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I shift in my seat, hoping somehow I will find the perfect way to sit in it so I will stop worrying about Simone and will instead enjoy my solitude. Not that I have ever really enjoyed solitude. I am a male who is used to being liked and friends withmany others. I have not spent the storms alone in many, many seasons.

Yet, when Veya came knocking on my door right before the storms started, I sent her on her way. She was hurt for a moment before I explained to her that my soul had been called, and I could take no others anymore. Then she was very happy for me and told me she would very much enjoy getting to know my mate. I did not have the heart to tell her that Simone is not my mate yet. Or, really, I wanted to pretend a little more that I was already accepted. I am a patient male, but it is still nice to acknowledge that Simone is mine, even if it has yet to happen.

I huff to myself, deciding it will be almost impossible to find any comfort in my favorite seat or anywhere else in my home during this storm. Simone is not here. It has me more on edge than anything else. I stand from the chair, staring at it and baring my teeth as though I can scare it into being more comfortable.

I wish there were an actual physical reason for my discomfort and not the fact that I am trapped here while my mate is so far from me. I cannot even make it back to the great hall, considering the rain is hitting the house harder now. It would be foolish, and as much as I am a foolish male in many things, I am not about to die before I have even been with my mate.

The door to my home swings open. The wind causes it to slam against the inside of my house, and rain pours in as a very small, very soaked female stumbles in. I’m stunned into stillness for a moment before I force my limbs into action.

The door is the first thing I deal with because I cannot even calm my emotions enough to think of Simone being here. I grab the door, struggle to close it against the wind and throw the extra latch over it. I’m grateful I did not do that earlier because then Simone would have been trapped outside until I heard her banging on the door. The thought has my stomach turning, andI have to take a few deep breaths before I turn to face the little human who traveled through a storm to get here.

“What do you think you are doing?” I ask, trying my best—and failing—to keep my voice calm and devoid of the anger I feel at how much danger she put herself in.

“I think I’m here in my home to wait out the storm,” Simone says, just as devoid of emotion as me, which means she is huffing and puffing her displeasure as well.

I can hear the vitriol in her words and the accusation that I have done something wrong when I know for certain that I have not. Oh no, it most certainly is her who has done something wrong because she is here, soaked through, and—

I turn away from her again, not liking that I cannot think clearly with her tunic soaked through. It clings to her curves and shows me almost the same view I had when I first stumbled upon her all bare.

“You should not be here,” I snap.

My hands are balled into tight fists at my sides, but I cannot stop myself from aiding her when she so clearly needs it. I stomp through the house, making sure to spare the smallest of glimpses at Simone.

She seems just as angry as me, but I do not know how she could be. Her eyes keep darting around the house as though she is looking for something in particular. She is so concerned about finding whatever she is looking for that she follows me into my bedroom without me even asking her to.

“Why shouldn’t I be here?” Simone asks.

She moves around me once she’s in my room and begins to look around like she thinks she will find something to damn me with. I grab a spare tunic out of my wardrobe, but do not hand it to her just yet. First, I want to know why she is acting so strange.

She made it very clear she wanted to be away from me for this storm, and yet she just put her life in danger to get back to me. Ido not like it. Well, a small part of me likes it because I think it is her soul telling her to be near me.

“It was dangerous to come back when the storms started,” I answer her question before asking one of my own. “What are you looking for? Maybe I can assist you since you seem so set on finding something.”

Simone, who is looking behind my door as though there is a secret hidden there, turns to face me. She has a hard look on her face and a stern determination in her eyes. “Where is she?”

I frown at her question, not really understanding who she could be speaking about. When I only tilt my head to the side, she places her hands on her hips. It draws my attention down, and I remember why I came to my bedroom. I need to get her something else to wear because, currently, her breasts are looking right at me.

Truly they are asking me to indulge myself and to feel their softness. But as much as Simone’s breasts might want my tender touches, she seems not ready to admit that to herself.

“Who is meant to be hiding behind my door?” I ask, holding out the tunic for Simone.

My teeth grind against one another when I see how wet her hair is, too. She is very adamant that she does not enjoy her hair being wet unless she is cleaning it. When she has my tunic in her hands, I search my wardrobe for some more spare tunics.

“I saw someone follow you when you left the great hall.” Simone is a quick female. She asks the question, takes off her wet tunic, and replaces it with my tunic, all before I can turn around.

“You were watching to see who would follow me out of the great hall?” I ask, amusement beginning to soften my tone.

I do not like that Simone put herself in danger, but now I understand why. I turn around with a few tunics in my hand and motion for her to sit on my bed. She hesitates before she realizes what it is I intend to do.

I grab one of the thick coils of her hair and begin to dry it as best as I can. I have seen how much time she takes to dry them when she finishes her bathing, so I know this is an important part of her routine.

“Did you come back to the house because you were afraid I would spend a storm with someone who was not you?”

“No,” Simone snaps.

I do not believe her for even a single beating in my chest.

I shift my position around, trying to find the most comfortable way to sit to dry her hair. I do not miss how she leans against me or follows my movements as I do. I say nothing when I throw a leg on either side of her, and she scoots back against me. I do not mention her hand falling to her side, and her little finger touches my thigh as though she thinks I will not notice it. These are all things Simone will deny as soon as I bring them up, so instead, I will annoy her as I do so well.