The groan of a floorboard jerks me from my thoughts. I pivot and find Sadie at the edge of the shadows, barefoot, the blanketslipping loose around her shoulders. Her hair spills down in damp waves from the mist, her eyes cutting sharp even through the veil of exhaustion. The lamplight glows against her skin, the blanket framing the curve of her collarbone, and for a beat I forget the danger outside. She is fragile and fierce all at once, and my wolf roars to claim both.
“You planning to brood all night, Ranger?” she asks, one brow arched. “Because I should probably charge rent if you’re going to haunt the window.”
The corner of my mouth threatens to lift, but I rein it in. “Go to bed, Sadie.”
“Can’t sleep.” She pads closer, the blanket slipping enough to bare one shoulder. My wolf lunges against the cage of my control at the glimpse of bare skin, hunger ripping through me so sharp it almost doubles me. Every nerve burns to close the distance, to taste her heat, but I grind it back and force my body still. “Too much adrenaline. And you look like you swallowed nails. So talk.”
“Not much to say. Someone’s been watching. They know you’re alive.”
She flinches, but covers it with sass. “Perfect. That’ll look great in my next society column. Heiress turned wolf, stalked by armed men with bad habits and worse cologne.”
Despite myself, a low chuckle escapes. “You joke, but this is serious.”
She stops just short of me, tilts her head. “Everything’s serious with you. Ever relax?”
“No.”
Her laugh is soft, genuine. “Figures.”
The sound threads through me, hot and insistent, wrapping tight until my pulse trips. My wolf slams against the confines of my restraint, recognizing her not only as pack but as the one who sets every nerve on fire. Heat pools low, dangerous, and I bracemy stance, shoulders tight and jaw locked in order to stop myself from closing the space and taking what I crave. My chest aches from the effort, my body screaming to move even as I root myself to the floor.
“You’re staring,” she says, voice lower now.
“You’re in my space.”
Her lips curve. “Maybe I like your space.”
The blanket slips further. I drag my gaze away before I do something I can’t take back. “Get some rest. Tomorrow isn’t going to be easy.”
She studies me for a long beat, then nods. “Fine. But don’t think you’re the only one on edge. I know danger when it’s circling.”
I incline my head once, a soldier’s acknowledgment. “Then trust me to handle it.”
She grins faintly. “Bossy.”
“Protective.”
Her eyes flash at that, and the air between us thickens until I can almost feel her pulse against my own. The wolf inside me snarls, driving heat through my veins, urging me to close the distance. My muscles lock instead, every fiber straining as I step back, breaking the pull before it drags us both under.
Sadie turns away, but not before I catch the flicker of a smile tugging at her mouth. She knows what she does to me, and she’s not above using it. That alone should terrify me more than the men watching from the shadows.
Later, after she disappears down the hall, I step outside again, restless. The night stretches long, heavy with the scent of salt from the Gulf. Every creak of the trees feels amplified. I patrol the grounds again, circling back to where I found the cigarette. This time, I catch something more: a scrap of paper wedged between the roots. I tug it free, squint at the scrawled numbers. Coordinates. My jaw tightens. They’re notjust watching. They’re planning. The possibilities race through my head—safe houses, landing sites, exit routes. I memorize the numbers, already building counters in my mind.
When I come back in, Sadie is waiting in the kitchen, perched on the counter with a mug between her hands. Her blanket’s gone, replaced with an oversized sweatshirt that comes down to her knees. The fabric drowns her frame, baring her legs, and I feel the punch of attraction like a fist. She looks too damn comfortable in my space, like she belongs here.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she says, answering my unspoken question. “And your coffee’s stronger than mine.”
“You raided my stash.”
She lifts a shoulder. “Perks of being under house arrest.”
“You’re not under arrest.”
Her brow arches. “Really? Because it feels a lot like it. Guard dogs; well, wolves. Locked doors, and a grumpy Ranger breathing down my neck.”
“Would you rather I left you unprotected?”
She takes a slow sip from the mug, eyes glinting with mischief over the rim, as though daring me. “Depends. Just how inventive can you get with protective custody?”
