Page 16 of Bronx

“Good,” Mila said. “We’ll stop by and see you there.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Cora spared one last glance at Bronx, who had risen from his seat, his stoic expression giving nothing away.

“Good night, everyone,” she said before turning and making her way toward the door.

“Bronx.” Steele’s voice rang out, cutting through Cora’s silent retreat. She halted in her tracks, her pulse quickening with anticipation. “Why don’t you walk Cora back to the lodge? After all, it’s where you live too.”

Cora’s eyes widened, as she was startled by the suggestion. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” she demurred, her voice soft yet tinged with anxiety. “I can manage on my own.”

“Come now,” Steele said. “It’s late, and we’d all feel better knowing you’re escorted safely back to Moonstone Lodge.”

With a sigh of resignation, she acquiesced, glancing over at Bronx, who had already risen from his seat, his tall, imposing frame casting a shadow on the floor.

For a moment, their gazes met, and Bronx offered her a small, reassuring nod as he gestured toward the door.

“Let’s go,” he said simply, his deep voice quiet.

As they stepped outside, the sounds of nature enveloped them—the rustling of leaves, the distant howls of true wolves in Yellowstone. Bronx walked beside Cora, maintaining a respectful distance while keeping close enough to offer protection should the need arise.

The moon cast a silvery glow over the sidewalks leading back to Moonstone Lodge, illuminating the shadows that danced at their feet. Bronx and Cora walked side by side, silence falling between them.

Cora’s brows furrowed in thought, her mind racing for something to say. She glanced sideways at Bronx, taking in his strong profile and the set of his jaw. She wondered what thoughts lay beneath those deep-set hazel eyes—like hidden pools in the forest.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Cora ventured. She hoped the small talk might open a door for deeper conversation.

Bronx glanced at her, his lips ghosting into a faint smile. “It is,” he agreed, his attention shifting back to the sidewalk in front of them.

At the brevity of his response, she swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

It was clear this man had no interest in her.

As the lodge came into view, its lights beckoning them closer, Cora knew what she had to say. Her pulse quickened, fear and bravery warring within her as she prepared to voice her thoughts.

“Bronx,” she began, hesitating as they reached the lobby. “I… I just wanted to say that I understand how you feel. You don’t have to take me as a mate. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

For a moment, Bronx merely looked at her, his gaze searching hers as if seeking the truth behind her words. His expression was unreadable, but there was a new intensity in his gaze that made her knees go weak.

“I’m not doing this out of obligation,” he replied quietly, his voice gravelly as though the words were being pulled from the depths of his soul. He pushed the elevator button and ushered her inside. “I’ll do what’s best for you and Samuel.”

For a fleeting moment, as the elevator whisked them to her floor, their gazes lingered on each other, an instant of vulnerability passing between them. But before either could speak, the elevator doors opened, and the moment was gone.

“Thanks for walking me back,” she said softly as they reached the door, searching his gaze for any sign of emotion. “I appreciate it.”

Bronx nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re welcome.”

“Good night,” Cora said, and then she slipped into her room.

Cora’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Then she pushed off it and made her way into the living-room area.

“Thank you,” she said to the lodge employee who had been watching Samuel. The young woman glanced up from her book, surprise flickering briefly across her face before she offered Cora a small smile.

“You can go now.” Cora handed her several bills.

“Of course, Ms. Harris,” she replied, slipping from the room with a quiet click of the door. Cora was left alone.

Tiptoeing toward Samuel’s bed, she watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath the soft blue blanket. His dark hair was tousled, a halo of innocence around his cherubic face. A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over Cora, and she felt grateful that Bronx had shown such kindness to her son.

As she crawled into her own bed, the sheets cool against her skin, Cora couldn’t abolish the melancholy that had taken root deep within her. She knew Bronx was a good man—strong, kind, and if his scars were anything to go by, fiercely protective—but the idea that he felt no genuine interest in her was a knife to her gut.

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