By the end of the first week in pack territory, the days had started to find a rhythm, even if it still felt a little unsteady. Mornings usually began with Darius’s arm heavy across my waist and his warm breath against my neck. I’d wake up slowly, savoring the quiet before the world pressed in. Sometimes we’d stay in bed longer than we should, trading lazy kisses and soft touches that reminded me why I was here. His hands on my skin, patient and sure, always seemed to quiet the anxious voices in my head for a little while.
This particular morning, though, the peace didn’t last. A knock on the cabin door pulled us both out of the comfortable haze. Darius groaned, pressing one last kiss to my shoulder before rolling out of bed.
“Probably Dom,” he muttered, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.
