Page 35 of Bronx

Cora blinked back tears. She knew he meant well, and his support meant the world to her, but it did little to ease her crushing fears. As the day dragged on, all she could do was cling to the hope that Bronx would finally give her the answer she so desperately sought.

The steady ticktock of the clock above the café door punctuated Cora’s every heartbeat, each second feeling like an eternity spent in limbo. Her hands shook as she wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, her chest tightening with every breath she took.

“Order up!” the cook called out, breaking Cora’s trance. She quickly grabbed the plates and made her way to the waiting customers, her smile practiced but strained. Their murmurs of appreciation barely registered in her ears as she moved on to the next task, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Bronx.

It wasn’t until the bell above the door jingled, signaling another patron’s arrival, that Cora glanced up and froze.

There he stood.

Bronx Bishop.

His gaze met hers, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

“Bronx,” she breathed, relief washing over her like a tidal wave. Her knees felt weak, but she somehow managed to keep herself upright as he strode toward her, his tall and muscular frame exuding confidence and strength. The electric connection that always seemed to spark between them flashed through her body.

“Hey,” Bronx said softly. “I came to walk you home when you’re done with your shift.”

“Really?” Cora asked, her eyes widening with surprise and hope. It was a small gesture, but the unspoken message behind it told her he cared, and that was enough to momentarily push aside her anxieties.

“Of course,” Bronx replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

This man continued to defy her expectations.

She quickly finished her remaining tasks, her movements now fueled by anticipation rather than dread.

As Cora bustled about the café, Bronx leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with an intensity that spoke volumes.

Finally, Cora hung up her apron and turned to Bronx. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird sensing freedom. “I’m ready to go,” she said, offering him a tremulous smile.

“Let’s get you home, then,” he replied, holding the door open for her as they stepped out into the cool evening air, their future uncertain but their bond growing stronger with every step they took together.

Bronx and Cora walked side by side through the quiet streets, their footsteps echoing softly on the pavement. The cool breeze rustled the leaves in the trees above, casting dappled moonlight shadows on the ground. The tense silence between them was only broken by the howls of their packmates in the distance.

“About the mating ceremony,” Bronx began, his voice cautious. He hesitated for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts before continuing. “I haven’t answered you yet because there’s something you need to know.”

Cora turned her eyes toward him, worry creasing her features. “What is it?” she asked, her breath hitching as she clutched her jacket tighter around her.

“Steele and Ryker are aware that the Idaho Pack rebels are planning their attack during their ceremony,” he revealed, watching her reaction closely. “They’re trying to handle it, but I didn’t want to put you in danger by having our ceremony at the same time.”

Cora swallowed hard. She knew the dangers that lurked within the shifter world—knew better than most—but to have Bronx take such care for her safety made her chest tighten with emotion.

As they approached the door to her suite at the Moonstone Lodge, Cora felt a surge of affection for this man who had shown her so much kindness and protection. Without thinking, she reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a tender, spontaneous kiss.

Bronx’s eyes widened in surprise before softening. His large hands cradled her face as he deepened the kiss. Cora savored the taste of him, the feel of his lips against hers.

The fire of their connection burning brighter with each heartbeat, Bronx and Cora’s passionate embrace intensified. As the heat between them swelled, Cora’s trembling fingers fumbled for the door handle, desperation to be closer driving her movements. Finally, the latch clicked, and the door swung open, allowing them to stumble into the suite.

“Bronx,” Cora whispered against his lips, her hands finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it up over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles of his chest.

“God, Cora,” he groaned, his own hands making quick work of the buttons on her blouse, releasing the soft fabric to flutter to the floor. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only their intermingling breaths and shared desire.

As they walked into the room, a sudden thought crossed Cora’s mind, causing her to pause in the midst of their frantic undressing. “Samuel is still with Justine, right?” she asked, worry evident in her voice.

“Of course, don’t worry,” Bronx reassured her, his strong hands resting on her hips. “He’s safe with her, I promise.”

Relief washed over Cora, and with renewed confidence, she pressed herself against Bronx once more, her fingers sliding through his hair as their mouths met in a fevered dance. In her chest, anxiety and anticipation intertwined like vines, weaving themselves through her entire body.

“Let me take care of you,” Bronx murmured between kisses, his large hands tracing the curve of her waist, down to the edge of her pants. As he began to unbutton them, a shiver raced up Cora’s spine—not from fear, but from the powerful need pulsing through her veins.

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