Page 88 of Gunnar

He’s coming down the hall toward me, fast enough that he must have left the room the second he scented me. He stops dead when he sees me standing there.

For a second, we just stare at each other.

He’s wearing a dark henley, sleeves shoved up, jeans slung low on his hips. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it. His face is hard in a way I haven’t seen before.

Then it shifts. Softens.

“Do you need something?” he says quietly.

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

He glances behind him once, toward the lit room, then back at me. “Go back inside, Alexandria.”

That almost works.

Almost.

Then my voice comes back in a rush. “Your mate?”

His face doesn’t change.

Which somehow makes it hit harder.

I swallow. “I heard you.”

He exhales. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you mean it?” I ask.

He looks at me for a long moment, like the question itself offends him.

“Yes.”

The word drops between us.

I stare at him. “Gunnar⁠—”

“You asked me not to push you,” he says. His voice is low enough now that it almost blends with the dark. “I’m trying to respect that.”

My heart thumps brutally.

I fold my arms over my chest, partly because I’m cold and partly because I need something to do with myself. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like this is…” I make a helpless motion between us. “Settled.”

His eyes glow. “It is for me.”

That sends a fresh shock through me.

I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “Well, that’s easy for you, isn’t it?”

“No.” He takes one step closer. I feel it all the way through me. “It isn’t.”

I can hear the blood in my ears. I am suddenly, absurdly aware of everything about him. The width of his shoulders in the narrow hall. The heat of him. The fact that he came after me before I’d made it halfway down the corridor.