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I’m about to turn away, to give her the space she clearly wants, when I catch the sound—a sharp, ragged inhale, followed by another, and another. The shallow, panicked breathing of someone struggling for air.

For a moment, I go still. And then, through our fragile mate bond, I feel a sick fear that is not my own. In extremely tense situations, the fated bond between two unmarked mates can still project heightened emotions.

In an instant, I’m at her window. Without a second thought, I force it open and leap inside.

Maya is sitting bolt upright in her bed, knees drawn to her chest, one hand clutching at her throat as she gasps for breath. Her eyes are wide and unfocused, her face pale with terror.

“Maya,” I say softly, moving to her side. “Maya, look at me.”

Her gaze snaps to mine, recognition flickering through the fear. “Griffin,” she manages between gasps. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

“Yes, you can,” I tell her, keeping my voice calm even as my stomach churns with concern. “Focus on me.”

I sit on the edge of her bed, slowly and carefully, telegraphing each movement. “May I touch you?”

She nods jerkily, and I take her hand, placing it against my chest where she can feel the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.

“Breathe with me,” I instruct gently. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Feel my breathing and try to match it.”

Gradually, her breaths slow and deepen. The wild panic in her eyes recedes, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

“How did you know?” she asks when she can speak normally again, her voice rough.

“I felt it,” I admit. “Your fear.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. “The bond.”

I nod, watching her carefully. “Yes.”

She pulls her hand from mine and wraps her arms around herself. “Erik is the one who told me.”

“I should have guessed.” Of course it was Erik. That explains why he looks so guilty these days.

“You should have told me,” she says hoarsely, hurt and accusation threading through her voice. “From the beginning. You had no right to keep something like that from me.”

“I know that now,” I acknowledge quietly. “I was trying to protect you.”

“From what? The truth?” She looks away, her profile sharp in the lamplight. “I had a right to know what was happening to me. Why I felt so drawn to you. Why I—” She breaks off, shaking her head.

“Why you what?” I press gently.

She meets my eyes again, her gaze direct despite the vulnerability in it. “Why I can’t stop thinking about you. Why I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, even though most of the time we’ve spent together was with you as a wolf. Why I—” She swallows hard. “Why I feel safe with you when I haven’t felt safe with anyone in years.”

The raw honesty in her voice makes my chest ache.

“I should have told you,” I repeat. “I was wrong not to. But I didn’t want you to feel trapped. I wanted you to choose me, not feel forced into something because of a mystical connection you never asked for.”

“And instead, you tricked me into your bed,” she says bitterly.

I recoil as if struck. “No. Never. That night was your choice, Maya. The bond doesn’t compel desire; it recognizes it. What’sbetween us is real. It was real before either of us knew what it meant.”

She studies me, searching my face for truth. Whatever she finds there seems to settle something in her, because her shoulders relax slightly.

“I don’t know you,” she says finally. “Not really. A few months of shared captivity, a few days of freedom—that’s not enough to build a life on. And now I’m supposed to, what? Become your queen? Rule beside you? I’m human, Griffin. I don’t belong in your world.”

“You belong with me,” I say simply. “The rest is just details.”

A short, disbelieving laugh escapes her. “Just details? The fact that your entire kingdom is going to hate me? That I know nothing about being a queen? You think I haven’t heard the rumors about me, noticed the cold way the palace staff has begun to treat me?”