5

SILAS

Her hands are small, trembling slightly as they cup my Lycan’s face. Her touch is hesitant but curious, her fingers grazing my fur like she’s trying to memorize every detail. It’s… intoxicating.

I’ve never been touched like this before. Not with awe. Not with care.

“What is this creature called?” she asks aloud, though her words aren’t directed at me.

Her voice is soft, melodic, and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes and savor the sound. My Lycan rumbles with approval, standing perfectly still as though he’s afraid to scare her off.

“I do not know, but he is gorgeous,” I hear her wolf purr through the link, her tone dripping with admiration.

Her next words surprise me. She smiles—a warm, genuine smile—and nods as though agreeing with her wolf.

Beautiful. Stunning. Utterly unafraid.

I’ve faced warriors, rebels, even kings who’ve cowered before me. But here she is, looking at me like I’m something to be marveled at, something worth touching, worth knowing.

She’s my mate. My fated.

And she doesn’t even know it yet.

Unable to resist, I shift back. My bones crack and reform, my massive Lycan shrinking into my human form. I know I’m leaving her stunned—I always do—but this time feels different.

When her gaze lifts to meet mine, her wide, doe-like eyes hold a mixture of awe and innocence. Her hands hover in the air where my Lycan’s face had been moments ago.

She’s so close I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin.

I lean forward slightly, just enough to see the blush creeping into her cheeks. Adorable.

Her lips part, and for a moment, I think she might say something. But then, as if realizing how close we are, she pulls her hands back and looks away.

The way her cheeks flush with embarrassment makes me chuckle.

“Can I see your…” she begins, her voice small, uncertain. She pauses, searching for the right word.

“Lycan,” I supply, my voice low and deliberate.

Her eyes snap back to mine, and for a moment, the world feels smaller, quieter. Her gaze is intense, unwavering, and filled with curiosity that burns brighter than any fear.

“Yes,” she says softly, almost shyly. “Can I see your Lycan again?”

She likes my Lycan. She likes me.

I smirk, stepping closer, letting my presence wash over her. “You like my Lycan?”

She nods quickly, biting her lip in a way that makes my chest tighten. “He’s… beautiful.”

Beautiful. No one has ever called us that. Powerful? Dangerous? Yes. But beautiful?

I stare at her, a strange warmth spreading through me. She’s so bold in some ways yet so delicate in others.

I reach out without thinking, brushing my fingers against her cheek. Her skin is soft, her warmth addictive. She freezes under my touch but doesn’t pull away.

“You’re not afraid of me,” I murmur, more an observation than a question.

She shakes her head, her voice a quiet whisper. “No. Why would I be?”

“You should be,” I reply, my voice dark but laced with something softer—an edge of wonder.

Her defiance is immediate, her chin tilting slightly upward. “Well, I’m not.”

For the first time in a long while, I feel something I can’t quite name. Pride? Amusement? Maybe even hope.

“Show me again,” she whispers, her tone pleading, her eyes bright with excitement.

I exhale, stepping back as I prepare to shift again. My Lycan practically vibrates with joy at the chance to be near her again.

The transformation is quick, seamless, and when it’s done, she lets out a delighted laugh that makes my heart pound.

She’s obsessed, and I don’t blame her.

Her hands are back on my fur in an instant, stroking, tracing, admiring every inch of me. Her touch is intoxicating, reverent, and entirely unafraid.

“You’re amazing,” she breathes, her voice filled with awe.

My Lycan rumbles in satisfaction, basking in her attention.

But then her head tilts slightly, and her body stiffens. Her hand stills on my fur as her ears perk up. I hear it too—the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

I growl low, stepping between her and the noise.

“Someone’s coming,” I say through the bond, my voice deep and dangerous.

She doesn’t argue, doesn’t protest. Instead, she shifts behind me, her fingers clutching at my fur as though I’m her shield.

My chest swells with a possessive pride.

Whoever dares approach my mate will meet their end.