Chapter 15

IRIS POV:

Sarah's living room felt smaller with Aurelian in it.

Not in a suffocating way. Just in the way a room feels when something large and powerful enters it. Like the space had to rearrange itself slightly to accommodate him.

He stood just inside the doorway for a moment, taking in the throw blankets, the half-burned candles, the cold, forgotten mug on the side table, and Sarah's collection of wolf moon prints on the wall that she had owned since secondary school.

Sarah appeared from the kitchen doorway.

"I'm making tea," she announced, pointing at Aurelian like she was establishing ground rules. "You want some?"

He looked at her with those storm-gray eyes.

"Please," he said quietly.

Sarah blinked, like she had expected him to say something else. Then she disappeared back into the kitchen without another word.

I sat on the couch, pulling my feet under me, and watched him look around the room. He moved slowly toward the small bookshelf in the corner, his eyes scanning the titles without touching anything.

"You can sit," I said.

He turned and looked at the couch. Then at the armchair across from it. He chose the armchair, lowering himself into it.

He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at me.

"Your father," he began.

"Don't," I said immediately.

He paused.

"I don't want to talk about my father right now," I said. "Or Nicholas. I've been talking about them all night, and I'm exhausted."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded once.

"Alright," he said.

Silence settled between us. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that had weight and texture to it. The kind that meant something was being said without words.

Sarah came back with three mugs balanced carefully in her hands. She set one in front of Aurelian on the coffee table, handed me mine, and dropped onto the far end of the couch with hers, tucking her legs under her and looking between us like she was watching the most interesting thing she had ever seen in her life.

Aurelian looked at the mug. Then he picked it up.

He took a slow sip.

Something shifted in his expression. Something closer to being impressed.

"It's good," he said, glancing at Sarah.

Sarah sat up slightly straighter. "It's my grandmother's blend. Hibiscus and something else she never told anyone."

"She kept her secrets well," he said.

Sarah smiled despite herself. "She really did."

I watched him over the rim of my mug. The hard edges that had surrounded him at the estate, the guards, the marble floors, the hidden compartments, and million-dollar wine, all of it felt very far away in this small, warm room. He still carried that quiet authority in every line of his body. That never left. But something else was present too.

Something almost human.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

His eyes moved to me. "You can ask."

"Fiona," I said.

The warmth in the room almost disappeared instantly. His hands stayed relaxed around the mug, but I saw the slight shift in his jaw.

Sarah went very still beside me.

"You don't have to answer," I added quickly. "I just… the way everything stopped when that name came up. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

He was quiet for a long moment. His eyes dropped to the mug in his hands.

"She was someone I couldn't protect," he said finally.

The simplicity of it hit harder than any long explanation could have.

I didn't push further. Something told me those seven words had cost him more than they sounded.

Sarah set her mug down softly.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

He looked up at me. Something moved behind his eyes, brief and deep, like a current beneath still water.

"It was a long time ago," he said.

But the way he said it told me it wasn't long enough.

The candles burned lower. The tea cooled slowly in our hands. Outside, the street was completely quiet now, no lights, no engines. Just the occasional sound of wind through the trees.

At some point Sarah's head began dropping. She jerked it back up twice, then gave up entirely and let it fall against the cushion behind her, her mug tilting safely onto the blanket beside her.

Out in seconds.

I looked at her fondly, then back at Aurelian.

He was already watching me.

"You should sleep too," he said.

"You're still here," I pointed out.

"I'll leave when I know you're safe for the night."

"You dismissed the police and made my father retreat without saying a single word to him," I said. "I think I'm safe."

Something flickered at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but almost.

"Humor me," he said softly.

I looked at him for a long moment. At the steadiness of him. At the way he sat in Sarah's worn armchair in what I was now certain was a very expensive jacket, holding a chipped mug of hibiscus tea, and looked more at ease than most people did in their own homes.

"Who are you really?" I whispered. "Not the name. Not the cars or the wine or the estate. Who are you actually?"

He held my gaze.

"Someone who has been many things to many people," he said quietly. "And none of those things to himself."

I felt that answer somewhere deep. Somewhere my wolf was already curled up and listening.

My eyelids were growing heavy. I tried to fight it.

"Stay," I said softly. And then immediately caught myself. "I mean… until you're sure we're safe. Like you said."

He simply nodded.

I leaned my head back against the couch cushion, pulling the blanket up around my shoulders.

The last thing I saw before sleep pulled me under was Aurelian still sitting in that armchair, mug in hand, eyes on the window, keeping watch over a girl he had known for less than a night like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—

My eyes opened slowly.

Gray morning light crept through the curtains. Sarah was still asleep beside me, mouth slightly open, completely unbothered.

I turned my head toward the armchair.

It was empty.

The mug sat neatly on the coffee table. Beside it, folded precisely, was his jacket.

And underneath it, a single card. Thick cream paper, no logo, just a number printed in clean black ink.

I reached over and picked it up slowly.

On the back, in handwriting that was sharp and deliberate, were four words.

You are not alone.

I stared at it for a long time.

My wolf sighed quietly inside me, warm and certain in a way I wasn't ready to be yet.