Page 196 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“He’s very controlling.”

Wes kisses the bond mark on my neck. The connection between us warms, heavy with devotion. It moves through the bond with the same inevitability as his cedar scent, surrounding me before I can brace against it.

“You climbed on top of me twice during the night,” Wes says.

“I was cold.”

“You have six blankets.”

“I wanted the heated one.”

Roman’s mouth curves. “You called him your giant alpha furnace.”

“That sounds like a private conversation.”

“You said it through the bond, love.”

I bury my face against his chest.

The bond has required adjustments.

Wes feels every time I grow frightened and tries not to respond by checking every lock in the cottage. Roman recognizes when I’m hiding hunger and appears with food before I admit I’ve skipped lunch. I’ve learned Wes’s quiet frustration feels different from anger, and Roman’s humor brightens before he ever laughs.

Some emotions cross between us before we understand them ourselves. I can’t hide as easily as I once did. I thought that might terrify me. Instead, being known feels like warmth.

Wes’s mouth moves along my bond mark again, slower this time.

Need curls through the connection. His. Mine. Roman’s answering warmth.

I lift my head.

Roman watches me, his sleep-soft expression changing as the bond carries my desire toward him. “Both?” he asks.

The question has become less about permission and more about reassurance that no one will be left beyond my reach. “Always both.”

Wes rolls me beneath him. He braces his weight above me, careful of the marks even though they healed more than a week ago. His hair falls over his forehead, and the morning light turns his eyes warm brown instead of the near-black they become when his alpha takes control.

“You still choose this?” he asks.

I know what he means.

The bond. The boxes unpacked downstairs. The boots beside mine at the back door. BESTF files locked inside the room that used to hold greenhouse supplies. Roman’s sketches mixed with my grandmother’s maps.

The life we share.

I touch the mark I gave him, hidden near the joining of his neck and shoulder. The bond between us pulses. “I choose us today.”

Wes’s face softens.

“And tomorrow?” Roman asks.

I reach for him. He moves into my hand, kissing the center of my palm before settling beside us. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Roman smiles.

Wes lowers his forehead to mine.

Forever is not a promise made once and left to harden around us. It’s a curiosity asked again, the answer freely given.