Page 58 of Stripe for the Picking
"Arvox kidnapped Wren and held her hostage in an abandoned warehouse in the Ice Mountains," Rylan replied, his arm sliding protectively around her waist. "I tracked them down and... the situation was resolved permanently."
Wren felt a flutter of pride at his understated description of single-handedly killing three men to save her life.
"I'm deeply sorry this happened," the Council leader said, his gaze finding hers. "If I had taken your evidence more seriously yesterday, none of this violence would have occurred."
"You're damn right it wouldn't have," Rylan's voice carried an edge of controlled anger. "I hope this serves as a lesson about acting with more urgency when citizens' lives are at stake."
The Council leader nodded solemnly. "You have my word that protocols will be reviewed and improved." His expression brightened slightly. "There is some good news, however. You've won the Protocol Trials, Commander."
Wren blinked in surprise. "How is that possible? We didn't finish the final round."
"I decided to award real-life points for the extraordinary bravery displayed today," the Council leader explained. "You and the other competitors saved lives, protected the innocent, and demonstrated the exact qualities the Trials are designed to test. Your actions today pushed you over the finish line."
A surge of joy shot through their mate bond, and Wren couldn't help but grin. After everything they'd endured, Rylan had still achieved his goal.
"Congratulations," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
"We did it together," he murmured back, his eyes warm with love and victory.
"I look forward to celebrating at tonight's formal dinner," the Council leader said before departing with a respectful nod.
General Kael stepped forward, clasping Rylan's shoulder with paternal pride. "You've become the man and leader I always knew you could be. Going after her took real courage."
"She's my mate," Rylan replied simply. "There was never a choice."
Kael's knowing smile said he understood completely. "Enjoy your victory, both of you. You've earned it."
As the General walked away, Rylan turned to her with that devastatingly gorgeous smile that always made her knees weak. The predatory gleam in his blue eyes promised delicious things.
"Let's go home and do our own celebrating," he said, his voice dropping to that low rumble that sent heat to her core.
Despite the trauma of the day, despite everything they'd survived, desire flared hot and immediate in her body. She needed to feel alive, needed to reconnect with her mate, and needed to celebrate their victory in the most primal way possible.
"I like the way you think, Commander."
Wren barely registered the walk back to their apartment, her body still thrumming with adrenaline from the day's events. But the moment the door shut behind them, Rylan's hands were on her—not with the desperate urgency she expected, but with a slow, deliberate possessiveness that made her breath hitch.
"Let's take a bath first," he murmured against her temple, his lips brushing her skin as he guided her toward the bathroom. "You need to unwind."
She arched her brow. "Unwinding isn't exactly what I had in mind."
He chuckled softly. "Oh, we'll get there."
The bathroom was sleek and modern, all warm lighting and polished stone. Rylan moved with that effortless efficiency she adored, touching a button on the wall until steam curled in the air and pouring in fragrant oils that made the water froth with bubbles. The scent—something rich and woodsy, like amber and spice—wrapped around her, already easing the tension from her shoulders.
She watched as he straightened, his borrowed tactical gear clinging to every hard line of his body. The sight of him like this—commanding, lethal, and entirely focused on her—sent heat pooling right to her core.
"Let me," he said as he reached for the hem of her blouse.
She gasped as his fingers skimmed her waist, his touch deliberate and savoring. The fabric soon slid away, then his hands were at the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with a precision that made her lips part. The lace fell, and his gaze darkened as he took her in, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in a slow, teasing circle.
She reached for his belt, her fingers working the buckle with less finesse but no less determination. "You're overdressed."
He let out a rough laugh as she shoved the borrowed pants down his hips, his cock already hard and straining against his boxers. She palmed him through the fabric, delighting in the way his breath stuttered.
"Someone's impatient," he accused, but there was no heat in it—only hunger.
"You have no idea."
