7. Poppy #2
They soon entered the kitchen with its warm wood cabinets, granite countertops, and copper pots that had belonged to her grandmother.
It smelled of the catered dinner they'd enjoyed, garlic and herbs and lingering warmth before everything went to hell.
Poppy moved toward the cabinet where she kept her first aid kit, her shoulder protesting the movement and sending fire down her arm.
"Sit down." Keiro's voice held that Alpha authority she was beginning to recognize—not harsh, but absolutely unyielding. "Let me handle this."
Every instinct she possessed screamed against the suggestion.
She'd been handling her own injuries since she was twenty-one, patching herself up after sparring sessions and territory disputes, never showing weakness because weakness meant losing respect and the authority she'd fought so hard to maintain.
"I can manage—"
"I know you can." He stepped closer, and his scent wrapped around her like a physical caress—cedar and rain and something uniquely him that made her lioness roar with satisfaction. "But you don't have to. At least not tonight."
The words hit her harder than they should have.
Her lioness was practically vibrating with the need to accept his care, to lean into the protection and partnership he offered.
The animal part of her recognized what her human mind was still fighting—this man was theirs.
Their mate. Their equal. Their safe harbor after eleven years of weathering every storm alone.
Poppy sank onto one of the kitchen stools, her body making the decision her mind couldn't quite commit to. "Fine. But make it quick."
Keiro's smile was genuine, transforming his entire face from corporate intimidation to something warmer and more personal. He moved with surprising gentleness as he gathered the medical supplies, his large hands handling the delicate items with the same precision she'd seen him use in combat.
When he approached her, she had to fight the urge to lean away. Not from fear, but from the overwhelming intensity of having him so close. His fingers found the torn sleeve of her dress, and she sucked in a breath as he carefully pushed the fabric down to expose her wounded shoulder.
The wounds were deeper than she'd initially thought—three parallel gashes from the rogue's claws, still seeping blood despite her attempts to apply pressure. They would heal quickly thanks to her shifter nature, but they needed proper cleaning to prevent infection.
"This might sting," he warned, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.
The antiseptic burned like liquid fire, and she bit down on a curse as he applied steady pressure to stop the bleeding. His touch was clinical but somehow intimate, those large hands moving over her skin with reverence that made her heart race.
"You know," she said, needing to break the silence before she did something embarrassing like melt into his touch, "you didn't have to help me fight those rogues. I'm perfectly capable of handling situations like this myself. I've been doing it for eleven years."
His hands stilled for a moment, and when she looked up, his dark eyes had shifted to that molten gold.
"I know you're capable," he said, resuming his careful ministrations. "I know you're fierce and powerful and probably the most dangerous woman I've ever met. But I needed to help. I couldn't stand by and watch someone threaten you."
The honesty in his voice made her chest tight with emotions she didn't want to examine.
But she understood exactly what he meant—if their positions had been reversed, if someone had been threatening him, her lioness would have torn them apart without hesitation.
The mate bond didn't ask for permission or logical reasoning.
It simply demanded protection and partnership.
And that's exactly what terrifies me.
She'd built her entire identity around self-sufficiency, around being the Alpha who could handle anything without help. Accepting his protection and his care, felt like admitting weakness. Like confirming every doubt Sander had ever voiced about her ability to lead.
But as Keiro's hands moved over her skin, cleaning and bandaging her wounds with infinite patience, she couldn't deny how right it felt.
How natural the whole night had felt. And how they'd fought together like they'd been partners for years, moving in perfect synchronization, trusting each other implicitly despite having known each other for less than forty-eight hours.
Her lioness knew the truth, even if Poppy wasn't ready to admit it. They belonged together. They worked well together. And maybe, just maybe, that didn't have to mean losing herself.
"There," Keiro said, securing the last piece of tape. "That should hold until you heal."
She looked down at his handiwork—professional and thorough and perfect. When she looked back up, she caught him studying her face with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"Let me take care of yours," she said, standing before she could lose her nerve.
"They're not that serious—"
"Sit." She used her Alpha voice, the one that brooked no argument. "It's only fair, since you helped me."
His answering smile was devastating—warm and genuine and tinged with something that looked suspiciously like pride. He settled onto the stool she'd vacated, and she tried not to notice how his presence filled the entire kitchen with masculine energy that made her pulse quicken.
She gathered a fresh washcloth and dampened it with warm water, her hands only slightly unsteady as she approached him. The wounds across his chest were shallower than hers but still needed attention—three parallel scratches that disappeared beneath the fabric of his shirt.
"This needs to come off," she said, gesturing to his shirt.
He complied without hesitation, pulling the torn fabric off and tossing it aside.
The sight of his bare chest nearly made her forget why she was there—broad shoulders, defined muscle, a tapestry of old scars that spoke of battles fought and won.
He was built like a warrior, all functional strength and controlled power.
Focus on the wounds. Not on how badly you want to trace those scars with your tongue.
She pressed the damp cloth to the first scratch, and his sharp intake of breath made her look up. His eyes had gone molten gold again, and the air between them crackled with electricity.
Her free hand braced against his shoulder for balance, and the contact sent heat shooting through her entire body. This was supposed to be clinical and practical. Instead, it felt like the most intimate thing she'd done in years.
She moved to the second wound, trying to ignore the way his muscles tensed under her touch, and the way his breathing had gone shallow and controlled. The mate bond hummed between them, growing stronger with each point of contact, each shared glance, and each moment of trust.
He's letting me take care of him.
"Poppy." His voice was rough and strained. "Come stay with me tonight."
Her hand stilled on his chest, right over his heart. She could feel it racing under her palm, matching the frantic rhythm of her own pulse.
"Just for tonight," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's not safe here right now, and I would feel better if you did."
Every logical part of her brain screamed that this was a terrible idea. Going to his den would complicate an already impossible situation. It would make her appear vulnerable, dependent, unable to protect her own home.
But she was exhausted. Bone-deep, soul-weary tired in a way that had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with eleven years of carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
The thought of spending one night not having to be constantly vigilant, constantly strong, was almost overwhelming in its appeal.
"Alright," she heard herself say. "Just for tonight."
The relief that flooded his features was immediate and intense, and she realized he'd been prepared for her to refuse. That he'd asked knowing she might say no but needing to offer anyway.
She finished bandaging his wounds in charged silence, both of them hyperaware of every brush of skin and every shared breath. When she was done, he stood and reached for his ruined shirt.
"Go pack an overnight bag," he said, his voice carefully neutral despite the heat still burning in his eyes. "I'll meet you outside."
He turned to leave the kitchen, and Poppy watched him go, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was definitely a bad idea. Probably the second worst decision she'd made since agreeing to their partnership.
Or maybe, her lioness whispered as she headed toward her private chambers, this is exactly what you need.