23
The shower is running. Steam curls across the glass like silk. My body aches—not from training—but from restraint.
He’s on the other side of the bathroom. Shirtless. Back turned. Muscles cut like stone. His hand flexes against the sink like he’s holding back an avalanche.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasps without turning.
I swallow. “Like what?”
“Like you want to climb me.”
I smirk. “I always look at you like that.”
He groans.
The bond pulses—that feather between us—so light, barely there… until it shifts. Until it flutters, trembles, and suddenly soars.
I back up against the wall, chest heaving. “We can’t. The alphas—”
“Are hours away,” he growls, finally turning to face me.
His eyes are burning. But not red. Not cursed. Just… Caden. Starved. Undone.
Steam curls around
