EMMA
I stared at him like he’d just spoken in another language.
Not French. Not English.
Something older. Stranger. Dangerous in a way I couldn’t outrun.
“Say that again,” I whispered.
Gabriel didn’t move. Didn’t crowd me. Didn’t reach out. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fully aware that one wrong step would send everything crashing down.
“You’re my mate,” he said quietly. “My true fated mate.”
For half a second, I thought I might throw up.
Then I laughed.
It burst out of me—sharp, loud, ugly. The kind of laugh that scraped my throat raw and echoed too much in the stairwell. I clutched the railing to steady myself, shoulders shaking, breath coming too fast.
“Oh my God,” I said between breaths. “Of course. Of course that’s the next f*****g thing.”
Gabriel’s
