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But, to my surprise, he rises to his feet and nods.

I listen as he heads outside, retrieves what he needs from his truck, then makes his way upstairs.

Closing my eyes, I tap into my wolf senses and pay attention to Rowan’s every tiny movement in the bathroom on the second floor. I hear the soft rustle of fabric as he locates a clean towel on the rack, then the rougher rustling of him shucking his ruined clothes off. The water turns on a moment later, and within seconds, I can sense the heat caused by the steam.

I hope he doesn’t mind that the only options to wash himself with are Noah’s children’s brand of body wash and my lavender soap.

Opening my eyes and sitting up on the couch, I tenderly test the spot on my head where I was struck. It’s really not that bad. The skin broke a little, so there’s a bit of dried blood, but it’s certainly not a serious injury.

And yet, Rowan was acting like they’d nearly ripped me to shreds.

I’m touched by how viciously he defended me. Sure, rejected bond or not, the instinct to protect is nearly impossible to resist, but the fact that he acted on it without hesitation means a lot to me.

I glance down at my clothes and realize how dirty I am, too. I’m not covered in blood like Rowan, except for a few slight smears where it rubbed off on me from his skin while he was carrying me, but my clothing is covered in filth from the barn floor.

With a quiet grunt, I haul myself upright and make my way upstairs. I’m light on my feet as I pass by the bathroom, then go into my bedroom to rummage around in my closet for a fresh outfit. My cheeks heat as I yank off my T-shirt, then slip out of my jeans,suddenly all too aware of the fact that mine and Rowan’s dreamlike tryst on the rooftop the other night now feels more real than ever.

My eyes dart toward the window that I almost pulled him through that night, so desperate to feel more of him. To feel all of him.

In just my bra and panties, I rummage in my dresser for sweats. I try to keep myself distracted from memories of the way I fucked myself on Rowan’s strong, capable hand, so unrestrained and wanton. My focus zeros in on the paltry offerings available to me in the dresser drawers, thanks to the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve had time to do a full load of laundry.

I’m so insistently absorbed in the colors and textures of my clothes that I don’t notice when the shower turns off across the hall. Nor do I notice the graceful, confident footsteps of my Mate as he maneuvers around the bathroom.

In fact, I don’t notice him at all until there’s a quiet throat-clearing sound at the threshold of my bedroom.

I whirl around, temporarily forgetting how little clothing there is on my body, only to find Rowan standing there with damp skin and nothing but a towel slung low on his hips.

His eyes darken when our gazes lock.

“You should be resting,” he says.

I swallow hard, tracking the way his eyes move down the length of my half-naked form.

“My clothes were dirty.” The response comes out a little shaky.

He steps into the room. I try not to stare too hard at the chiseled muscles of his abdomen or the broad, indomitable strength in his chest, shoulders, and arms.

It occurs to me that Rowan has been incredibly generous in our previous altercations. He’s used his tongue and his fingers to make me come, and has expected nothing in return. A faultless giver. A devoted Alpha Mate.

My head spins again. The wolf inside me snarls with desire.

I want him. It’s not just the wolf that wants him. I’m the one who is eager to taste him, to feel him, to have him closer than he should be.

Maybe Zahra is right. There’s no point in trying to separate the wolf from the human. Right now, we are both the same.

Rowan cocks his head to the side. “Alina?”

“I’m fine,” I answer automatically. “Are you?”

The blood is gone, and there isn’t an injury in sight on his perfect body. Not even a bruise. He waves off my question, nodding to the bed.

“You should sit down.”

Even though my immediate urge is to resist the command, I do what he says because if I have to look at him like this any longer, then my bones really are going to turn to liquid.

Then, because apparently my mind has decided to make me spew out the worst possible things right in this otherwise heady moment, I blurt, “You shouldn’t have saved me.”

Rowan stands in front of me, hands on his hips. Like a horny freak, my mouth waters when my gaze traces the deep V of his lower abdomen. I’m trying so hard to be reasonable right now. To remember that I’m supposed to hate him. To remember how much it hurt, physically and emotionally, when he rejected our Mating bond.