Page 15

I shifted her higher against my chest, navigating the turn at the top of the stairwell. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Her posture stiffened again, her guard creeping back up.

“Have you actually seen the pink clothes you wear?”

A snort escaped her before she could catch it. I looked down. The moonlight filtering through the high corridor windows caught the faint, almost-smile playing on her lips and glinted off those pale, cloud-struck eyes. To anyone else, she might look like a delicate porcelain doll; fragile enough to shatter under a heavy touch. Carrying her, feeling the steady strength in her core, I was coming to know better. There was tempered steel beneath that soft skin.

“My mother likes to dress me in pink, frilly things,” she confessed, her voice dropping a fraction of its former bite. “I can’t see color in my human form. And pink is not on the wolf's color spectrum.”

“Thank the Goddess." I let out a dramatic breath. "I thought my wife just had terrible fashion sense.”

She scoffed, tilting her head toward the sound of my voice. “Says the man who wore a tracksuit and sneakers to our wedding.”

“And he looked damn good,” I countered without skipping a beat. “Too bad you couldn’t see me.”

That startled a laugh out of her. It was a bright, clear sound that rang in the empty hallway. When we reached my bedroom, I nudged the door open with my foot and carried her inside, and headed to the bathroom. Setting her gently on her feet near the washbasin, I stepped back, resting my hands on my hips as I studied her.

“You’re not as fragile as you look, are you?”

“You’re not as dumb as you look, are you?”

We stared at each other in the quiet room. I didn't pull away. I just looked at her milky eyes, wondering what she actually saw when she looked at me. Shadows? Silhouettes? Or just a blurred shape standing in front of her?

My gaze drifted past her toward the bed, hitting the dark stain of blood ruining the heavy linens. The sudden reminder hit like an uppercut when I expected the opponent to throw a cross.

Without a word, I walked past her to the bed and stripped the sheets, balling up the soiled linen and flinging them into the corner. I pulled fresh, clean cotton from the chest at the foot of the bed and made the bed with quick, practiced movements.

Once the mattress was freshly made, I turned back to her in the bathroom doorway. “Do you want a cool compress for your…” I gestured vaguely toward her lap before stopping myself mid-motion. I winced, realizing the absurdity of the gesture. “For your vagina.”

Rosalind’s cheeks flushed a light pink, but her tone remained clipped. “I’m fine.”

“All right,” I said, pulling back the top sheet. “Then let’s go back to bed.”

She stiffened, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides.

“We’re not doing it again. We’re going to sleep. We’re always going to sleep in the same bed, whether you're pissed at me or not."

"I'm not pissed at you."

"I would never force you."

"I wouldn't let you force me."

I huffed a laugh, liking her more and more with the dainty princess act dropped. Haughty, I could do. Weak, I had no clue how to handle.

I stepped closer, waiting until her pale, unseeing eyes tracked the movement of my shadow.

“Now you have to promise me something in return,” I added, holding her unfocused gaze. “You don’t force me again."

Rosalind bit the inside of her jaw. That was the only concession she gave for giving me a claiming mark to get her way.

"We don’t have sex again until both of us want it. Agreed?”

She hesitated for a long second before stepping toward the bed. I climbed in first, staying flush against the far side to give her room. Rosalind slid beneath the covers, her movements slow, guarded, and precise.

The fresh cotton sheets were cool against my skin, but the heat radiating off her filled the small space between us. I leaned back against my pillow and caught the scent of her. She might've hated pink, but she smelled like the color. Peonies and strawberries with the bite of peppercorn. She’d only been in this room for a couple of hours, but her scent had already sunk into the fabric, making the space undeniably hers.

My arms ached with the urge to reach out. I wanted to drag her across the mattress, pull her back against my chest, and wrap myself around her until the tension in her limbs dissolved. I wanted to hold her so tight that the rest of the world couldn't touch her.