Page 15

Eli

The morning sun filters through the trees as I pull my truck into the Whispering Pines community center parking lot.

Beside me, Grace fidgets with the strap of Willow's overnight bag, her knuckles white with tension.

In the back seat, Willow bounces with excitement, rattling off everything she plans to do at the sleepover.

"And Ms. Hannah said we're going to make s'mores, and tell ghost stories, but not too scary ones, and we get to sleep in sleeping bags in the big room with the stars on the ceiling!"

I catch Grace's eye and give her a reassuring smile. This is the first time she's letting Willow spend the night away from her since they arrived in Whispering Pines. It's a small step, but a significant one.

"Sounds like you're going to have the best time, kiddo," I say, turning to wink at Willow in the rearview mirror.

Grace takes a deep breath. "You have your toothbrush? And Mr. Flopsy?"

"Yes, Grace," Willow sighs with the exasperation only a seven-year-old can muster. "You already checked three times."

I stifle a laugh as we climb out of the truck. Hannah greets us at the door, her warm smile immediately putting Grace at ease. I watch as she kneels down to Willow's level, chatting animatedly about the weekend's activities.

"We've got six other kids joining us," Hannah tells Grace. "All from the pack families. Jenna's helping me supervise, and Ryan will be checking in throughout the night." She gives Grace a knowing look. "I promise, this place will be more secure than Fort Knox."

Willow barely waits for Grace to finish hugging her before she's racing inside to join the other children. Grace stands at the doorway, her hand raised in a frozen wave.

"She'll be okay," I murmur, squeezing her shoulder.

"I know," Grace says, but her voice wavers. "It's just... it's the first time since—"

"Since you started running," I finish for her. Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable and uncertain. "You're not running anymore, Grace. And neither is she."

She nods, inhaling deeply. "You're right."

As we walk back to the truck, I take her hand. Her fingers are cold despite the warm spring air, and I rub my thumb across her knuckles, feeling the slight tremor there.

"I have something to show you," I say casually as we climb into the cab.

Grace raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Trust me," I reply, starting the engine.

I drive us away from town, past the Whispering Pines pack territory and toward the expansive land Adrian purchased for the sanctuary.

We pass the construction site where crews are installing security fencing, then continue beyond the temporary administration buildings where Sawyer runs daily patrols.

The truck bounces over the uneven forest road, winding through stands of ancient pines until we reach the clearing we visited weeks ago.

But I don't stop there. I continue driving along a narrower path that follows the edge of the pine forest.

"Where are we going?" Grace asks, curiosity replacing the anxiety in her voice.

"You'll see."

Finally, we emerge onto a rise overlooking a stream. The land stretches out before us, dappled with sunlight filtering through the tall pines. Wooden stakes with bright orange flags mark the perimeter of what looks like a construction site.

I park the truck and come around to open Grace's door. She steps out, looking around with confusion.

"What is this place?"

My heart hammers against my ribs as I take her hand again. "This," I say, gesturing to the marked-out area, "is where I'm building my home."

Grace's eyes widen. "Your home?"

I nod, leading her toward the stakes. "Come on, I'll show you."

We step onto the soft earth, and I guide her through the imaginary layout. "This is the front porch—wide enough for a couple of rocking chairs. Living room here, with big windows looking out over the stream."

As we walk the perimeter, I watch her face carefully. She's quiet, taking it all in, her fingers tightening around mine.

"It's going to be beautiful," she says softly.

I take a deep breath. "Grace, I've been thinking a lot about what I want.

What would make this place feel like home.

" I turn to face her, taking both her hands in mine.

"And the truth is, I don't want to build this just for me.

I want to build it for us—you, me, and Willow.

If that's something you might want too."

Grace's breath catches, her eyes widening. "Eli..."

"I know it's a lot," I continue quickly. "And I'm not asking for an answer right now. But I wanted you to see it, to imagine what it could be."

She looks around again, and I can see her picturing it—a life here, with me.

"Would Willow have her own room?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Relief floods through me. She's considering it. "Yes," I say, pointing to a corner. "Right here, with a window seat so she can watch the stars at night."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "She'd love that."

"And right next to it," I add carefully, "a smaller room that could be... whatever we need it to be someday."

The implication hangs in the air between us. Grace's eyes search mine, a mixture of hope and fear flickering across her face.

"Kitchen here," I continue, my voice growing softer. "Dining area. A study for those nights I need to work late." I pause, gathering my courage. "And the master bedroom, back corner. Quiet. Private."

She stares at me, her lips parting slightly. "You're really serious about this?"

"I am," I confirm, squeezing her hands. "But before you say anything else, I need you to know something." I take a deep breath. This is it. The moment of truth. "You're my mate, Grace. I've known since the night we met."

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I fear I've said too much, too soon. But I have to finish.

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want to pressure you. I wanted you to choose this life. Choose me. Not because of some shifter bond, but because it's what you wanted."

Silence stretches between us. The breeze rustles the pine needles overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a bird calls to its mate. Grace's eyes never leave mine, and I can practically see the thoughts racing behind them.

"You knew all this time?" she finally murmurs.

"Yeah," I admit. "But I needed you to feel safe first. I needed you to want this because it's what you wanted—not because you felt like you had to."

She pulls one hand free and places it against my chest, right over my heart. "That's why you never pushed. Why you gave me space, even when..." She trails off, and I can tell she's remembering all the moments I've held back, all the times I wanted to claim her but forced myself to wait.

"Even when it was killing me," I finish with a rueful smile. "You needed time. I had to respect that."

Grace takes a step back, turning to look at the staked-out area again. I let her process, fighting the urge to pull her close, to convince her with touch instead of words. This has to be her choice.

"All my life," she says quietly, "I've been running from something. My father's neglect. Bad relationships. The hunters." She wraps her arms around herself. "I never stayed anywhere long enough to call it home."

I remain silent, watching her profile as she stares out at the trees.

"And then we came here, and you..." she turns back to me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You didn't just give us shelter. You gave us a future. You showed Willow what it means to be protected, not just hidden."

My throat tightens with emotion. "Grace—"

"I've been so afraid," she confesses, her voice gaining strength. "Not just of the hunters, but of wanting you—wanting this. Of believing I could be yours."

She steps toward me, closing the distance she created. "But you know what scares me more than staying?" Her hand reaches up to cup my cheek, her touch tentative yet determined. "The thought of walking away from this. From you."

A slow smile spreads across her face, transforming her features. She looks younger, lighter, as if some invisible weight has finally lifted from her shoulders.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm choosing you," she says softly.

Relief and joy surge through me, primal and possessive.

I pull her to me, my hand firm on the back of her neck as I claim her mouth with mine.

The kiss begins tender but swiftly turns fierce, a collision of need and months of pent-up desire.

Her scent envelops me—sunshine and lavender and something uniquely Grace—and my wolf rumbles with satisfaction. Mine. Finally mine.

Her arms wind around my neck, her body pressing against mine as the kiss intensifies. I can feel every curve of her, soft where I'm hard, yielding where I'm unyielding. Heat rises between us, familiar and urgent, but I force myself to pull back, breathing hard.

"Not here," I murmur, my forehead pressing against hers as I fight for control. "Not on dirt and sawdust. You deserve silk sheets and moonlight, a place where I can worship every inch of you."

Grace grins, her eyes dancing with mischief as she presses her hips against mine. "You're such a romantic."

"Don't tell anyone," I growl, already leading her back to the truck, my hand possessively splayed across her lower back. "I have a reputation to maintain."

The drive back to my cabin feels endless, though it's only fifteen minutes.

We sit in charged silence, her hand clasped in mine on the console, her thumb tracing maddening circles against my palm.

Every few seconds, I steal a glance at her profile—the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lower lip, the pulse beating visibly at the base of her throat.

The scent of her arousal fills the cab, making my grip on the steering wheel tighten until the leather creaks.

"I can smell how much you want me," I tell her, my voice a low rumble. "It's driving me crazy."