Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
JUNIE
Junie woke to the unfamiliar sensation of being held.
Not the weight of blankets or morning sunlight or Glimmer’s scales against her skin. This was different. Solid. Alive. A furnace of heat pressed against her back, an arm heavy across her waist, breath stirring the hair at her temple in slow, even rhythm.
Leo.
She lay still, cataloging sensations she’d never experienced. The weight of another person in her bed. The way his body curved around hers, protective even in sleep. The steady thump of his heartbeat against her shoulder blade, strong and sure.
The events of the previous night crashed back in fragments: blood on the hallway carpet, the sharp copper scent of it, her hands shaking as she’d pressed healing paste into wounds that had looked fatal.
His voice, rough and broken, admitting things she wasn’t sure either of them had been ready to hear.
Because you’re here. Because you’re the only person I want.
And then—the kiss. Soft at first, questioning, and then his hands in her hair and her body pressed against his and the entire world narrowing to that single point of contact.
They hadn’t done anything else. Kissed until they were both breathless, and then he’d asked her to stay, and she had. They’d fallen asleep tangled in each other, his arm holding her close even as exhaustion pulled him under.
Junie had expected to lie awake for hours, overthinking. Instead, she’d slept better than she had in weeks. No dreams. No restless tossing. Deep, dreamless rest and the unfamiliar security of being held.
Now, in the pale light of early morning, she became acutely aware of several things at once: Leo’s chest against her back, rising and falling with each breath.
His arm across her waist, heavy with sleep-slack weight.
The fact that she was still wearing yesterday’s tank top and shorts, and he was still shirtless, the bandages she’d applied stark white against his skin.
And Glimmer, coiled on the bedside table, watching her with an expression that managed to convey both I told you so and you’re on your own with this one.
"Thanks for the support," Junie muttered.
Glimmer’s tongue flickered. Her scales remained that neutral amber—not hostile, not approving. Waiting.
Behind her, Leo stirred.
“You’re awake.”
His voice was rough with sleep, low and rumbling against her hair. Junie felt the words vibrate through him where his chest pressed against her back.
“Barely.” She didn’t move. Wasn’t sure she wanted to. “How long have you been conscious?”
“A few minutes.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“You were comfortable.” A pause. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Junie’s pulse stuttered. She rolled over to face him, careful not to jostle his injured side.
In the morning light, Leo looked different.
Softer, despite the sharp lines of his jaw and the tension that never quite left his shoulders.
His hair was mussed from sleep, falling across his forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to push it back.
The bandage on his shoulder was slightly pink—blood seeping through, but less than she’d expected.
“Your wounds.” She reached for the bandage’s edge. “Let me check them.”
“They’re healing.”
“I want to see for myself.”
He didn’t argue. Shifted onto his back, allowing her to carefully peel back the edge of the bandage on his shoulder.
The bite mark that had looked horrific last night—deep enough to expose muscle, ragged at the edges where jackal teeth had torn—had closed significantly.
The skin was pink and new, tender but intact.
She could still see the outline of where the damage had been, but the wound itself was knitting back with startling speed.
“Shifter healing.” Leo watched her face. “It accelerates significantly during sleep.”
“I know how shifter healing works. I’ve been making potions for your kind for decades.” She pressed the bandage back into place, smoothing the edges with careful fingers. “This is remarkable. You should be in a hospital bed for a week.”
“I had an excellent healer.”
Junie’s cheeks heated. She busied herself checking the wound on his ribs—also dramatically improved, the deep slash now reduced to an angry red line that would probably scar. Her grandmother’s healing paste had done its work, combined with his body’s natural abilities.
“You’ll have marks.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Permanent ones.”
“I told you, I don’t mind scars.”
There was a weight in his voice. A gravity that made her look up, meet his gaze.
He was watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. Not the careful, controlled assessment she’d grown accustomed to. This was raw. Open. Vulnerable in a way that Leo Castellan probably hadn’t allowed himself to be in years.
“We need to talk.” His words were quiet but certain.
Junie’s first instinct was a joke. How that phrase never preceded good news, or how she should make coffee first, or how she had a strict policy against serious conversations before noon.
But his gaze held hers, steady and waiting, and she found she couldn’t deflect. Not this time.
“Yeah.” She heard herself say. “We probably do.”
They sat facing each other on the bed, legs crossed, close enough to touch but not quite touching. Glimmer had relocated to Junie’s shoulder, a presence against her neck.
Leo was quiet for a moment. Gathering his thoughts, maybe, or figuring out where to start. Junie waited, which was unlike her—she usually filled silences with chatter, smoothing over awkward pauses with humor and deflection.
This silence felt different. Heavy with words that needed to be spoken.
“My lion recognized you the moment I walked into that welcome dinner.” Leo’s voice was measured, deliberate.
“Before you spilled the potion on my suit. Before we’d even spoken.
I caught your scent from across the room, and the beast inside me—” He paused, jaw tightening.
“There’s a word for it, in shifter culture.
Recognition. The animal knows its mate instantly, absolutely, without doubt. ”
Junie’s pulse stuttered. “Mate.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you were so cold to me.” The pieces clicked into place. “That first day at my shop. You weren’t being an ass because you thought I was incompetent. You were being an ass because—”
“Because the beast had decided you were its mate, and I disagreed.”
“You disagreed?”
“Strenuously.” His mouth twisted—not quite a smile, but close. “The idea that some mystical force had picked my partner for me—”
“Felt like losing control.”
He looked at her, recognition flickering across his features. “Yes. Exactly.”
Junie understood that. More than she wanted to admit. The fear of having choices taken away, of being pushed toward a destination you hadn’t picked yourself.
“So you fought it.” Her voice was quiet. “You avoided me. You were cold and distant and looked at me like I was a problem to be solved instead of a person to be—”
“Known.” His voice dropped. “I looked at you like a problem because if I let myself see you as a person—as you, specifically—I would have been lost. The beast was already certain. I was trying hard not to let the man agree.”
“And now?”
Leo reached out, his hand finding hers where it rested on her knee. His fingers were gentle, his grip careful.
“Now I’ve stopped fighting. Not because the beast won. Because I realized I was fighting the wrong battle.” His thumb traced circles on her palm. “I was so focused on not letting fate decide for me that I almost missed the chance to choose for myself.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want you because my lion recognized you as a mate.
” His gaze held hers, steady and intense.
“I want you because you made me laugh at a terrible restaurant. Because you see through every wall I’ve ever built.
Because you’re chaos and wit and tenderness, and somewhere in the past few weeks, you’ve become the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I sleep. ”
Junie’s throat was tight. Her eyes burned.
“So your lion decided,” she managed, “and you disagreed?”
“I’m not complying with fate.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I’m choosing. Deliberately. Consciously. I choose you.”