Forbidden Mate

Chapter 13

Cordelia woke in a warm bed and, for a moment, could not remember how she had reached it. Pale firelight lay across the floorboards. Her boots stood by the hearth, brushed clean. A shawl hung over a chair. The last clear thing was riding with Dante after dinner, fields edged with frost, the horses’ breath white in the dark.

He had been quiet on that ride. The scuffle in the hall weighed on him.

“It isn’t like him,” he’d said of Daniel. “He doesn’t throw first. He doesn’t lose the margin.”

She had taken his gloved hand on the rein. “I had no idea that the alpha had so much weight on her shoulders. I wish I could lighten the load for you.”

He had lifted her fingers and kissed them. “Your kindness has no bounds,” he’d said. Her father had called the same impulse naivety. Dante spoke it as thanks.

She must have dozed against his shoulder and been carried here. Now she pushed up on her elbows and saw him asleep in the armchair by the fire, one hand loose on his knee. His shirt was open at the throat; a clean bandage showed at the shoulder. He looked both younger and more tired. She found a folded blanket at the bed’s foot and rose to lay it over him.

The cloth brushed his wrist. He woke at once. “You should still be sleeping,” he said, voice rough from dreams.

“So should you.” She kept her voice low.

He caught her hand and drew her closer. When she would have stepped back to let him rest, he eased her onto his lap, careful and unhurried. His arm settled around her waist; his other hand covered hers where it lay against his chest.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, touching the safe edge of the bandage.

“Less when you are near,” he said. She was his spiritual medicine.

He kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her mouth, and the quiet of the room warmed. Between kisses he searched her eyes and waited for the small nod that meant yes. She gave it. The long day loosened its grip. He stood and carried her to the bed, pausing to be sure she could still change her mind.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” he said.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

For a little while there was only careful tenderness. His hands were patient, outlining the places that his lips gently caressed in an instant. She found where his shoulder and chest were tender and was gentle. The kisses deepened; breath matched; shyness thinned; desire rose in a steady way both of them chose.

A knock sounded, firm and measured—three raps.

Dante stilled. He closed his eyes once, as if willing the sound away. The knock came again, the same rhythm.

“Forgive the hour, Alpha,” Silas called through the door.

Dante rested his forehead against hers for a heartbeat, then drew the blanket up over her shoulders and crossed to the door. He opened it as little as courtesy allowed. Silas stood straight in the corridor, coat damp with night air.

“What is it?” Dante asked.

“After the fight at dinner, they demanded a rematch,” Silas said. “The boys went to the training ground, and Daniel followed them. Now they’re surrounded by a crowd. You have to intervene before Daniel does something stupid. He won’t listen to me.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. He looked past Silas, measuring distance and consequence. Cordelia sat up and pulled the blanket closer.

“Please. He needs you,” she said.

“He’s not little, I’m not his nanny,” Dante answered, eyes still on the hall. “If he messes up, he’ll be to blame.” He turned back to her. “But I will go.”

“I know it’s on him,” she said, steady now. “Just make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

Dante nodded. He faced Silas. “You stay out of it. If my second raises his hands again tonight, it will be not because a fool stepped where they shouldn’t.”

“Understood,” Silas said.

Dante came back long enough to kiss Cordelia’s brow, steady and brief. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll wait,” she said.

He pulled on coat and boots and left with Silas. The latch settled. The room cooled by a degree.

Cordelia sat a moment, listening to the corridor take their steps away. Warmth braided with worry until neither feeling stood alone. She tied her robe, fed the fire two small logs, and watched the flame climb. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and sat in the armchair, drawing her feet up to keep from pacing. Thoughts about “what if” no longer made sense and only added to the tension.

The den’s sounds reached her in pieces—a door closing down the hall, a murmur on the stair, the faint clink of someone banking coals in a distant room. None of it told her what she most wanted to know. She held the blanket’s edge to keep her hands still and made herself breathe.

The latch lifted softly. Dante stepped in, hair damp from the outside air, coat unbuttoned. Silas did not follow.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It’s over for tonight,” he said. “I found them at the yard. Jerek and Ayden had stirred a crowd. Daniel was ready to swing. I stepped in, broke it up, and sent everyone home. Daniel will report to me at sunrise. He’ll run dawn drills all week and keep clear of the hall until he’s steady.”

“Did Daniel argue?”

“He wanted to,” Dante said. “He didn’t. He knows the line he crossed, but knowing doesn’t cool blood at once.”

She crossed to him and set her palm against his chest. His breathing slowed under cloth and bandage. “Thank you for going.”

He tried for a smile. “Thank you for sending me. If I’d stayed, I would have carried anger into morning and used it like a tool. That cuts the wrong thing.”

“Then we’re both learning,” she said.

He touched the blanket at her shoulder, the small domestic gesture that said as much as any oath. “I didn’t like leaving you.”

“I didn’t like asking you for that, but in some cases it’s necessary,” she replied.

They stood close a moment, to let their breath match again. After the pause, he helped her back to bed and sat on the edge.

“Will you sleep?” he asked.

“If you sit there,” she said.

“I’ll sit,” he promised, and took her hand.

She settled against the pillow. Before sleep reached her, she spoke the truth that had waited since the ride. “You were right about Daniel. It wasn’t like him.”

“I hope he remembers that by morning,” Dante said.

She closed her eyes. Outside, a sentry shifted on the frost and a round changed. Inside, the chair creaked once as Dante settled, and the room grew very quiet.