Chapter 35
Conrí
One must learn from their mistakes. This time I told no one about my date with Nika.
One must also proceed with caution when one’s brother resides on the same floor.
I pushed the handle down slowly, easing my door shut with the careful precision of a man who had lived with wolves his entire life and knew exactly how much sound carried. The latch clicked. I released the handle by degrees.
I was almost clear of the floor when Cuán’s door burst open.
“Why, good evening, dear brother. Where are you sneaking off to?”
“You’re not our mother,” I said, allowing my heels to find the marble floor properly.
“Yet they had to call me for an update,” he said, leaning on the doorframe with the ease of a man who considered his own curiosity entirely reasonable.
“Do you know why they didn’t call me?” I asked, pressing the button for the lift.
His bewildered look was entirely expected.
“Because they know how to respect my privacy.”
He waved his hand as if privacy were a concept invented specifically to inconvenience him.
The lift arrived. I stepped in as he opened his mouth.
“I can’t hear you. Bye,” I said, stabbing the button for the ground floor and letting the doors close on whatever he’d been about to say.
The ride down and the drive to Nika’s flat had me running through my list—everything I’d need to have in place should her heat arrive faster than she could anticipate. It also kept returning me, unhelpfully, to my favourite moment of the day.
My girl’s reaction to her colleague trying to insert herself into our proximity.
Natural. Immediate. Entirely unprompted.
We didn’t want anyone else’s scent between us.
Human or wolf.
“Oh, shit. We can’t go to dinner empty-handed,” I muttered.
I cut across two lanes, checking my mirrors just enough to avoid disaster while mentally rerouting my journey to Nika. I was doing everything but trying to think of what to get her. I didn’t have a clue.
“Hey Siri, call Mum.”
Great save, Kael said.
Yeah, women had intuition. They just knew things that men didn’t.
??
??
??
Thirty-nine minutes later I was considerably calmer and pressing her buzzer.
“Hello?” Her voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom system that had been installed before either of us was born.
I glanced around. The street was empty.
“It’s your favourite wolf,” I said, pressing the button.
“Come on up. I hope you’re wearing your groin protector,” she said, and buzzed me in.
I couldn’t tell her I had years of fighting and training behind me. That information was unlikely to work in my favour at this stage.
I made my way to her floor.
Nothing prepared me for the sight of her in the doorway.
Red against black fitted trousers. The cut of her top drawing the eye immediately to her neck—black at the neckline that transformed into a black tie resting against the red. Shoulders bare, the sleeves somehow holding their position close to her elbows in defiance of all reasonable expectation.
She was completely covered.
I was still malfunctioning.
“Are you coming inside?”
“I will never say no to that question,” I said, placing a solemn hand over my heart. “Never.”
“You know what I meant,” she muttered, stepping aside as I chuckled.
Her scent surrounded me the moment I crossed the threshold. Then the warmth of food reached me—something rich and real, the kind of smell that settled something animal and fundamental. Basic necessities. No need to hunt.
The door closed behind me. I turned and offered her the gold gift bag.
“Thank you for your kind invitation,” I said.
“More like blackmailed,” she grumbled, but took it from me with a smile. “You shouldn’t have.”
You almost didn’t, Kael snarked.
We were both invested in her reaction.
She pulled the glass bottle out—no doubt expecting alcohol—but it was premium cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil. She peered into the bag before glancing up at me.
“This is too much, but it is very much appreciated,” she said, placing the bottle carefully back and lifting the small glass jar wrapped in tissue.
I took the bag from her so she could unwrap it properly.
She gasped.
“This is so adorable.”
My chest puffed up in pride.
The miniature flowering plant sat in the jar—a bright pink bloom with a touch of yellow at its centre, tiny layers of white gravel stones sitting clean against the darker soil beneath.
She held it up to the light, turning it slowly, inspecting it from every angle with the focused delight of someone who appreciated small, considered things.
“The perfect size,” she said, looking around. “Where to put it?”
She wandered off, opening doors without ceremony until she vanished inside one. I edged closer and peered in.
Her bedroom.
I swallowed.
The plant went on her nightstand. I shifted slightly to see further—the tall padded headboard in deep plum, the bedding dark at the top and bursting into teal, pink and purple at the bottom. Vibrant. Layered. Nothing like the colours I would have chosen for anything in my life.
But this was her. A burst of colour I hadn’t known I was missing.
I backed away before she turned.
The last thing I needed was for her to think I was a creep.
But she had something of mine in her bedroom now.
On her nightstand.
That was a concession.