Esmeray woke to a sharp knock on her door and the pale light of morning filtering through the heavy curtains. For a moment, she was disoriented—her body still warm from sleep, her sheets tangled around her legs, the scent of cedar and smoke clinging to her skin.
Kenzo.
The memory of just a few hours ago came crashing back. His hands on her body. His mouth claiming hers. The way they’d almost marked each other, almost completed the bond in a way that would have been undeniable and permanent.
Mate, Snowflake purred, stretching lazily in her consciousness. We should go find him. He’s close. I can feel him.
No, Esmeray said firmly, pushing herself upright. We need to maintain distance. Remember?
The knock came again, more insistent this time.
“General Blackthorne,” a female voice called
