Page 63 of The Brotherhood

Sinrik wasn’t sure what woke him first—the distant echoes of movement through the mountain, or the fact that Beth was in his arms.

His body was still heavy with sleep, but his mind surfaced fast, instinct dragging him to awareness. The warmth curled against him didn’t belong there, but somehow it had become familiar. A habit formed too quickly. A necessity he hadn’t been able to resist.

She’d had nightmares again. He knew that because he had held her through them.

Now, her breathing was steady, her body slack in deep sleep, and despite everything he told himself, his arm stayed where it was, draped possessively over her waist.

He carefully splayed his hand against her womb, his fingers pressing just enough to feel the rise and fall of each breath. He needed to move before she woke up and saw this. Before she tensed and ruined whatever temporary peace he’d found in comforting her. Protecting her.Feelingher.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he let his fingers brush against her shirt, a slow drag of skin against fabric, tracing the subtle warmth beneath. A hunger stirred—not the kind that had plagued him his entire life, not the relentless need to consume, conquer, or claim. This was different. It was slower, heavier.

It felt like something dangerous.

And it pissed him off.

His jaw clenched. He should move. Now.

Beth inhaled sharply, and then—too fast—she was pulling away.

The sudden loss sent something sharp through him. An irritation. A gnawing frustration he had no right to feel.

She scrambled upright, her breath uneven as she pushed her hair back, avoiding his gaze.

He forced himself to stay where he was, watching as she straightened her shirt, pulled her legs up beneath her, and reestablished the boundaries she had never set but always maintained.

Sinrik flexed his fingers against the sheets, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

“You had nightmares,” he said, voice rough from sleep still.

Beth swallowed but nodded. “I don’t remember them.”

He doubted that, but let it slide.

His eyes lingered on her face, taking in the exhaustion smudged beneath her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she refused to look at him for too long.

He wasn’t sure when this had happened—whenhestarted looking at her for too long.

Or when she became the thing he was constantly trying to figure out.

The connection between them wasn’t something he could explain. It wasn’t attraction. It wasn’t simple obsession. It wasn’t anything he had words for, and that alone was enough to make his blood run hot with vexation.

He had always understood his wants, his needs. He had never questioned why he reached for something—he just did. He took what he wanted. That was his nature.

But this?

He hadn’t chosen it. It chose him. Whateveritwas.

Sinrik’s hands curled into fists against the sheets. Maybe her husbandwasdead. Maybe…

He just needed to confirm his death.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. He needed to know.

Because it wasn’t justherhe had the need to protect. It was the baby too. No reasoning, no foundation in logic. Just a raw, instinctive truth crawling beneath his skin, sinking deeper every day.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

Or even what it would make him do.

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