A crease forms in her brow. “I don’t remember. I just know I felt stuck there.”
She wraps her arms around herself and shivers. She needs to get warm and get in my bed.
It’s a testament to how rattled she is that she lets me guide her into the washroom. I peel the soaking silk from her skin and wrap her in a towel. By the grace of the Divine, she lets me. I grab another towel and pat her hair.
Her skin is covered in goosebumps. I leave to rifle through my closetuntil I find a sweater. She doesn’t even say anything snarky about it being mine. She just lifts her arms and lets me slide it on her.
I tilt her chin up so she has to meet my eyes. “Now get in my bed.”
She grumbles something under her breath, but she trudges into my room and climbs into the bed, pulling the cover up to her chin.
Kyrin makes to follow her until I whistle. He whines but retreats to his place by the fire.
I stoke the fire with an iron poker and try to calm my thundering heart.
Finally, I climb into bed beside my wife. She’s curled on her side, facing me.
“No more fighting me about sleeping in here,” I say.
She purses her full lips. “If I can’t fight, how else will I turn you on, my wolf?”
I take her hand in mine. Her pale skin is so soft, her fingers delicate and thin, like a musician’s. She tries to pull her hand away, but I grip it tighter.
“Don’t fucking fight me. It’s this or I will tie you to the headboard. Just go to sleep.”
She looks at my hand in hers like my touch is causing her physical pain. Then she huffs and closes her eyes.
We lie there for a few long minutes, listening to the roar of the storm and the crackling fire.
“Harlow?”
She blinks her eyes open.
“You would say it if you needed a break, right?”
She frowns. “Say what?”
“It’s not just for sex. If you need to quit—if you were breaking—you would sayStars, right?”
Her eyes narrow. “I never quit and I won’t break.”
She’s certain in the way only someone divorced from any real tragedy can be. I spent my youth certain I was unbreakable. No one thinks they will break until they meet the thing that shatters them.
I don’t fall asleep again for hours—until she’s sleeping fitfully, her breathing soft and even, her hand still in mine. As I drift off, I think about how comforting it is to feel her hand in mine.
But when I wake up at first light, her side of the bed is cold. She’s gone, and so is the sense of any ground gained. Whatever vulnerability could exist in the dark can’t endure in the light of day.
35
HENRY
When I step out of the washroom, clean and ready for another day of trying to contain my new wife, Harlow stands in front of her bed, folded in half, stretching the backs of her legs.
I can’t decide if she’s trying to tempt me, persuade me, or if she doesn’t consider my presence at all.
Fortunately, she’s no longer fighting me on picking out her clothes. She’s wearing the sweater I laid out for her. Unfortunately, she’s forgone the pants, so I have a perfect view of her round, lace-covered backside.
She sways from side to side, shaking out her arms. “Can I go for a run today? I’m getting stiff. Surely word of my misdeeds has spread enough and everyone already hates me. May as well enjoy myself.”
