Chapter 8 Sable
Sable
Icouldn't sleep.
The bed was too big. Too soft. Too much like his—because it was his, and no matter how many times I punched the pillow into submission, I couldn't escape Harkan’s scent that clung to the sheets like a promise I hadn't agreed to.
Trouble curled at my feet, his foxfire dim but steady, his breathing even. At least one of us could rest.
I stared at the ceiling and tried not to count the minutes.
Harkan said he'd be back before dawn. The candles had burned low, the fire had settled into embers, and the window still showed nothing but darkness. How long until sunrise? How long had I been lying here, not sleeping, definitely not waiting?
He's fine, I told myself. He's an Alpha. A dire wolf. He can handle a patrol.
But the bond hummed with something too much like worry, and I hated that I couldn't tell whether the feeling was mine or his.
Stop it. You don't care. You're not supposed to care.
Except I did. That was the terrifying part.
I was still glaring at the ceiling when the door opened.
Harkan slipped inside quietly, clearly trying not to wake me. Moonlight caught the exhaustion carved into his features: the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way he moved like every step cost him something.
He'd pushed too hard. Just like I had.
Hypocrite, I thought, but there was no heat behind it.
He crossed to the chair by the cold hearth, shrugging off his coat. I watched through half-closed eyes as he lowered himself onto the seat, clearly intending to spend what remained of the night folded into furniture that was far too small for his frame.
Idiot.
"The bed's big enough for two."
The words were out before I could stop them.
Harkan went still. In the dim light, I saw his head turn toward me, saw the surprise flicker across his features before he controlled it.
"You're still awake."
"Couldn't sleep." I shifted, pulling back the covers on the empty side. "You look like death warmed over. Get in bed before you collapse."
"Sable—"
"I'm not going to bite you." I paused. "That's your thing, apparently."
A startled sound escaped him—almost a laugh— but it was quickly smothered by a half-cough that fooled no one. "You're sure?"
No. I wasn't sure of anything. But I was tired of being afraid, and he was tired of pretending he didn't need rest, and the bed was obscenely large, and—
"Just get in," I grumbled. "Before I change my mind."
He stood slowly, like he was giving me time to take it back.
When I didn't, he turned away and began to undress.
I should have looked away. Should have closed my eyes and given him privacy.
Instead, like the fool I was, I tracked every movement as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his back.
Moonlight carved shadows along the muscles there, highlighting hundreds of old scars I hadn't noticed before—thin white lines that crossed his shoulder blades, a jagged mark near his spine, the raised tissue of wounds that had healed wrong.
The chains, I realized. A century of them.
His boots came off next, then his belt. The trousers followed, and I definitely did not watch the way the muscles in his thighs flexed as he stepped out of them. Definitely not.
Liar, some treacherous part of my brain whispered.
He was left in nothing but a pair of shorts, fitted underclothes that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. And there was... a lot to imagine. Heat flooded my cheeks, my neck, my chest—everywhere, really—and I jerked my gaze back to the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe.
You've seen naked men before, I reminded myself. This is not a big deal. This is fine. You are fine.
I was not fine. I was about to burn up, keel over, and jump his bones all at the same time.
Get it together, girl.
He crossed to the bed, and the mattress dipped as he lowered himself onto it with careful deliberation, staying on top of the covers.
"Under," I said, the words nearly sticking in my throat, but it was his damn bed, and I would be damned if he got sick because I couldn’t control my attraction to him.
Stupid bond. Stupid hormones.
"Sable—"
"You're going to freeze. Under the covers. Now."
Another pause. Then the mattress dipped as he slid beneath the sheets, staying so far on his side that he was practically hanging off the edge.
We lay there in silence, the space between us vast and electric.
The bond hummed.
This is fine, I told myself. We're just two adults sharing a bed. There's nothing—
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice a quiet growl that made my belly flip.
"For what?" I croaked, still trying to ignore the way my fingers ached to reach across the bed.
"For not making me sleep in that damn chair."
I snorted. "Your spine will thank me in the morning."
Silence shrouded us again, but it was different now—less sharp, more... comfortable. The warmth of him radiated across the sheets, and I found myself turning toward it without meaning to.
Stop that. Stay on your side. Don't—
"The borders?" I asked, mostly to distract myself.
"Secured. Double patrols through dawn. Cara's handling the rotation." He paused, yawning so large his jaw popped. "The Devourer didn't strike again tonight."
"Small mercies."
"Mm."
His breathing was already evening out, exhaustion dragging him under. I should have let him sleep. Should have closed my own eyes and pretended this was normal, that sharing a bed with the man who'd marked me against my will was just another compromise in a life full of them.
Instead, I said: "I was worried."
The words hung in the darkness between us.
Harkan's breathing stuttered. "What?"
"When you didn't come back. I was—" I swallowed the rest of the confession, already regretting that I'd said anything at all. "Never mind. Go to sleep."
"Sable."
"I said never mind."
The mattress shifted as he turned toward me, the weight of his attention heavy, even though I couldn't see his face.
"I'm here," he said quietly. "I came back."
Rafe used to say that, too, whispered a voice in my head that sounded too much like my own.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the memory. "Don’t worry about it. Go to sleep, Harkan."
Silence settled around us, heavy and warm. I listened to his breathing slow, felt the bond hum with something that might have been contentment.
But sleep didn't come easily.
I lay rigid on my side of the bed, staring at the canopy above, hyperaware of every shift in the mattress, every breath he took. The space between us felt both vast and impossibly small. If I reached out my hand, I could touch him. I didn't reach.
But the bond... the bond had other ideas.
It hummed between us like a living thing, warm and insistent, tugging at something deep in my chest. His exhaustion bled through it, his body slowly relaxing into the mattress as sleep claimed him. The faint echo of his heartbeat pulsed against my senses, steady and strong.
This is just proximity, I told myself. The bond needs him close. It doesn't mean anything.
But as the minutes stretched on, the warmth radiating from his side of the bed began to seep into my bones. The tension in my shoulders started to unknot. My breathing slowed to match his, unconscious synchronization that felt far too intimate.
At some point, I turned toward him without meaning to.
Just a slight shift, my body seeking heat the way flowers sought sun.
He was lying on his back, one arm thrown above his head, his face soft with sleep in a way I'd never seen when he was awake.
The hard lines of command had smoothed away, leaving something younger. Vulnerable.
Don't, I warned myself. Don't start seeing him as anything other than what he is.
But what was he? A captor? A protector? The man who'd marked me without my consent, or the one who'd cleaned blood from my face with hands that shook?
I didn't have an answer. I wasn't sure I wanted one.
The last thing I remembered before sleep finally took me was the way his scent wrapped around me like a blanket—pine and rain and something wild—and how, despite everything, it made me feel safe.
And that scared me most of all.
I woke up wrapped around a dire wolf.
At some point during the night, the careful distance we'd maintained had collapsed entirely—and I was the one who'd closed it.
My face was pressed against his chest, breathing in his scent with every inhale.
One of my legs was thrown over his hip, tangled with his beneath the sheets.
My arm was draped across his stomach, fingers curled into the warm skin of his side like I was afraid he'd disappear.
And his hand...
His hand was under my sleep shorts, curved around the swell of my ass, palm hot against bare skin.
Not groping. Not moving. Just... holding me there.
Possessive even in sleep. And pressed against my thigh, impossible to ignore, was the hard evidence that his body knew exactly who was wrapped around him—even if he was still off in dreamland.
I had crawled to him in the night. Wrapped myself around him like he was safety and comfort and everything I'd been starving for. Pressed myself against his body and stayed there—close enough to feel exactly how much his body wanted mine.
Oh, gods.
For a moment, I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Could barely think past the heat of his palm on my skin, the thick press of him against my thigh, and the horrifying realization of what I'd done.
He was still asleep. I could tell by the slow, even rhythm of his breathing, the way his body was completely relaxed beneath mine. The bond purred between us, warm and content, like a cat that had finally gotten what it wanted.
And my body? My body wanted to roll my hips against his thigh. Wanted to wake him with my mouth on his throat, his chest, his… Wanted to take that hard length pressed against me and sink down on it until he wrung every ounce of pleasure—
No.