Page 17
“It’s a fucking hate crime is what it is.”
I laugh. It bursts out of me, too loud, and he watches me do it like he’s memorizing the sound.
“Zahra Cole,” he says, slow. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”
“He benched me.”
He nods, a small smile still playing at the corners of his full lips.
I fiddle with my pen. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this. I’m someone who’s… very composed. But I haven’t slept. I made banana bread at three o’clock this morning, and I don’t even like banana bread. I don’t know who it was for. I just needed something to do with my hands, now there’s two loaves sitting on my counter… Oh, God, why am I telling you this?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s staring at my mouth. I don’t think he heard a single word.
I clear my throat. Get it together, Zahra. “Anyway. I didn’t come to babble. I came because I solved it.”
That gets his eyes back up to mine, head tilted. “Solved what?”
“This.” I tap the glass with my pen. “The prison deciding if, when, and how we get to meet. I spent all day yesterday going through the corrections code and the Shifter Bond Recognition Act. And I found it.” I grin wide.
He smiles back, shaking his head like I’m the most fucking adorable thing in the world. “Found what, Zahra?”
“Section twelve. A registered mate bond gets the incarcerated party bonded visitation. Private.” I lower my gaze for a second and take a deep breath before continuing. “With contact, Declan. No glass, no guards in the room, no cameras.” His eyes widen, giving me the audacity to finish. “Minimum two visits a month.” I stop and swallow before concluding, “And overnight accommodation during a documented heat.”
His eyes turn gold at the word heat. Then he shuts them. Breathes deep, chest expanding, muscles shifting in his corded forearms, throat working. And I stare, captivated, until he opens them, gray.
“Keep going,” he says, hoarse.
My heart is beating a mile a minute. I’ve barely slept. Couldn’t wait to see him. Tell him. Watch his eyes when I share…
“The Department can’t deny it. They can stall, but the statute gives them ten business days, and on day eleven I’ll fucking bury them in motions.”
We’re smiling at each other like complete lunatics. I don’t know this man. I know what I feel for him. I know what his eyes, his scent, his behavior when we first met tells me he feels for me. I know what I hoped and prayed for. But I didn’t know. And to see him like this. A brutal convict at peace because he’s in my presence. A dangerous criminal fucking smiling softly at me… I have to keep talking because time is of the essence.
“We need three things to register: a bond petition, which I drafted last night.” He lets out a short chuckle, and I bite my lip, then shake myself and push through all the tingly and fucking fuzzy feelings coursing through my body. “A civil ceremony.” I wave a dismissive hand. “It’s twenty minutes, a registrar, they can do it on-site.” He’s staring with so much intensity, I fidget in my seat. I clear my throat. “And mutual recognition, witnessed by a licensed Alpha.”
His grin is back in full force. Wicked as hell. “Cillian.”
I nod, smiling back just as crazy. “He’s going to have an aneurysm.”
He chuckles.
And I realize I’ve run out of words. I gave my speech. The one I spent hours preparing. And even more putting together. Scrolling through manuals, websites, and taking notes. So I sit there with my heart slamming against my ribs, and stare at my man.
“Counselor,” he finally says. “Are you proposing to me?”
I let out a surprised laugh. Then, “I’m proposing a legal strategy, Mr. Greene.”
He tilts his head again. Big, badass, hot as fuck, bad boy, alpha wolf. And mine apparently.
“It’s a very good legal strategy.”
He smirks. “On our first date.”
If there wasn’t reinforced plexiglass between us, I would slap his chest. “Sir, this is not a date! You better take me somewhere nice on our actual first date.”
He chuckles, then leans in until his forehead’s almost on the glass, and all the teasing drains out of his face. What’s left is so raw and so sure that my breath catches. “But sweetheart, you should know something before you file that paper.” I blink at him, heart hammering. “There’s no fucking version of this where I let you go after.” He slowly shakes his head. Oh. My. God. “You sign it, you’re mine.” My pussy clenches. “Not for fucking visits. Not until I get out of this shithole.” His eyes never leave mine. Holding me, catching me as I fall, warming me inside and out. Then he entirely rearranges my world, flips it on its axis. “I’m keeping you. For fucking ever.”
I look at him. And there’s no fear in my heart, no hesitation. Just warmth, certainty, and a sense of belonging that’s growing stronger every passing moment.
