Chapter 6: The King's Confession at Her Door
The knock was soft.
Barely a whisper against the heavy oak, three quick raps that Gavin wasn't sure she'd even hear. He stood in the corridor, his fist still raised, the crumpled letter from Lord Voss burning in his pocket like a brand. His breath came shallow, his heart hammering against his ribs, and for one terrible moment, he considered turning around.
Running.
Forgetting.
But then the door swung open, and Seraphina stood before him.
She was still in her shift—the same thin, cream-colored thing she'd worn earlier, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders in a cascade of silver and gold, and her feet were bare against the cold stone floor.
She didn't look surprised.
She looked like she'd been expecting him.
"You knocked," she said.
"I did."
"That's new."
He didn't laugh. Couldn't. The weight in his chest was too heavy, the words crowding his throat too urgent. He stepped past her without waiting for an invitation, his shoulder brushing hers, and heard the door click shut behind him.
The room was warm.
The fire had been stoked recently—fresh logs crackling in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The bed was unmade, the crimson silk sheets tangled and rumpled, and he could smell her everywhere. Jasmine and musk. That dark, wild scent that had been haunting him for weeks.
He turned to face her.
She stood by the door, her arms crossed over her chest, her pale green eyes unreadable. The firelight caught the angles of her face, softening the sharp lines of her jaw, and for a moment, she looked almost fragile.
She wasn't.
She was the most dangerous woman he'd ever met.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
"I know."
"Seraphina—"
"The council summoned you this morning." Her voice was calm, steady, utterly devoid of emotion. "They've given you an ultimatum. Choose a mate by the end of the week, or they'll replace you."
Gavin froze.
"How do you—"
"My father sent me a letter." She pushed off the door and walked past him, her bare feet silent on the fur rug. "It arrived this morning, just after you left. He wanted to make sure I understood the stakes."
She stopped at the window and looked out at the darkening sky. The first stars were beginning to appear, faint pinpricks of light against the velvet blackness, and the moon hung low on the horizon like a silver coin.
"He threatened you," Gavin said.
"He threatened both of us." She turned to face him, and there was something sharp in her gaze now—something that cut through the numbness like a blade. "He told me that if you don't bond with me by the solstice, he'll expose everything. Your affairs. Your broken promises. The women you've bedded and discarded. He'll tear your reputation to shreds and leave you with nothing."
The words hit him like a physical blow.
He'd known. Of course he'd known. Lord Voss's letter had made the threat explicit, had laid out the consequences in black and white. But hearing it from her lips—hearing the calm, matter-of-fact way she described his destruction—made it real in a way it hadn't been before.
"I won't let him do that," Gavin said.
"You won't have a choice." She crossed the room, stopping a few feet away from him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "My father is a powerful man. He has allies in every pack, connections that reach the farthest corners of the realm. If he decides to destroy you, he will."
"Then I'll destroy him first."
"You can't." Her voice was soft now, almost gentle. "You're a king, Gavin, but you're not a god. You can't fight everyone."
He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that he could, that he would, that he'd burn the whole world down before he let her father dictate the terms of his life. But the words died in his throat because she was right.
He couldn't fight everyone.
He could barely fight himself.
"What do you want?" he asked.
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning, and he watched something shift in her eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly masked.
"I want to make my own choices," she said. "I want to stop being a pawn in other people's games. I want—"
She stopped.
"Want what?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
She looked at him then—really looked at him, her pale green eyes searching his face for something he couldn't name. Whatever she found there made her breath catch, made her lips part, made her take a half-step closer.
"You terrify me," she whispered.
"I know."
"No, you don't understand." Her voice cracked, just slightly, the first sign of the composure she'd been holding onto so tightly. "You terrify me because I want you. I want you in a way that makes no sense. You're arrogant and cruel and you fucked me in front of your entire court like I was a piece of meat. You promised me a year and then you claimed me in public like a savage. And I still—"
She stopped again.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy and charged with something that felt like electricity.
"You still what?" Gavin asked.
She didn't answer.
She moved instead.
One moment she was standing there, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and the next she was in his arms, her hands fisting in his shirt, her mouth crushing against his. The kiss was desperate, hungry, almost violent in its intensity, and he kissed her back with everything he had.
He didn't know who started pulling at clothes first.
It didn't matter.
He felt her fingers at the buttons of his shirt, tearing them open with a ferocity that made him groan. He felt her nails rake down his chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He felt her hands at his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and then his breeches were falling and her hand was wrapping around his cock and he was going to lose his mind.
"Seraphina—"
"Shut up."
She pushed him backward and he fell onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against his back. She climbed on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips, and the sight of her—shift pooled around her waist, breasts heaving, hair wild—was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Let me," she said.
She lowered herself onto him.
His cock slid into her wet heat and he groaned, his hands flying to her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. She began to move—slow, deliberate, her hips rolling in a rhythm that made his vision blur.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, Seraphina—"
She leaned forward, her hands braced on his chest, and fucked him like she was trying to prove something. Hard. Fast. Her cunt gripping his cock like a fist, her breath coming in sharp little gasps, and he could feel every inch of her, could feel the way she clenched around him with every stroke.
"Look at you," she murmured. "The great King Gavin, reduced to this. Helpless beneath me."
"I'm not—"
"You are." She rode him harder, and the sound of their bodies meeting filled the room—wet, obscene, perfect. "You're mine now. You've been mine since the moment I walked into your hall and refused to bow."
He wanted to argue.
He couldn't.
She grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head, her fingers overlapping his wrists, and leaned down until her breasts brushed his chest. Her nipples were hard, pebbled, and he arched up to catch one between his lips.
She moaned.
"Fuck, yes—"
He sucked harder, pulling her nipple into his mouth, and she ground her cunt against him like she was trying to consume him. He released her wrists and grabbed her ass instead, pulling her closer, driving his cock deeper, and she cried out as he hit that spot inside her.
"Right there," she gasped. "Right there, don't stop—"
He didn't.
He fucked up into her with brutal, punishing strokes, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. She screamed—a raw, broken sound that echoed off the stone walls—and her cunt clenched around him.
She came.
The feeling of her spasming around his cock sent him over the edge, and he spilled inside her with a groan, his body arching off the mattress. She collapsed onto his chest, her breath hot against his neck, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she lifted her head.
"Roll over," she said.
"What?"
"Roll. Over."
He did.
She settled beside him, her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the silence with warmth, and Gavin stared at the ceiling and tried to remember how to breathe.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
"For the Great Hall. For calling you those things. For—"
"Stop." She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I'm not looking for an apology."
"Then what are you looking for?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've spent so long trying to figure out what I want, what I need, what I'm supposed to do. And now—" She laughed, a soft, humorless sound. "Now I'm lying in bed with a king who terrifies me, and I still don't have any answers."
Gavin turned his head to look at her.
Her face was soft in the firelight, her eyes half-closed, her lips slightly parted. She looked younger like this, less like a warrior and more like a woman—a woman who had been thrust into a situation she couldn't control.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he said. "I've never—I don't—"
"Don't what?"
"Don't do this." He gestured vaguely at the space between them. "I don't sleep with the same woman twice. I don't stay. I don't—"
"Feel?"
He closed his mouth.
"Yes," he said finally. "I don't feel."
She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. Her hair fell in a silver curtain, framing her face, and he reached up to brush it back behind her ear.
"You feel," she said. "You just don't want to."
"That's not—"
"It is." She pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "You're terrified, Gavin. I can smell it on you. You're terrified of what I make you feel, of what it means, of what happens next."
He didn't deny it.
He couldn't.
"You're right," he said. "I am terrified."
"Good."
"Good?"
She smiled—a real smile this time, warm and genuine, and it transformed her face. "Yes. Good. Because it means I'm not the only one."
He kissed her then.
It was softer than before, gentler, a slow exploration rather than a desperate claiming. He tasted her—the mint of her tea, the sweetness of her skin, the faint salt of her tears—and felt something crack open in his chest.
He pulled back and looked at her.
Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was a mess—hair tangled, skin slick with sweat, marks from his hands and mouth blooming on her breasts and throat.
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"I want to stay," he said.
"Then stay."
"I want to hold you."
"Then hold me."
He pulled her against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin, her body curled against his. She fit perfectly—like she'd been carved from the same stone, like they'd been made for each other.
He hated that.
He loved that.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest lulling him toward sleep. He felt her fingers in his hair, gentle and soothing, and heard her whisper something he couldn't quite make out.
Then he was gone.
He slept.
The first night he'd slept through in years.
Seraphina lay awake long after Gavin's breathing evened out.
She watched him sleep—the way his lashes fanned against his cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly, the way his arms tightened around her even in unconsciousness. He looked peaceful.
Vulnerable.
She traced the scar on his shoulder with her fingertip—she knew it by heart now—and felt something twist in her chest.
She could destroy him.
The thought came to her unbidden, sharp and clear. She could destroy him. She had the letters from her father, the eyewitness accounts from the Great Hall, the evidence of his treatment of women. She could leak it all, spread it to every pack, watch his kingdom crumble beneath him.
She could even kill him.
The knife was on the nightstand, within easy reach. One quick thrust, and it would all be over. She'd be free.
But she didn't want to be free.
She wanted to stay.
Her fingers tightened in his hair. She stared at the map on the wall—the borders of his kingdom, the places she'd traced with her fingers when she'd been planning her escape.
Escapes were for people who had something to run from.
She had something to protect.
She pressed a kiss to his forehead and closed her eyes, and for the first time since she'd arrived at Blackthorn Palace, she let herself imagine a future.
But even as she drifted toward sleep, her mind was turning—calculating, plotting, planning.
She would stay.
She would be his mate.
But if he ever tried to destroy her—if he ever made the mistake of thinking she was weak—she would make him regret it.
She would make him burn.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room. The unlit candle by the wall waited, its wax pooled like a promise.
And somewhere in the darkness, a wolf howled.
The wolf's cry faded into the black, swallowed by the walls of Blackthorn Palace. Seraphina lay still, her body curled against Gavin's, her breath syncing with his slow, steady rhythm. The fire had burned down to a bed of embers, casting the room in shades of deep orange and shadow. She watched the last flames flicker and die, and made her decision.
She would not run.
She would fight.
Dawn came cold and gray, slipping through the curtains like a blade. Gavin stirred beside her, his arm tightening around her waist, his nose burrowing into her hair. She felt him inhale—deep, greedy, as if he was trying to memorize her scent.
"You're still here," he murmured.
"Where else would I be?"
He lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, his hair a disheveled mess, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked nothing like the brutal king who had claimed her in the Great Hall.
He looked like a man.
"Nowhere," he said. "You'd be nowhere else."
He kissed her forehead and rolled out of bed.
She watched him dress—the ripple of muscle beneath his skin, the way his fingers moved with practiced efficiency over buttons and buckles. He was beautiful. Dangerous. Hers.
"I have to summon the council," he said, pulling on his boots.
"I know."
"At first light."
"It's already past first light."
He paused and looked at her. Something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe, or fear. "Will you come with me?"
She sat up, letting the sheet pool around her waist. His gaze dropped to her breasts, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed.
"Yes," she said. "I'll come."
The Great Hall was colder than she remembered.
The braziers had been relit, but the flames did little to cut through the chill that had settled into the stone. The council members were already assembled—seven alphas seated at the long table beneath the throne, their faces ranging from curious to hostile.
Lord Aldric sat at the far end, his flinty eyes fixed on the doors.
Lord Marcus stood near the throne, his posture tense, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a man who hadn't slept—dark circles under his eyes, his jaw tight with worry.
And at the center of the table, in a chair that had been hastily added, sat Lord Voss.
Seraphina felt her father's gaze the moment she stepped into the hall.
It was a physical thing—heavy, suffocating, burning with barely contained fury. She met it without flinching, her chin held high, her hand resting in the crook of Gavin's arm.
She would not bow.
She would not break.
"Your Majesty." Lord Aldric rose from his seat, his voice dripping with false deference. "We were not expecting Lady Voss to join us. This is a council matter, not a—"
"She stays." Gavin's voice cut through the hall like a blade. "She is the reason we're here."
Aldric's lips thinned, but he sat down.
Gavin led her to the head of the table, to the throne that dominated the room. He didn't sit. He stood beside it, his hand still on hers, and faced the council with the cold, unyielding expression of a king who had made his decision.
"I've called you here to announce my choice," Gavin said.
The council members exchanged glances.
"We've been waiting for this," Lord Marcus said carefully. "The packs have been—"
"I know what the packs have been doing." Gavin's voice was sharp. "I know about the ultimatum. I know about the threats. And I know about the letter Lord Voss sent to me."
Lord Voss's face went pale.
Gavin reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled letter, holding it up for everyone to see. "You threatened to destroy me if I didn't bond with your daughter. You threatened to expose my affairs, my mistakes, my failures. You thought you could control me."
"I was protecting my daughter's honor," Lord Voss said, his voice tight.
"You were protecting your own interests." Gavin tossed the letter onto the table. "You don't care about Seraphina. You care about the alliance. You care about the power. You care about what my name can do for your pack."
Lord Voss rose to his feet, his face mottled with rage. "How dare you—"
"Sit down."
The command was quiet, but it carried the weight of an alpha's voice—the kind of power that made wolves bow, made knees buckle, made the air itself thicken with dominance. Lord Voss's knees hit the chair with a crack.
Gavin turned to face the council.
"I have made my choice," he said. "Lady Seraphina Voss will be my mate. She will be your queen. We will bond before the solstice, as you demanded."
The council members murmured among themselves.
"But," Gavin continued, his voice rising above the noise, "I will not be dictated to. Not by this council. Not by Lord Voss. Not by anyone. The terms of our bond are mine to set, and I will set them as I see fit."
Lord Aldric's eyes narrowed. "Your Majesty, the packs—"
"Can go to hell."
The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples of shock through the hall. Lord Aldric's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"You wanted me to find a mate. I've found one. You wanted me to secure the alliance. I've secured it. You wanted me to produce an heir. I will." Gavin's voice was ice. "But if any of you—any of you—ever tries to control me again, I will make you regret it. I will strip you of your titles. I will banish you from my court. I will destroy everything you've built."
The hall was silent.
Lord Voss rose again, slower this time, his face twisted with fury. "You cannot speak to me like that. I am the head of the Voss pack. I am her father. I have rights—"
Gavin crossed the room.
It was fast. Faster than anyone could track. One moment he was standing by the throne; the next, he had Lord Voss by the throat and slammed against the stone wall.
The sound echoed through the hall like a thunderclap.
"You have no rights," Gavin growled. "Not here. Not with her. Your daughter is not a bargaining chip. She is not a tool for your political games. She is mine."
Lord Voss clawed at Gavin's hands, his face turning purple.
"The next time you threaten her," Gavin continued, his voice low and deadly, "I will tear your pack apart. I will burn your lands. I will scatter your people to the winds. And I will do it with a smile on my face."
He released Voss.
The older man crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his hands shaking. He looked up at Gavin with something like terror in his eyes.
The council was frozen.
Lord Marcus exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping with relief. The other alphas stared at their king with a mixture of fear and awe.
Seraphina stepped forward.
She moved through the hall like a ghost, her silver-blonde hair flowing behind her, her bare feet silent on the cold marble. She stopped beside Gavin and took his hand.
The touch was electric.
"I accept the bond," she said.
Her voice was clear and strong, carrying to every corner of the hall. The council members leaned forward, their eyes fixed on her.
"I accept the bond not because I was forced. Not because my father demanded it. Not because the council requires it." She looked up at Gavin, her pale green eyes meeting his. "I accept it because I choose him. Because he is my mate. Because I am his."
Gavin's breath caught.
He stared at her, this woman who had refused to bow, who had challenged him at every turn, who had seen him at his worst and chosen him anyway. And for the first time in years, he felt something other than the cold weight of power.
He felt hope.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
It was fierce and raw and utterly inappropriate for a council meeting. The alphas grumbled, Lord Aldric made a strangled noise of protest, and somewhere in the back of the hall, someone dropped a goblet.
Gavin didn't care.
He kissed her like she was the air he needed to breathe, like she was the anchor holding him to the earth. And she kissed him back with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body pressing against his.
When they finally broke apart, she was smiling.
"Show-off," she whispered.
"I can't help it." He pressed his forehead to hers. "You make me want to show off."
The council meeting dissolved after that.
There were no more protests, no more threats, no more ultimatums. Gavin had made his point, and he'd made it with his hands around Lord Voss's throat. The alphas filed out of the hall in a dazed silence, their heads bowed, their wills broken.
Lord Marcus lingered behind.
"That was reckless," he said.
"It was necessary."
Marcus shook his head. "You could have made an enemy of the entire Voss pack. You could have started a war."
"I made a warning." Gavin's hand tightened around Seraphina's waist. "There's a difference."
"There is no difference with men like Voss." Marcus's voice was quiet. "You've humiliated him. You've threatened him. He will not forgive you."
"I don't need his forgiveness."
Marcus looked at Seraphina, then back at Gavin. Something in his expression softened.
"You need to be careful," he said. "Both of you."
He left.
The hall was empty now, just stone and shadow and the dying fire in the braziers. Gavin turned to Seraphina and cupped her face in his hands.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I told you before," she said. "I don't break."
"I know." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "But he's your father. And I just—"
"You just protected me." She rose on her toes and kissed him softly. "You defended me in front of the entire court. You threatened to destroy everything he's built if he ever hurt me again."
"I meant it."
"I know you did."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers twisting in his shirt, and he felt himself hardening against her hip.
"Your chambers," he murmured. "Now."
She laughed. "Yours or mine?"
"Mine." He scooped her into his arms, and she yelped in surprise. "I want to see you in my bed."
He carried her through the corridors, ignoring the startled looks of the servants, the knowing glances of the guards. He didn't care what they thought.
He didn't care about anything except her.
His chambers were warm and gold, illuminated by dozens of candles and the glow of the hearth. He set her down on the massive bed and stood back to look at her.
Her hair was loose, tangled from being carried. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were red and swollen from his kisses.
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Take off your clothes," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're giving me orders now?"
"I'm asking." He dropped to his knees beside the bed. "Please."
Something changed in her expression. The playfulness faded, replaced by something softer, something vulnerable.
She undressed slowly.
She pulled her gown over her head and let it fall to the floor. Her shift followed, sliding down her body like water. And then she was naked before him—full breasts with dark nipples, a narrow waist, generous hips, a thatch of silver-blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.
He reached out and traced the curve of her calf.
Such a simple touch. So tender. So different from the brutal king who had fucked her in front of the entire court.
"I want to know your body," he said. "Every inch of it."
She trembled.
He stood and removed his own clothes, slowly, deliberately. He watched her eyes widen as he revealed his body—the broad shoulders, the sculpted chest, the ridged abdomen, the thick cock already hard and aching.
When he was naked, he climbed onto the bed.
He positioned himself above her, his weight braced on his forearms, his face inches from hers. She was spread beneath him, open, vulnerable, trusting.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"You."
"How?"
She bit her lip. "Slow. I want you to go slow."
He kissed her.
It was gentle this time, a soft exploration rather than a desperate claim. His lips moved against hers, learning the shape of her, the taste of her. He nibbled her bottom lip, soothed it with his tongue, deepened the kiss until she was moaning beneath him.
He worked his way down her throat.
He kissed the hollow of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the soft skin of her collarbone. He sucked her pulse point, marking her, claiming her.
She arched into him.
"Gavin—"
"Shh." He pressed a finger to her lips. "Let me worship you."
He moved lower.
He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked it gently, rolling it between his teeth. Her hands flew to his hair, holding him close, and he licked and sucked and teased until she was writhing beneath him.
He gave the other nipple the same attention.
Then lower.
He kissed her stomach, her hip bones, the inside of her thigh. He parted her legs with his hands, spreading her wide, and settled between them.
She was wet.
Soaking.
He could see her arousal glistening on her folds, could smell her desire filling the air. He licked his lips and lowered his mouth to her cunt.
She screamed.
He licked her slowly, deliberately, his tongue tracing the shape of her folds, the shell of her clit, the entrance to her cunt. He tasted every inch of her—salt and honey and musk—and savored every drop.
She writhed beneath him.
"Oh god—Gavin—please—"
He pushed two fingers inside her.
She was tight, wet, gripping his fingers like a fist. He curled them upward and found that spot inside her that made her scream, and he massaged it gently while his tongue circled her clit.
Her hips bucked against his face.
She was close. He could feel it—the way her cunt tightened around his fingers, the way her breathing went ragged, the way her hands fisted in the sheets.
"Come," he murmured against her clit. "Come for me, Seraphina."
She shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and beautiful, her hips lifting off the bed, her voice breaking on his name. He kept licking her through it, drawing out every pulse of pleasure, until she was limp and trembling beneath him.
He climbed up her body.
He positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against her slick folds. She looked up at him, her eyes heavy, her lips parted.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She did.
He thrust inside her.
Slow. Deep. Intimate. He watched her face as he filled her, watched her eyes widen, watched her mouth fall open on a silent gasp. He bottomed out and held himself there, letting her adjust to the feel of him.
"I want to see you," he said. "I want to see what I do to you."
He began to move.
Long, slow strokes. He pulled out until only the tip remained, then pushed back in, burying himself to the hilt. Each thrust was deliberate, controlled, designed to make her feel every inch.
She wrapped her legs around his waist.
"Harder," she whispered. "I'm not made of glass."
He smiled.
He fucked her harder.
He fucked her like he was trying to prove something—to her, to himself, to the world. He fucked her with everything he had, his hips driving into hers, his cock filling her over and over again.
She screamed his name.
She clawed at his back.
She bit his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood.
He didn't stop.
He fucked her until she came again, her cunt clenching around him like a fist. He fucked her through her second orgasm and straight into a third, until she was crying with pleasure and begging him to stop and begging him not to stop.
"How does it feel?" he growled.
"Amazing—"
"How does my cock feel?"
"So good—fuck, Gavin—"
"Whose are you?"
"Yours—I'm yours—"
"Again."
"Yours, yours, I'm—"
He felt his own climax building—a pressure at the base of his spine, hot and tight and inevitable. He drove into her one last time, deep and brutal, and felt himself empty inside her.
He collapsed on top of her.
They lay tangled together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, could feel the tremble in her limbs, could feel her fingers stroking through his hair.
"I meant it," he whispered.
"Meant what?"
"When I said I'm yours."
She was quiet for a moment.
"I know," she said finally. "I know."
He lifted his head and looked at her. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, her lips curved in a small, secret smile.
"I've never—" He stopped.
"Never what?"
"Never stayed before."
She touched his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"I know," she said again. "You're staying now."
He buried his face in her neck.
He stayed.
The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth. The candles burned low, casting soft shadows on the walls. And somewhere in the darkness, a wolf howled—a lonely sound that echoed through the night like a promise.
But this time, Gavin didn't hear it alone.