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CHAPTER 117 - INTACT

Author: Dirty Diana
last update publish date: 2026-08-05 01:49:24

Four words. The seemingly simplest question in the English language.

But the way he’s asking it – looking at the floor with his hands on his knees and the amber completely absent from his eyes – makes something crack in my chest that I didn’t know was holding.

“Define all right,” I say, because the dark humour is the scaffolding that holds me together and removing it now would mean confronting the answer without structural support.

“Ivy.” He doesn’t back off. “I watched you perform a bond demon
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    He lifts his head from my shoulder and his eyes – gold again now, the wolf fully present – carry a question."Get on the bike, Knox."He doesn't ask where. He shifts back toward human dimensions, and the recession is slow and uneven because the wolf doesn't want to let go of the extra space the shifted body provides. His hands find my waist, and the grip is tighter now, closer to his usual. We walk to the parking lot, and the bike is still warm from his ride home, with the seat holding the heat in the leather.He gets on. I get on behind him, then swing my leg over and reseat myself in front of him, facing him, my thighs on either side of his hips, my hands on his shoulders, and my face level with his because the geometry of what I'm about to do requires eye contact."Drive to the compound."The gold flares. The question in his eyes sharpens into recognition, and that recognition sends the first signal through the bond that isn't grief – a hot, bright pulse that tastes like the Knox I

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    He lifts his head from my shoulder and his eyes – gold again now, the wolf fully present – carry a question."Get on the bike, Knox."He doesn't ask where. He shifts back toward human dimensions, and the recession is slow and uneven because the wolf doesn't want to let go of the extra space the shifted body provides. His hands find my waist, and the grip is tighter now, closer to his usual. We walk to the parking lot, and the bike is still warm from his ride home, with the seat holding the heat in the leather.He gets on. I get on behind him, then swing my leg over and reseat myself in front of him, facing him, my thighs on either side of his hips, my hands on his shoulders, and my face level with his because the geometry of what I'm about to do requires eye contact."Drive to the compound."The gold flares. The question in his eyes sharpens into recognition, and that recognition sends the first signal through the bond that isn't grief – a hot, bright pulse that tastes like the Knox I

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