Page 73 of Mated Exile

He's out of the restroom when I return, looking around with a confused expression. Mercifully, his boxers lie flat against his thighs, though not without adifferentshape of bulge.

His eyes clear when he sees me. "I thought you'd gone."

"I wanted to brush my teeth." I hold up my sleep kit. "Just give me a minute."

As I slip into the restroom, I try not to think of what Bastian just did in it. Thankfully he knows how to clean up after himself—there's no sign of his particular solution in here. I quickly do my nighttime routine, taking off my makeup and brushing my teeth, then slip into my pajamas and return to the bedroom.

Bastian is sitting in the middle of the bed, legs folded up beneath him, hair in a simple braid at his back. He looks tired, his eyes soft, a sad expression on his face.

Slipping towards him, I put my hand on his shoulder and say, "It'll get better, with time."

"I hope so." He tentatively smiles up at me. "It felt good to tell you. Like it was this big thing, but now it's smaller."

"That'll keep happening. Bit by bit, until it's something you think about and move past, instead of dwell on."

"Yeah. Thanks, Delilah."

"Of course."

He slips beneath the sheets, and I follow, getting on the other side of him. As he settles behind me, at first there's space between us. Then his arm goes around my waist, and he draws me tight against his chest, his chin settling against the top of my head. Reaching out, I turn the lamp off and try to think sleepy thoughts.

Bastian is like a furnace behind me, giving off constant heat. He's snugged his hips up right behind my ass. I can feel every inch of his body, including the parts that are no longer aroused.

It's a little hard to sleep.

So of course I'm awake for long enough that my eyes adjust to the dark. Until I see something, barely visible, incredibly easy to miss. I blink several times, certain that I'm seeing things, but it doesn't go away.

Instead it multiplies.

Stretching between me and Bastian, darker than the darkest part of the room, giving off no light at all, are long, black threads.

They're unmistakably mating threads.

Except that they're a completely wrong color, and give off no light at all—something that shouldn't even be possible.

Something that sets my teeth on edge, even as I draw back against his chest, comforted by his warmth.

Behind me, his breathing evens out into sleep.

It takes me much longer to follow him.

After I close my eyes, the black threads dance across my vision, ominous and strange.

Thirty-One

Delilah

Roarke is picking me up for my first werewolf council meeting, and I've gone through more outfits than I did for my date with Finn the other night. I can't seem to decide what's proper to wear. If I go too casual, then I'll look like I don't take pack business seriously. Too formal makes me seem like an outsider or a square.

Finally I settle on a nice top, dark-washed jeans, closed-toe flats, and an understated makeup look. At the last minute I throw my hair up in a bun, then tease a few tendrils out of it to frame my face. It isn't exactly what I'd wear to manage the restaurant, but it's close—and there's no time to change again. Roarke's knock comes at the door exactly on time.

Cat is working on dinner when I make it downstairs, while Bastian hovers over her shoulder, diligently waiting for his next instruction. Tasks around the house have petered out considerably, so she's enlisted him to be her own personal sous chef. He's more than eager to help out if it means he gets an extra serving.

He glances over his shoulder at me, eyes open and face relaxed. I give him a tentative smile, my cheeks heating at the memory of the other night. We didn't talk about it afterwards, but I've certainly thought about it more than once.

A knock comes at the door again, impatient. "Coming!" Swinging it open, I find myself face-to-face with six feet and five inches of tanned, baby-blue-eyed, sun-blond werewolf waiting for me impatiently. "You're not one for waiting, are you?"

"We're going to be late." Snagging my wrist, he pulls me towards him—and surprises me with a sweet, soft kiss that melts me down to my toes. "I hate being late. You don't get the best seats unless you show up on time."

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