3. Freesia #2
"Well, I'll support whatever you decide," Luka said with the kind of loyalty that had kept them both alive through impossible odds. "But for what it's worth, Izei seems like someone we can trust. My jaguar instincts are picking up strength, protection, honor. The real deal."
Despite everything, Freesia felt her lips curve into the ghost of a smile. "From what my tigress instincts are picking up, I feel the same way. He seems like someone who took his oath to protect the Waverly Compact and its Keeper very seriously when he became Alpha. That's... encouraging."
"Then let's take it one day at a time here," Luka said, flashing her his easy grin. "We've survived worse odds than a complicated mate bond."
"Agreed." She pushed away from the door. "Go take that hot shower you've been fantasizing about for weeks. I'll meet you downstairs for what should be our first real meal in months."
Luka's grin widened, erasing years of hardship and exile in a single moment of pure anticipation. "Maybe I can get used to this place."
He disappeared into his room with a soft click of the latch, leaving Freesia alone in the elegant hallway with nothing but her racing thoughts and the persistent ache of the mate bond pulling at her like a physical tether.
She turned the handle and stepped into luxury that rivaled the guest accommodations of her family's destroyed estate.
The sitting area sprawled before her, all cream leather and warm wood tones, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of manicured gardens stretching toward dense forest beyond.
Not quite as opulent as the Waverly royal compound, but it spoke of the same kind of generational wealth and careful stewardship that she'd grown up taking for granted.
Freesia set her duffel bag beside an antique writing desk but kept the smaller bag containing the Waverly Compact secured across her body—the reminder of her duty that had to come before everything else—including inconvenient mate bonds and the promise of safety she couldn't afford to trust completely.
Through a graceful archway, she glimpsed the bedroom with its massive four-poster bed draped in midnight blue silk. The contrast between those rich fabrics and the thin cot she'd been sleeping on for months made her throat tighten with something that might've been longing.
She moved toward the bed as if drawn by magnetic force, her fingers soon trailing across coverlets softer than anything she'd touched since fleeing the royal compound. When she finally sank onto the mattress, it embraced her with the kind of comfort that made her bones ache with relief.
This is temporary, she reminded herself, even as her body melted into luxury it had been denied for far too long. I can't get comfortable here. I can't get comfortable anywhere right now.
The lesson had been burned into her soul the night her world shattered.
Life could change in a heartbeat, could be stolen by enemies who struck from shadows while families slept peacefully in beds just like this one.
She couldn't let her guard down, no matter how safe Izei's fortress-like estate appeared.
But when she lay back against pillows that felt like clouds, exhaustion crashed over her in waves that threatened to drag her under completely.
For just a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to stay here, to let someone else carry the burden of protection while she focused on rebuilding instead of merely surviving.
The fantasy lasted exactly thirty seconds before reality crashed back.
She forced herself upright and moved toward the connecting bathroom, drawn by the promise of hot water and privacy. But when she stepped through the doorway, her breath caught in her throat.
The bathroom stretched before her like something from a luxury spa, all marble surfaces and gleaming fixtures that reminded her so powerfully of her old bathroom in the Waverly royal estate that grief hit her like an avalanche.
She gripped the edge of the marble vanity to steady herself as memories crashed over her in merciless waves.
Mother brushing her hair before formal dinners. Father's booming laugh echoing through the corridors. Sasha stealing her expensive bath oils and leaving the empty bottles scattered across the counter like evidence of her crime.
The raw, gouging ache in her chest threatened to buckle her knees. Three months of carefully controlled grief suddenly demanded acknowledgment, and she found herself gasping for air that seemed too thin to sustain her.
Focus on the present, she commanded herself, the same mantra that had kept her functional through the worst of the nightmares. Focus on protecting the Compact. Focus on staying alive. Focus on protecting Luka. Everything else can wait.
But the grief would always be there, waiting to ambush her in quiet moments like this one when her defenses dropped.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin because she couldn't afford to fall apart now, not when so many people were depending on her survival to maintain the peace her family had died protecting.
She finally removed the small bag from across her body and set it down near the shower, keeping it within reach at all times, and then began peeling away the practical clothes that had become like armor.
Her sturdy boots chosen for running, cargo pants with hidden pockets for weapons and supplies, a jacket reinforced for any kind of weather.
Each piece represented a choice between survival and comfort, and survival had won every time.
When she finally stood bare in the marble sanctuary, she caught her reflection in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back.
Leaner than she'd ever been, marked by small scars that told stories of close escapes and desperate fights.
But her blue eyes still held the same fierce determination that had got her through three months of hell.
She turned toward the massive shower with its multiple heads and gleaming controls, her hands shaking slightly as she adjusted the temperature.
But when she finally stepped inside and the first rush of hot water hit her skin, she nearly sobbed with relief.
For once, she allowed herself to simply exist in the moment—no weapons within reach, no escape routes mapped, no constant vigilance required.
Just heat and steam and the luxury of feeling clean again.
But the water washed away more than just dirt and exhaustion. It carried away the weight of constant fear, the ache of sleeping on hard surfaces, and the bone-deep uncertainty that had become her constant companion.
As she stood there in that warm cocoon, she hoped to find the strength to face whatever came next—including the impossible complication of a fated mate she couldn't afford to claim yet.