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But the voice in the back of my mind—the one I’d been carrying around since childhood—wasn’t done with me yet.

What are you doing, Maggie? Why are you letting yourself think he sees you?

He’s Roman Velasquez. A brooding, dramatic, supernatural force of chaos and charm who gets into fights with rival shifters and makes girls blush with a single raised brow. He lives in a world of ancient rivalries and power plays and pack politics.

And you? You’re normal. Boring. The girl who hides under blankets during thunderstorms, who still flinches when doors slam, who second-guesses everything she says three times before letting it out.

What could someone like him possibly want with someone like you?

I swallowed hard. My cheek was pressed against his skin, and I could hear the soft, steady thump of his heart. It felt too perfect. Too fragile.

If I let myself believe this was real and it wasn’t, I didn’t know how I’d recover.

But then Roman’s hand trailed down my spine. Gentle. Reassuring. Like his body was trying to speak the things he never said out loud.

I thought about the way he’d defended me. She’s the love of my life. The way he’d stared Seraphina down as if daring her to question it. The way he’d pulled me into that alcove, looked me in the eyes, and asked if I was okay.

I pushed the doubts down, letting them drift to the edge of my mind and out of reach. I couldn’t unravel it all tonight. I didn’t want to.

Not when I was wrapped in his arms like this. Not when the storm rumbled outside and his body was warm against mine and his thumb brushed the curve of my shoulder like he couldn’t stop touching me even if he tried.

I let out a shaky breath, and Roman tightened his grip slightly.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, this time quieter. Like a promise.

I believed him. Just for tonight, I let myself believe him.

I closed my eyes and let the sound of his heartbeat guide me under. I didn’t feel alone.

I felt safe and wanted.

As sleep finally took me, I let myself wonder if maybe I’d always belonged right here.

Wrapped in warmth. Curled against chaos.

Falling quietly into something I couldn’t take back.

20

ROMAN

The next day, a letter arrived like it was delivering news of a royal wedding or a sacred rite instead of whatever latest whim Lucien had cooked up at three in the morning. It was thick, cream-colored parchment, edges gilded, sealed with actual wax. A wolf’s head was stamped into the deep red, as if we lived in some medieval fantasy instead of a rent-controlled apartment in San Francisco.

When I came in from my run, Maggie was already tearing it open with zero ceremony, standing there in my T-shirt that skimmed her thighs, hair still messy from sleep. She looked up at me with that mix of suspicion and amusement I’d come to know better than my own reflection.

“Your boss sent us Hogwarts mail,” she said, holding up the paper like it might explode.

I grabbed a bottle of water, cracked it open, and took a long drink before I braced myself for whatever Lucien had dreamed up this time. “What’s it say?”

Maggie read aloud, putting on this exaggerated formal voice, like she was an announcer at the Kentucky Derby. “‘You are cordially invited to the Velasquez Bachelor/Bachelorette Union Challenge, a time-honored rite of bonding and celebration. Please present yourselves for an afternoon of camaraderie, competition, and mystical blessings.’”

She paused and glanced at me over the top of the parchment. “Roman. There’s a crest at the bottom. In glitter.”

Groaning, I rubbed a hand over my face. “I knew letting Lucien download Pinterest was a mistake.”

Maggie snorted as she leaned against the counter, the letter dangling from her fingers. “I swear, if this man tries to get us to do a unity candle or a couple’s vision board, I’m out.”

I slid an arm around her waist without thinking about it. That was the thing about us now. Touch came naturally. My body had decided it was done pretending it didn’t want to be close to her. She didn’t stiffen or pull back. God, she fit perfectly against me, and it was like she was made to be there. And maybe she was. God help me, maybe she was. It hadn’t slipped my mind that time was passing quickly, and I still needed to find a way to tell Maggie about the accelerated claiming. Or, better yet, how to get out of it altogether. I swallowed hard.