Page 26

26

COLT

T he morning sun crests over the horizon, casting a pale, golden glow across the den. Magnolia’s still tucked against me, her breathing soft and even, her hair a wild halo of curls spread across my chest. I could stay like this forever, soaking in the warmth of her, the scent of her—wildflowers and honey, all mine—but the world doesn’t stop spinning just because I want it to.

Her hand slides up my chest, fingers tracing lazy circles over my skin, and it takes everything in me not to melt under her touch. Her smile grows softer, a little dreamy, and she tilts her face up toward mine. "You didn’t wake me up for something important, did you?”

I chuckle, the sound low and rough from sleep. “Just wanted to look at you.”

Her cheeks flush, and she burrows closer, resting her head against my shoulder. “You’re such a liar,” she teases, her voice light. “You can’t even see me with my face smushed against you like this.”

“I don’t need to see you,” I say, my fingers trailing up and down her back, marveling at the soft warmth of her skin. “I can feel you. I can smell you. I know you’re here.” I pause, brushing another kiss over her hair. “That’s enough.”

She hums contentedly, her body relaxed against mine, and I can feel her smile against my chest. “You’re getting good at this sweet-talking thing, Colt.”

“Only for you,” I murmur, meaning it.

Her hand comes up to rest over my heart, and she tilts her head back to look at me, her expression soft but searching. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I mean it.” I meet her gaze. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Magnolia. Not to you.”

Her fingers toy with the mark on my neck, her touch gentle, reverent. “This feels…real,” she whispers. “Like it’s too good to be true. Like it can’t last.”

“It’s real,” I say firmly, cupping her face in my hand so she has to look at me. “And it’s gonna last. You’re mine now, angel. I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

Her lips curve into a small, hesitant smile, and she leans into my touch. “You’re mine, too,” she murmurs. “I don’t want to let you go either.”

“You won’t,” I promise, my voice softening. “I’m not going anywhere, Magnolia. Not now. Not ever.”

She studies me for a moment, her eyes flicking over my face like she’s trying to memorize every detail. Then she sighs, a sound so full of quiet happiness it makes my chest ache. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” she says, her tone teasing but her eyes warm. “You’ve got me completely wrapped around your finger.”

“Good,” I say, pulling her closer until our foreheads touch. “’Cause you’ve had me wrapped around yours since the moment I saw you.”

She lets out a soft laugh, her breath mingling with mine, and her hands slide up to frame my face. “God, you’re really trying to ruin me, aren’t you?”

“Not ruin,” I say, kissing the tip of her nose, then her cheek. “Just make you mine in every way.”

Her laugh fades into a sigh, her eyes drifting closed as I kiss her again, soft and lingering. When I pull back, she’s looking at me like I’ve hung the moon, and for once, I don’t feel like I have to hide how much she means to me.

“I love you,” she whispers, the words a quiet confession that feels like it was always meant to be.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and all I can do is pull her close, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that I hope tells her everything I can’t say. When we finally part, I rest my forehead against hers, my voice low and rough.

“I love you too, Magnolia. More than you’ll ever know.”

We stretch the goodbye out as long as we can, kisses traded like secrets, her fingers tracing idle patterns over my skin. When she finally leaves, her scent clinging to my shirt, I feel the absence of her like a missing limb. The bond between us thrums faintly, a comfort and a reminder.

She’s mine now.

I’m hers.

And I have work to do.

The projector’s been sitting in the workshop, half-disassembled, for longer than I’d like to admit. Magnolia asked me to fix it weeks ago, and I promised I’d get to it. But promises mean a lot more now, and the weight of the pack’s trust feels heavier since I claimed Magnolia.

I spend the morning fiddling with the wiring, trying to make sense of the tangled mess left behind by whoever last attempted to fix it. My hands are steady, but my mind? It’s a goddamn disaster. Magnolia’s scent clings to me like a ghost, warm and sweet and impossible to ignore. It’s in the air around me, under my skin, twisting up every coherent thought I try to hold onto.

Every time I close my eyes, she’s there—her laugh, soft and breathless in the aftermath of my kiss. The way her lips parted on my name, the sound of it more addictive than any drug. The feel of her under my hands, warm and pliant, fitting against me like she was made for it, made for me.

I groan, dragging a hand down my face as if that’ll shake her loose from my thoughts. “Get it together, Colt,” I mutter, but even my voice feels hollow. She’s too much. Too vivid. Too goddamn beautiful. And no matter what I do, I can’t stop replaying last night. The way she let me in—body, mind, soul—without hesitation. Like she wasn’t terrified of the man she’d tied herself to. Like she didn’t see the cracks and shadows I’ve tried so hard to hide.

And damn it, I want to be worthy of that. Of her. But wanting and deserving are two different things, and I know better than to think I’m either.

The tangled wires in front of me blur as my mind drifts again, drawn back to the feel of her hands, small and warm, skimming over my chest as she whispered my name like a prayer. Her smile, sleepy and unguarded this morning, like I’d just handed her the whole damn world.

I grip the wrench harder, my knuckles whitening, and force my focus back to the task in front of me. But it’s no use. Magnolia’s everywhere. She’s in my blood, in the air I breathe, in the quiet moments between one heartbeat and the next.

Her words from last night echo through me, as soft and steady as the tide. You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know. She said it so simply, like it was a choice I could make. Like it wouldn’t shatter the fragile thing we’ve built between us.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I want to be the man she sees when she looks at me. I want to be worthy of her. But how can I give her that when I’m still hiding the worst parts of myself?

The wrench slips in my hand, the edge scraping against my palm, and I swear under my breath. Focus, Colt. She deserves someone better. Someone whole. Someone who doesn’t look at her and feel the kind of hunger that borders on madness.

But God, the way she looked at me last night. The way her fingers curled in my hair, pulling me closer like she couldn’t stand to let go. The way she said forever like it was a promise we could actually keep.

A low, guttural groan escapes me as I drop the wrench onto the table, scrubbing both hands over my face. I don’t know how to do this. How to balance the want—the need—to protect her with the fear that the truth will destroy her faith in me.

Because the truth is, I’ve never wanted anything the way I want her. Not just her body, though Christ, that’s enough to drive me to the edge on its own.

But her laugh.

Her kindness.

The way she fits into the hollow places inside me.

Magnolia is everything good I’ve ever wanted and everything I don’t deserve. And the cruelest part? She doesn’t even know it. Doesn’t see the jagged edges I’ve kept hidden. If she did…if she knew…would she still look at me the way she did last night? Would she still trust me to stay?

I shake my head, trying to clear the ache building in my chest, but the weight of her—of everything she is—refuses to let me go. I’m drowning in her, in the way she made me feel like I could be enough. Like I could be better.

The projector sparks under my fingers, and I curse, tossing the wrench onto the table. “Enough of this.”

I need to do something. Something that shows her—and everyone else—that I’m serious about this. About us.

Which is how I find myself standing on the porch of Bruce and Sarita’s house, my palms sweating like a damn teenager.

The door opens before I can knock. Bruce, Magnolia’s dad, is standing on the other side, his broad frame filling the doorway. His face breaks into a small, easy smile when he sees me. “Colt,” he says, his tone warm, and I feel a flicker of relief.

“Bruce.” I nod. “Is now a good time?”

“Course it is,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing me in. “Come on in, son.” His voice has a friendly, fatherly cadence to it, and it settles my nerves a bit.

I step into the house, the scent of coffee and freshly baked bread hitting me. Sarita is seated at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in her hands. Unlike Bruce, her expression is sharp, her eyes narrowing as I approach.

Bruce moves toward the kitchen and grabs another mug from the counter. “Coffee?” he offers, already pouring some for me.

“Yes, sir,” I say, grateful for the gesture. “Thank you.”

Sarita doesn’t look up from her mug, her lips pressing into a thin line as I take a seat at the table. Bruce sets the coffee in front of me and leans casually against the counter, crossing his arms. He looks relaxed, but there’s a spark of curiosity in his eyes, like he’s sizing me up in a way that’s far less intimidating than his wife’s scrutiny.

“Morning, ma’am,” I say, directing my words to Sarita, my voice as even as I can manage. “I appreciate you both making time for me.”

“Depends on what you’re here for,” Sarita says, her tone cool. “If it’s about Maggie…”

I swallow hard, my throat feeling tight, and nod. "It is," I admit, glancing between them. Bruce crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his expression neutral, but Sarita sets her mug down with a deliberate clink.

“Go on, then,” she says, gesturing for me to continue. Her voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a warning. She’s not going to make this easy, and honestly, I don’t blame her.

I shift my weight, suddenly feeling like a kid about to get scolded. “I wanted to talk to you both,” I begin, forcing myself to meet Sarita’s gaze. “About my intentions.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, clearly interested despite himself, and I see a flicker of curiosity soften the lines of his face. Sarita, though, doesn’t so much as blink. She’s stone-cold, her hands wrapped tightly around her coffee mug.

“I care about your daughter,” I say. “A lot. I know this is…fast. I know I’ve barely scratched the surface of earning your trust. But I want you to know I’m serious about her. About us.”

Bruce nods slowly, his expression thoughtful, but Sarita remains stiff, her knuckles white around her coffee mug. I take a deep breath, pushing through the weight of her scrutiny.

“Look, I’m not blind to the fact that I’m probably not what you would’ve picked for her,” I add. “Hell, if I were in your shoes, I’d have my doubts too. I don’t have the kind of background that screams ‘stable future,’ and I’m not gonna stand here and pretend I do.”

Bruce shifts, leaning back against the counter. Sarita doesn’t look any softer, but she’s listening. At least, I think she is.

“But Magnolia…” I pause, swallowing hard, letting the weight of her name settle in my chest before I continue. “She’s made it clear what she wants. And it’s me.”

I lift my gaze to meet Sarita’s, even though it feels like staring down the barrel of a gun. “I’m not willing to deny her that. I can’t. She’s…” My throat tightens, the words threatening to choke me, but I force them out anyway. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if she’s willing to fight for me, for us, then I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting to be the man she deserves.”

“You think you know what Magnolia wants?” Sarita scowls. “Because I’ve known her a lot longer than you, and let me tell you, what she doesn’t need is a man who’s going to bring trouble into her life.”

The words sting, even though I expected them. My wolf stirs uneasily, growling at the challenge, but I keep my voice calm. “I understand why you’d think that,” I say. “But I’m not here to hurt her. All I want is to make her happy. To give her the kind of life she deserves.”

“Well,” he says, his tone measured, but there’s a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “I’ll give you this, Colt. You’ve got guts. And Magnolia…she’s stubborn as hell, just like her mother.” He shoots a teasing look at Sarita, who doesn’t react. “If she’s made up her mind, there’s not much anyone can do to change it.”

Sarita looks at her husband, her jaw tightening like she wants to argue, but Bruce’s calm demeanor seems to soften her—if only a little. She exhales through her nose, setting her mug down before crossing her arms over her chest.

“Guts won’t get you far, Colt,” she says. “Neither will sweet words. Magnolia is... she’s special. She deserves someone who’s steady. Someone who can handle her heart with care. Can you be that for her?”

The question feels like a punch to the gut, not because I don’t have an answer, but because I do. “Yes, ma’am,” I say firmly, my voice unwavering. “I can. I know I’ve got a lot to prove, and I’m not expecting anyone to take my word for it. But I’ll show you. Every day, I’ll show her—and you—that I’m the man she deserves.”

Sarita’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—reluctance, maybe, or a crack in the wall she’s built around herself. Bruce, on the other hand, is watching me with quiet approval, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“She’s stubborn, like I said,” Bruce says, his voice easy and warm. “And if she’s picked you, there’s no talking her out of it. I trust my daughter’s instincts, Colt. But you’ve got a tall order ahead of you. Sarita’s right—this family doesn’t need trouble.”

“I know,” I say, the weight of their expectations settling heavily on my shoulders. “I’ve got some things in my past I’m not proud of. Things I can’t change. But I’ve left all that behind. Magnolia’s my future now. This den, this pack—it’s where I want to be.”

Bruce nods, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Good answer,” he says, his voice almost approving. “You seem like a man who’s willing to put in the work.”

Sarita doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes bore into mine, searching for any hint of weakness or deception. “Words are easy,” she says flatly. “Promises don’t mean much if they’re broken.”

“I understand that, ma’am,” I say, meeting her gaze head-on. “And I’m not making empty promises. I know I have to earn your trust, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’m here for the long haul.”

For a moment, there’s silence. The weight of Sarita’s scrutiny is suffocating, but I hold steady. Finally, she exhales. “We’ll see,” she says, her tone grudging but not outright hostile. “Magnolia’s happiness is all that matters. If you’re what she wants…you’d better not let her down.”

“I won’t,” I promise, the words coming out rough but true. “Not now. Not ever.”

Bruce claps a hand on my shoulder, the gesture solid and reassuring. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, son,” he says, his smile widening just a fraction. “But I’ve got a good feeling about you. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, my chest tightening. “I won’t.”

Sarita rises from her seat, her movements brisk and efficient as she clears her mug from the table. “I’ll hold you to that,” she says over her shoulder. “You’ll have to.”

Bruce gives me a knowing look, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’ll warm up to you eventually,” he says in a low voice. “Just don’t screw it up.”

“I don’t plan to,” I reply. “Not with her.”

As I step back out onto the porch, the morning sun feels brighter, the air lighter. The weight of Bruce’s trust and Sarita’s cautious acceptance is heavy, but it’s a burden I’m willing to carry. Magnolia’s worth it. She’s worth everything.

And as I head back toward the workshop, I know one thing for sure: I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.

Starting with sending a message to the Gulf Pack that they’d better stay the hell of way…because I’ll go toe to toe with them to protect this den.

To protect my family.