Page 81 of Nikolay

He did not wait at the top of the steps once my headlights swept fully across the drive. He came down before I had even cut the engine, unhurried and sure. Not rushing. Never that. Men like him did not rush toward what they expected would come to them.

I parked, killed the engine, and took one breath before opening the door.

I had one boot on the ground when Sage reached me.

“Madelyn,” he said.

My name sounded smooth in his mouth. Easy. As if he had practiced it in private and found the shape agreeable.

“Alpha,” I said, a little faster than I intended. “Thank you again for inviting me.”

“Please,” his mouth curved faintly. “Sage.”

Then he opened my door wider with one hand and offered me the other.

I took it because not taking it would have been ridiculous.

His hand closed around mine, warm and firm, and he steadied me down from the SUV as if I required help I absolutely did not require. Still, the gesture had enough old-fashioned polish to disarm rudeness before it formed. I landed lightly on the brick, drew in a breath of cold night and pine, and would have withdrawn my hand then if he had allowed it.

He did not.

Instead, he lifted it.

The movement was smooth enough that I did not resist in time to make it graceful. My spine went rigid a split second before his mouth touched my knuckles.

The press of his lips there was brief.

Perfectly mannered.

And cold shot up my arm, anyway.

Not disgust. Not fear. Just that sharp, involuntary line of bodily alarm that came when a gesture meant to charm arrived carrying more awareness than I had been prepared to receive. My shoulders wanted to lock. My wolf pricked up under my skin. The reaction was gone almost as fast as it came, but I felt it in full.

Sage, damn him, missed very little.

His eyes lifted to mine over my hand before he let it go. Not smug. Not apologetic either. Simply attentive.

“How very pleased I am to have you in my home,” he said.

His voice sat low and unhurried in the air between us, the voice of a man who had never once needed to raise it in order to be obeyed. Something about it made the night seem quieter around him instead of louder.

“Appreciate the welcome,” I said, and was relieved that this sentence at least came out like ordinary English.

He stepped to my side as naturally as if we’d been arriving together for years. His hand settled at the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric of my Henley, and guided me toward the steps.

Not pushing.

Not gripping.

Just there.

That, somehow, felt more telling than pressure would have.

The stone steps were broad beneath my boots. The lanterns cast a gentle light over the porch, turning the ironwork black and elegant against the pale face of the house. Up close, the scale of the place only got more offensive. The front doors alone looked as though they could survive a siege and a tax audit without trouble.

“I hope the drive wasn’t inconvenient,” Sage said as we climbed.

“No, sir.”