I weigh her words, the soldier in me bristling, the man in me knowing she is right. Finally I nod once. “You want something concrete. Fine. You get access to the security feeds for your wing. Limited, but real. If someone approaches, you’ll see it as fast as I do.”
Her lips curve, slow and genuine. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not everything either,” I counter, clipped.
She sips her coffee, smile lingering. “I can live with that. For now.”
For the first time since we left Galveston, the tension between us softens. She leans back against the rail, hair stirring in the night air, and I find myself watching her longer than I should. My hand flexes around the mug before I force it to stillness. One concession given, a hundred battles ahead. But tonight, for this sliver of quiet, it feels like a truce.
She sits and pats the cushion beside her. “Sit. Unless standing around looking broody is part of the job description.”
I don’t move. “I’m not here to relax. None of us are. We're here to ensure your safety.”
“Clearly.” She stretches her legs, leggings tucked into cowboy boots and a slouchy tank top sliding to show just enough to make me swallow hard. “But if you keep pacing like that, you’llwear a groove in the floor. Sit. Talk. Pretend to be human for ten minutes.”
Against my better judgment, I sit. Not too close, not far enough either, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her presence brushing against me. She smells faintly of the oiled leather from her boots, familiar and distracting in ways I don’t want to admit. The quiet hum of her breathing pulls at me, a reminder that she’s here, alive, stubborn, and completely under my protection. It steadies me even as it tempts me to forget why I need to keep my distance.
“Better?” she asks, tilting her head.
“No,” I admit. “Worse.”
Her lips twitch. “Because you can’t stand me, or because you can’t stand yourself when you’re around me?”
I meet her gaze, steady. “Both.”
Her laugh is soft, genuine, and it cuts straight through my defenses. “You're honest; I’ll give you that.”
She adjusts her position, kicking off her boots before tucking her legs under her. “You know, most men in your position would at least try to charm me. You? You glare and growl.”
“I’m not most men.”
“Thank God for that,” she says with a sly grin. “I’d be bored to tears if you were predictable.”
Hours later, the ranch seems to have settled into an uneasy quiet. The team moves through their rotations with practiced discipline, footsteps muffled in the halls and silently moving along the perimeter. I make a slow circuit of the security feeds, once, twice, and then a third time because my instincts refuse to let me stop. Every screen shows calm, every sensor reads clear, but the stillness feels deceptive.
The scrape at the penthouse balcony echoes in my head, sharp and insistent, like a reminder that we were never as safeas we wanted to believe. If someone was trying to spook us, they succeeded.
I make my way back to Sadie’s room to check in. Light spills from under her door, proof she hasn’t settled. Inside, she’s curled on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees and a half-finished glass of wine on the table, looking like she’s daring exhaustion to catch her. There’s tension in her posture, but also a flicker of determination that keeps her eyes fixed on the screen.
“Have you seen your sister?”
She nods. “Yes, and we’re planning our escape. We’ve got costumes and everything.”
“Breaking the rules already?” I ask, shaking my head.
She glances up, unruffled. “Didn’t realize babysitting me was part of your job.”
“Everything’s part of my job.”
She closes the laptop with a snap and sets the glass down. “And what if I don’t follow your rules?”
“Then I make you.” The words leave me in a low, dangerous growl, meant to rattle her composure. But instead of shrinking, her eyes deepen with something fierce, daring me to follow through. Her wolf must recognize mine as her fated mate, but I doubt she understands what she's feeling.
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Don’t push me, Sadie.”
She rises slowly, leggings hugging her legs, her feet scuffing the rug as she steps into my space, so close I feel her heat. “Maybe I want to push you, Gage. Maybe I want to see if the man who glares like a storm can do more than scowl.”
