolf stirred restlessly, painting vivid images of her staying, working, becoming part of the lodge's rhythm.

Of her becoming his.

Her earlier confession about the underground fights and the men hunting her had carved a protective rage into his bones. Everything in him screamed to convince her this wasn't just a pitstop. It was a destination. He wanted to tell her she belonged here, belonged with him, that she was his fated mate and he would spend every remaining breath giving her the future he saw her longing for in her hazel eyes.

They reached her suite door, the ornate wood a barrier he desperately wanted to cross. The corridor was silent, the lodge settling into its nighttime rhythm, but they lingered, the air thickening with the unspoken pull between them.

"I had a really great time cooking with you today," he said, his voice lower in the quiet hallway. "I hope we get more moments like that."

She leaned back against her door, looking up at him, and the soft light from the sconces caught the gold in her eyes. "I had a really great time, too." She bit her lower lip. "If you're not too busy… would you want to come inside? Hang out for a bit?"

His wolf surged to the surface with a primal roar. Yes. Claim her. Now.

Kozue's control wavered, the urge to accept, to seal himself inside with her, nearly overwhelming. Then Ronan's calm, steady voice echoed in his mind.

Make her comfortable. Don't mention the mate bond. Don't pressure her.

But Kozue had said to let things unfold naturally. This was natural. She was inviting him in. This was building trust. It was the opposite of pressure.

He managed a slow smile, the tension in his jaw easing. "Sure. I'd love to come inside."

She returned his smile, a genuine warmth in it that made his chest tight and swiped her keycard. When the lock clicked open, he followed her into the presidential suite, the door shutting behind them with a soft, definitive thud.

Kozue kept a respectful distance as she moved toward the spacious sitting area dominated by a massive stone fireplace. The room still carried her scent—lavender, vanilla, and the underlying, intoxicating fragrance that was purely Sloane.

Mine.

"Make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing to the large sectional couch. She kicked off her boots, a surprisingly domestic gesture that sent another jolt of possessive warmth through him.

"A fire might be nice," he suggested, his deep voice rough with need.

It was an excuse to move, to do something with his hands before they decided to pull her against him.

"Yes, please," she said softly.

He knelt at the hearth, the familiar routine of stacking kindling and lighting the gas starter giving his racing mind a focal point. He could feel her watching him, her gaze a physical heat on his back as the fire soon caught, the flames licking hungrily at the dry wood. When he turned, she was settled on the couch, curled into one corner, watching him with a piercing intensity that made his wolf growl with satisfaction.

He crossed the short distance and sat on the opposite end of the sectional, leaving a deliberate foot of space between them even as every instinct screamed to close it.

"So," he began, folding his hands in his lap to keep from reaching for her. "Tell me more about yourself."

A shadow crossed her face, her earlier openness retreating behind a familiar guardedness. "Well," she said, picking at a thread on the cushion. "Do you want the good stuff or the bad stuff?"

"I want to know how a woman who's clearly so compassionate and self-reliant ended up in an underground fighting circuit."