Oli shifts to make room, and I sink beside him. The bed is surprisingly comfortable. The sun warms my skin, and I sigh contentedly.
“See? Told you,” Oli murmurs, already half-asleep again.
I roll onto my side, facing him. His nose twitches in his peculiar way, and I find myself smiling. There’s something so innocent about him.
“Why a dog bed?” I ask, running my hand over the plush fabric.
“It’s not a dog bed,” he mumbles defensively. “It’s a shifter relaxation pod. Hudson got them custom-made.”
“Looks like a dog bed to me.”
“Feels like heaven, though, right?”
I can’t argue with that. The warmth of the sun combined with the softness beneath me is making my eyelids heavy. “Yeah, it does.”
Oli’s hand reaches for mine, his fingers wrapping gently around mine. His touch is warm, almost hesitant, and he gently squeezes.
“‘It’s nice having you here,” he murmurs, words slurring as sleep claims him. His nose twitches one last time before his breathing deepens, but his grip on my hand remains.
I squeeze his hand back and study his face as he drifts deeper into sleep. There’s a softness to Oli that the others don’t have—even Ethan, for all his kindness, carries an edge.
I should get up and finish my chores, but instead, I curl closer to his warmth, my body relaxing and soaking up the sun.
My wolf stirs contentedly inside me, and we’re in perfect agreement.
This feels nice.
12
Luna
Notebook: When a male insists you’re “safe,” it’s usually a good time to get the fuck away.
My eyes flutter open.
Oli is still sound asleep beside me, his chest rising and falling gently. His hand loosely wrapped around mine. I carefully extract my fingers, moving slowly to avoid waking him.He makes a slight sound of protest but burrows deeper into the cushion.
The house is quiet.
The guys must still be out. I stretch, refreshed from our impromptu nap, and head upstairs to my room.
I flop onto my bed and stare at the ceiling for a moment.
What to do while I wait?
My phone sits on the nightstand, untouched since I arrived. Maybe I should check my message?
“Bad idea, Luna,” but before I can think better of it, I grab my phone and open InstaShifter.
Holy shit.
Notifications flood my screen—hundreds of them. Tags, messages, comments, and new followers. My follower count has jumped from 13,000 to over 100,000.
“What the hell?” I mutter, scrolling through the mess.
Then I see it.
A headline that makes my heart stutter: “POLITICAL HEIR CONRAD CLAWFORD ENGAGED TO INSTITUTE BEAUTY.”
