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Her brow furrows. “Do what?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “All of it. The mark. The bond. The whole unhinged pack alpha circus.”
She stiffens. Tries to hide it with sarcasm. “Wow. This is your idea of romance?”
“Don’t need romance,” I say simply. “I just need you to know I’m in. Fully. If you want us - if you want this pack - I’ll stand beside you. Knot-deep and legal.”
She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.
So I keep going.
“I’ll wear the mark. I’ll put up with Lucian’s hissy fits. I’ll even behave at family dinners. You just say the word.”
She swallows. Hard.
I let my grin soften. “No jokes this time, Bambi. Just the truth. Yours, if you want me.”
And I don’t wink. I don’t tease.
I just watch her feel it.
Chapter Forty-Five
Rhea
Idid get the snack, technically.
One piece of toast. Half-buttered, half-forgotten, now sitting somewhere on the kitchen counter like a tragic casualty of knot-induced chaos. I had one bite. One. Then Kai happened.
And honestly? If I were being petty about caloric intake, he definitely counts.
Still, here I am. Not satisfied. Not asleep. Not full of toast. Just very clean, vaguely traumatized, and aggressively alone.
I’ve washed and dressed back into Lucian’s shirt, because clearly I have no personal belongings anymore, and I’m standing in the isolation room like a haunted governess whose ghost is fueled entirely by sexual frustration and emotional whiplash.
I stare out the window, which is absolutely decorative because it doesn’t open and leads directly into more stone wall.
You know. In case I was hoping for a quick escape or a dramatic fall.
The silence is oppressive. The room smells like wealth, tension, and probably lemon-scented anxiety. The bed is perfect. The sheets are somehow freshly changed again, which is horrifying because that means someone came in while I was out cold and had to deal with…everything.
And still, I’m shaking. Not from cold.
Fromhim.
It starts subtle.
A weird prickle at the back of my neck. My fingers twitch. My stomach twists like I forgot a final exam and my subconscious is punishing me.
Then I feel it. The bond.
The pulse of it - not soft. Not gentle.
It's in my spine, in my teeth. It’s Lucian, and he’s doing something that feels as though he's summoning me like I’m a haunted sword in a locked room he thinks only he can wield.
I clutch the bedpost as though it can anchor me.
“No,” I whisper, because saying it out loud might make it real. “No. No-no-nope.”
