Seven

MORGAN’S POV

The garden listens to me.

It doesn’t argue. It doesn’t push. It doesn’t stand behind me like a predator deciding how far he can take something before I snap.

Sebastian does.

I crouched at the base of a tomato vine, pressing my fingers into the soil, checking moisture levels. Sun warming my shoulders. Dirt streaking my pants where I’d wiped my hands.

I felt him before I heard him.

“You’re staring,” I said not looking up.

“I’m assessing.”

Of course he is.

“You’ve assessed that fence post three times.”

“And you’ve been on your knees for five minutes.”

I stilled.

Slowly rose to my feet.

I stepped closer — because I refuse to be the one who retreats. The space between us closed to inches. Close enough that I could see the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You look like you’re calculating something,” I murmured.

“I am.”

“Should I be concerned?”

His hand moved before I could anticipate it.

He caught my wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

Not painful. Claiming.

His thumb dragged slowly over the inside of my pulse, smearing dirt across skin that suddenly felt too sensitive.

“You’re filthy love” he said quietly.

My heartbeat kicked harder against his grip.

“That a complaint?”

“No.”

His other hand slid to my hip. Fingers pressing into the flesh just above my waistband like he was testing how solid I was.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said, voice lower now, edged with something darker, “I’m going to stop being patient.”

My stomach tightened. My body suddenly a lot warmer than before.

“Patient darling?” I scoffed softly. “Is that what you call this?”

His grip tightened just slightly.

“I call it restraint.”

Heat pooled low in my stomach. Inconvenient. Dangerous.

“If you bend me over a vegetable bed,” I said coolly, “I’ll make you replant the entire row.”

His mouth brushed close to my ear, just close enough that I felt the heat of his breath.

“I’d replant the whole field for you love”

That did something to me I wasn’t prepared for.

The packhouse doors slammed open in the distance breaking the moment.

Voices carried across the courtyard.

I stepped back first.

“Lunch,” I said evenly.

He didn’t argue.

But the look he gave me promised this conversation wasn’t finished.

*

The packhouse was loud, warm, alive.

Winnie was the centre of it all. She used to be fathers housemaid. Now she practically ran the kitchen. She'd helped raise me from a pup when it was just Father & I.

She stood near the main table with a wooden spoon like a sceptre, directing movement with sharp efficiency.

“No, no — that’s too much broth. You’re feeding warriors, not drowning them. And wash your hands again. I don’t care if you think they’re clean.”

Two pups scrambled to obey.

Seth hovered near the pot, but he deferred to her. Everyone did.

Others slicing bread under her watchful eye.

Lou, Kieran, and Evelyn were already seated at the long table, eating with casual familiarity.

Winnie looked up when I entered. A warm smile across her face.

“There you are” she said. “Tomatoes?”

“Fresh,” I replied, setting the crate down.

She inspected them like I’d presented tribute. “Good. Elders & pups first.”

“Already rotating portions,” one of the older pups added.

“Of course you are,” Winnie said, patting his arm before shooing him away again. “Stir properly. Don’t just move the spoon for show.”

I moved through the kitchen, adjusting distribution instinctively, heading to the back door to double check the water tanks.

Sebastian followed, almost too close.

“You’re distracted,” he murmured as I stopped.

“I’m working.”

“You’re flushed.”

I didn’t turn. “It’s warm.”

His hand slid to my lower back.

Slow.

Possessive.

Fingers spreading wide, spanning the curve of my spine. Not hidden this time — just subtle enough that it wouldn’t draw attention unless someone was watching carefully.

“Darling,” I said quietly.

“Tell me to stop.”

His thumb pressed into the hollow at the base of my spine.

My breath faltered.

I hate that he notices.

He stepped closer.

Close enough that his chest brushed my back.

“You’re still reacting,” he whispered near my ear.

His hand slipped beneath my hem.

This time further.

Palm flattening against bare skin.

Warm. Rough.

My hands flatten against a tank to steady myself.

Inside, Winnie was scolding someone about overfilling bowls. Pups were laughing. Life was continuing like I wasn’t unraveling.

“Sebastian,” I warned.

His hand slid lower.

Not indecent.

But deliberate.

Fingers hooking slightly at the waistband of my pants, tugging me back against him.

The pressure of him was unmistakable. Solid and controlled. Fucking hot.

“You still haven't told me to stop love"

I turned sharply, ready to snap at him.

He kissed me before I could speak.

His hand stayed at my waist, holding me exactly where he wanted me. His mouth moved with intention, teeth catching my lower lip just enough to make me inhale sharply against him.

My hand gripped his shirt.

I kissed him back.

Harder.

Because I don’t get claimed without claiming in return.

He backed me half a step into the tank, hand sliding from my waist up my spine, tangling briefly in my hair to tilt my head the way he wanted.

Control.

Always control.

When he pulled back, my lips were swollen and my breathing betrayed me.

“If you keep testing me,” he said quietly, eyes dark and steady, “I’m throwing you over my shoulder and taking you upstairs. I won’t ask.”

The command in it made heat curl low in my stomach.

I lifted my chin, fluttering my lashes.

“Go eat your lunch,” I said with a smirk. “You’ll need the energy.”

Sebastian stepped back, his gaze lingering in a way that promised later would not be gentle.

And for the first time all afternoon, I was very aware of how far the stairs were from the kitchen.