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I grab his wrist. “Don’t leave,” I whisper.

Pyrce freezes, his eyes dropping to my hand. “Okay,” he says as he slowly settles back beside me.

That’s all. No argument. No attempt to use the strange hunger in my body against me. He lies there perfectly still while I keep hold of him like he’s the only solid thing in the room.

Maybe he is.

“Will it feel like this all day?” I ask.

“It might get stronger tonight when the moon rises.”

“Stronger?” I swallow. “And if I don’t choose you?”

Pain flashes across his face before he hides it. “Then I take care of you however you’ll let me, and when it’s over, you can decide what comes next.”

“You’d do that?”

“If that’s what you wanted.”

His answer should make me feel better.

Instead, I hate it.

I hate the thought of waking up without him. I hate imagining this house empty again, his shoes gone from beside mine and no longer hearing him call me Angel. A few days ago, I was prepared to spend the rest of my life alone. Now the possibility feels unbearable.

That’s the heat talking.

But the heat didn’t make Pyrce feed me when I was starving. It didn’t make him sit beside me all night while I slept or buy me clothes because mine were falling apart. It didn’t make him trust me with a key to his home.

And it didn’t put that sadness in his eyes when he thought I was leaving.

“I need to think,” I tell him.

“Take all the time you need.”

He leans forward and kisses my forehead, then gets out of bed before I can do something reckless, like drag him back under the blankets.

I stare at the closed bedroom door and press my hands to my burning cheeks.

This is going to be a very long day.

I take my time getting ready. I shower, change into some of my new clothes, and try to ignore the way my body feels as I brush my teeth. All I can think about is being with Pyrce. He said that we were fated mates, basically soulmates, and I believe him. I can’t deny how he makes me feel, can’t argue that we feel perfect together.

I still don’t know what to do as I leave the safety of the bedroom and join Pyrce in the kitchen. I’m not sure what we’ll do today or how I’ll manage to make it through without throwing myself at him or ripping his clothes off.

And Pyrce doesn’t help with my shaky self-control.

He treats me like a princess from the moment I leave the bedroom. He has breakfast waiting, and when I mention that I’m still tired, he moves a pillow and blanket to the couch so I can rest without being alone. He puts a glass of ice water within reach and checks on me so often that I finally threaten to throw the pillow at him.

“You said you were hot,” he reminds me, frowning at the fireplace.

“I don’t think turning the house into an icebox is going to fix this kind of hot,” I mumble.

His gaze snaps to mine, and the tips of his ears turn red.

I can’t help it. I laugh.

Pyrce relaxes at the sound, and the fondness in his expression makes my heart squeeze.