Chapter 20 Nora
Nora
The upstairs apartment settled into silence after dinner.
Trigger had finally stopped shouting about tacos.
Havoc had done one last perimeter walk.
Saint had vanished into his room to read something that looked suspiciously like a spy manual.
By the time I changed into pajamas and Wolf took a quick shower, the halls were quiet… almost peaceful.
Wolf appeared in my doorway, barefoot, hair damp, wearing joggers and a simple black T-shirt stretched across his shoulders in a way that made rational thought difficult.
“You ready for bed?” he asked softly.
I nodded, heart fluttering.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him—not in a possessive way, but in a this space is safe now way.
We climbed into bed slowly.
Awkwardly.
Tenderly.
Wolf rested on top of the covers at first, like he didn’t want to assume anything.
I touched his arm. “You can be under the blanket with me.”
He hesitated—just a breath—then slid beneath the quilt and pulled it up over both of us.
Warmth enveloped me instantly.
Wolf lay on his back, one arm behind his head. I curled closer, resting my cheek lightly on his chest.
His heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath my ear.
“This okay?” he murmured.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Perfect.”
He exhaled softly and shifted his arm around me—protective, gentle, careful.
We lay like that for what felt like hours, the kind of quiet that made the air feel alive.
I was drifting, sinking into the warm haze between waking and sleep, when—
THUMP.
I jolted.
Wolf didn’t.
He went still.
Every muscle coiled.
Breath held.
Then—
SCRATCH.
Long.
Slow.
Right outside the bedroom door.
My blood went cold.
Wolf’s arm tightened around me, not in fear—
in warning.
He whispered, voice barely audible:
“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
I froze against him, breath shallow.
Another scratch.
Closer.
Wolf eased away from me with soundless precision. He reached beneath the bed where he’d stashed his handgun hours earlier. His fingers wrapped around it silently.
He stood without turning on a light.
Without breathing loudly.
Without fear.
This was Wolf in mission mode—every sense sharp, every movement lethal.
I swallowed hard. “Wolf…” I whispered.
He lifted a hand. Stay.
My chest squeezed tight.
CLICK.
The doorknob turned.
Not pushed.
Not rattled.
Turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Someone was trying to open it.
Wolf moved to the wall beside the door, gun raised, stance ready. His voice was a low, controlled growl meant for me alone:
“If this door opens, get behind the bed. Do not move until I say.”
My pulse thundered in my ears.
From the other side of the door, something brushed against the wood.
A soft thud.
Another scratch.
Weight shifting.
Wolf narrowed his eyes at the doorknob.
It stilled.
Silence.
Then—
KNOCK.
Not loud.
Not frantic.
A single knock.
Soft.
Measured.
Wrong.
Wolf’s voice cut through the air.
“Trigger?” he called quietly.
In the hallway, a beat of silence—
Wolf’s eyes went ice cold.
This wasn’t Trigger.
It wasn’t Saint.
It wasn’t Havoc.
The doorknob twitched again.
Wolf snapped:
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
His stance changed—ready to strike.
He jerked the door open—
Hard—
fast—
deadly—
And nothing was there.
Nothing.
The hallway stretched empty in both directions.
Silent.
Still.
Not even Muffin wandering around.
Wolf swept the hall with his gun drawn.
Left.
Right.
Down to the archway.
Nothing.
He stepped out, checking corners, moving like a silent storm.
I slipped to the doorway, blanket clutched around me.
“Wolf?” I whispered.
He came back slowly, jaw tight, eyes darker than I’d ever seen.
“There was someone here,” he said. “He was touching the door.”
My throat closed. “But where did he go? This is the second floor.”
He shook his head once. “I don’t know.”
My legs wobbled.
Wolf holstered his weapon and crossed the space between us in two long strides, pulling me to his chest with one arm, his other hand threading into my hair.
“You’re okay,” he murmured into the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”
“But he was right there,” I whispered shakily. “At our door.”
Wolf’s hold tightened.
“And he’s never getting that close again.”
His voice wasn’t gentle now.
It was a vow.
Low.
Deadly.
Final.
I buried my face against his chest as his heart hammered beneath my cheek, and for the first time, I heard fear in him.
Not for himself.
For me.