Page 71 of Knot Their Safe Haven

"The year I opened the Haven," she recognizes, eyes softening.

"The year you stopped running from your nature and started protecting others who couldn't protect themselves."

We eat in comfortable silence, the food disappearing as the sun finally gives up its fight with night. The candles become our primary light, turning the table into an island of warmth while the world darkens around us.

"I could get used to this," she admits quietly, surprising us both.

"That's the idea."

"Being courted and treated like I matter beyond my ability to organize revolutions."

"You matter in every way imaginable. Your revolution was just the most public expression of your worth."

She sets down her fork, those dark eyes studying me with an intensity that should be illegal.

"When did you know? That we were scent matched?"

"About thirty seconds before you did. Though in hindsight, it explains everything. Why I could never completely move on. Why every other omega smelled wrong. Why I waited seventeen years when any sane man would have given up."

"Guess fate truly enjoys making our choices for us."

"Confirming what choice already knew." I reach across the table, not quite touching but close enough that she could accept or reject the gesture. "I chose you at eighteen, before I understood what scent matches meant. The fact that we're matched just means the universe finally got its shit together."

She slides her hand forward, fingers barely brushing mine.

The contact is electric, sending want racing through every nerve.

"This is dangerous," she whispers.

"The best things always are."

The third course arrives—duck confit with cherry reduction, paired with a Pinot Noir from 2011.

"The year Icarus graduated university," I provide before she can ask.

Her eyes widen.

"You know about?—"

"Your son? Of course. Did you think I spent seventeen years not investigating the woman who consumed my thoughts? I know about the midnight feedings you did alone. The school plays Knox attended separately. The graduation where you sat three rows apart and pretended not to know each other."

"That's... invasive."

"That's thorough. Know your enemy, know yourself, win a thousand battles."

"Am I your enemy?"

"You're my everything. Which made you the most dangerous enemy I could have—the one who could destroy me without trying."

She picks up her wine, inhaling its bouquet before sipping. The way her throat moves, those lips of hers leaving the faintest mark on crystal—everything she does is unconscious seduction.

"Your parents know about this?"

"My father knows I've claimed someone significant. My mother is dead, so her opinion is limited."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She died when I was twelve. Cancer. Quick and brutal and nothing money could fix."