Conall
Outside her cabin, I wait until the lights go out and she's asleep.
My hound hates it, but I'm not looking for trouble tonight.
I take care of two rabid gnomes, a whistler, and a knocker.
When I'm sure nothing dangerous is left, I slip inside, shift into my human form, pull on some jogger shorts, and head up to the loft.
At the top of the stairs, I pause. Ivy lies on her back, one hand near her face and the other on the plane of her stomach.
Her hair spreads out over the pillow. Her lips are slightly parted, her breathing steady.
The thin sheet follows the gentle rise and fall of her body, showing every curve. She's right in the middle of the bed.
Moving quietly, I take the side with a little more space. I try to keep some distance, but she's sprawled out so much that it's impossible.
"Fuck it," I whisper, sliding in beside her.
Instead of shifting or moving away, she turns in her sleep, wraps her arms around my waist, and holds me close.
Her forehead brushes my chest and I can feel the warmth of her breathing against my sternum.
She hugs me like I'm her favorite stuffed animal, every part of her pressed against me.
My chest aches as I try not to breathe too loudly. My hound growls inside me, wanting to pull her closer, to pin her down, to wake her with teeth and tongue and drive into her until the only sound in the loft is her saying my name.
All I want is to get through this.
I didn't realize that the woman hugging me in her sleep could undo me so thoroughly.
I want to curl around her and protect her in ways that go well beyond this monster crisis.
I want to soothe her, kiss her, and make her mine.
I want to tell her that, though I denied it and raged against it, maybe being mates isn't the tragedy I first thought it was.
Maybe it's everything.