Jace pov
I woke to sunlight streaming through his windows and the sound of Grace moving around in the kitchen downstairs. I lay still for a moment, just listening—the clink of dishes, the soft hum she made when she was concentrating, the familiar rhythm of her presence that had become the soundtrack to my recovery.
Three weeks. She'd been living here for three weeks, and I still couldn't quite believe it was real.
Storm stretched contentedly in my mind. *Our mate is making breakfast. Life is good.*
*Life is better than good,* I agreed, carefully sitting up and testing how my abdomen felt. Better. Stronger. The silver poisoning was finally clearing my system completely, and the wound was healing at a more normal werewolf pace.
Which meant I had less excuse to need Grace's constant care
