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And somehow, she didn’t know which scared her more.

16

ROLLO

The dream came just before dawn.

Rollo stood barefoot in the heart of the Whispering Woods, shirtless beneath a bruised sky thick with storm and the lingering perfume of wildflower. The moon hung low and swollen, casting its silver light down his back like spilled water, catching on the old scars along his shoulder blades, painting him in reverence.

The forest wasn’t silent—ithummed, alive and ancient, its breath stirring the moss beneath his feet and the ferns that curled protectively along the clearing’s edge. Around him, the trees leaned in—not menacing, but reverent. Witnesses.

And then Delilah stepped into the clearing.

Barefoot, hair loose, lips parted like she’d just whispered a spell. Her skin glowed gold beneath the flicker of fireflies, every inch of her bathed in moonlight like the forest had crowned her queen.

She didn’t speak.

The space between them bent, warm and magnetic.

He felt her pull like the tide—deep, inevitable. And the bear inside him rose, sensing her nearness, pacing just beneath thesurface of his skin. It wasn’t just desire—it was recognition.Claim. Something older than time itself.

She stepped closer, her eyes catching the moonlight, hazel turning to molten amber. Her fingertips brushed his chest, slow and deliberate, and he swore he felt her magic reach into his bones and settle there.

He reached for her then, his palms sliding over the gentle flare of her hips, thumbs brushing the dip of her waist. The earth throbbed under their feet. Roots began to rise from the soil—slow and pulsing—not to bind, but tobear witness. They curled gently around their ankles, humming with power.

Delilah tilted her head, exposing her throat.

Trust. Submission. Not weakness—choice.

He leaned in, breath hot against her neck, lips brushing her skin just below her ear. Her hands slid up his back, fingernails dragging lightly across his shoulder blades, setting fire to every inch of him.

“Say it,” he whispered against her pulse.

She didn’t.

But she arched into him, and it was enough.

He dipped lower, kissing the slope of her shoulder, the hollow between her collarbones. Her breath hitched, and the roots pulsed harder, heat rising in waves from the ground as if the very forest wanted them joined.

He dropped to his knees in the moss, hands cradling her hips, face pressed to the soft flesh just above the curve of her hip. Right where the mark would go.

Where she’d wear him.

His magic. His name. His soul.

His bear growled low, pleased, possessive.

He opened his mouth and his teeth grazed her skin.

She shivered. And then her voice—clear, sad, steady—cut through the fog of hunger.

“Rollo… if you take me, you can’t leave. And neither can I.”

The forest stilled. Even the roots paused, breath held.

Rollo looked up at her, and in her eyes was every year they’d spent apart. Every wound, every scar, every word left unsaid. And love. Still there. Raw and trembling.

He parted his lips to speak. To promise to stay. But the world split with a terrifying shudder.