007.

Liam’s POV. 

My eyes blinked open to faint dawnlight seeping into the tent. For a moment, I didn’t register anything unusual… until I noticed the warmth beneath my palm.

A soft fabric, steady breathing, the faint scent of gourmand and sandalwood… and a waist.

I stiffened.

My gaze dropped, confirming the worst—or the best, depending on who you asked. My arm was looped tightly around Zelest Hawthorne’s waist like it belonged there.

What in the actual hell?

Panic clawed at my chest. I hadn’t just reached out in my sleep—I’d clung. My hand splayed over his abdomen like some desperate lover needing anchorage. And the worst part?

He hadn't moved.

He was still, his back pressed against my chest, and I could feel the rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingertips. Peaceful. Warm. Familiar.

I slowly—painfully—unhooked my arm, my breath hitching as I did. He didn’t stir. Thank the goddess.

I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands.

What is happening to me?

The bond. The tension. That moment yesterday. The way we got intimately close that I could feel his warmth and how perfectly complete it made me feel to be so close to him. It all drove me crazy. This is a disaster. 

Or was it not? This was only our first of thirty days and it’s already this messy. 

I didn’t know what scared me more—what almost happened… or how much I wanted it to happen again.

By the time Zelest began to stir beside me, I was already upright, my heart thudding against my ribs like I’d committed a crime. Maybe I had.

He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I didn’t let our gazes meet. Couldn’t.

Without a word, I grabbed a stick from the edge of the tent and dragged it down the middle of the tent floor, leaving a clear line.

“This is your side. That’s mine,” I said flatly, not meeting his eyes.

Zelest raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“I’m not doing this again,” I muttered, already reaching for my boots. “We stay on our sides.”

He didn’t respond. Just gave a low hum, like he found it amusing, and grabbed his towel before leaving the tent.

The morning air was crisp. Mist clung to the trees like cobwebs and the quiet hum of the woods felt too calm for the storm inside me. I went about our first task—gathering kindling from the edge of the woods, cutting small logs—anything to distract me from the ache in my chest and the memory of how right it felt to hold him.

But the goddess clearly hated me.

As I made my way toward the creek for water, I stopped cold.

There he was. Zelest, shirtless in all glory and waist-deep in the water. 

In the shallow stream, back turned to me, the morning sun gleaming off his wet skin like he owned it. Water clung to every muscle of his back as he leaned down to rinse his hair. 

My limbs turned to jelly as I found myself staring at the sight, unable to look away or walk away from him.

His movements were unhurried, almost languid, like he didn’t care who saw him. Or maybe he did. Maybe this was punishment for everything I was trying to deny. 

I’m overthinking this. Zelest doesn’t care about the mate bond. After everything I’d put him through, he shouldn’t. 

My throat went dry. I should have walked away, should’ve looked away. But I didn’t. I watched his muscles flex at his every movement. 

I turned my back to leave hesitantly, finally able to tear my gaze away from him. I walked as fast as I could, setting a distance between us so I didn’t have to wander subconsciously back there and get filthy thoughts of him in my head until I heard a splash, followed by a yelp from him. 

Instinctively, I dropped the twigs in my hand and ran back to the creek in an instant. 

“Zelest?! Are you alright?”

The words left my lips, unsolicited concern evident in them. 

He groaned, propping himself up from the shallows. “Rock. Mossy. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. His hand trembled as he tried to stand. 

I moved before I thought. Stepping into the stream, water soaked my boots immediately. “You’re an idiot.”

Zelest looked up, annoyed. “Why are you even here, prince? You should stay out of the water, don’t want to ruin your fancy Alpha-heir outfits.”

I ignored his attempts to get under my skin because all I cared about at the moment was him.

“Because watching you drown yourself would’ve ruined my chances at passing Rogue Psychology,” I muttered, gripping his arm and pulling him up.

He hissed through his teeth as I steadied him. “I said I’m fine, prince.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I replied, “Give me your knee.”

“What?! Are you nuts?”

“What? Scared I’ll drown you?” I smirked. Then it hit me —an actual joke. Since when did I crack jokes?

His sarcastic humor was slowly rubbing off on me. 

“Was that a joke?” Zelest scoffed.

Flustered, heat rushed to my face and I scowled. “Give me your knee, Hawthorne.”

There was a silence between us, a different kind now. Tense in a way that made the air crackle. He was warm despite the cold breeze near the creek. And close. Too close.

I helped him to the bank without another word. But his skin lingered in my mind longer than it should’ve.

“Sit over there. I’ll be back soon,” I said, nodding toward a chopped tree trunk. I didn’t wait for a reply.

I went in search of herbs to treat his cut, unsure why I felt so on edge—like he was fragile, like I needed to protect him. Even if he didn’t want it.

When I returned, I felt something ease inside me at the sight of him still seated, half-dressed and waiting. I knelt beside him, crushing the herbs into a paste and gently applying it to his leg. He flinched slightly at my touch.

“Hold still,” I whispered, blowing softly on the wound to soothe the sting.

“Thank you.” 

Zelest’s usually sharp velvet voice softened into a way I’ve never heard before, my stomach turning into ice. Two words and that was all it took to shatter my resolve. 

“Don’t sweat it.”

Unsure of how to respond, I rose to my feet and cleared my throat. I helped Zelest up, packing the forgotten twigs in one hand with Zelest’s waist strongly held in the other to help him balance himself. 

Suddenly, a strange whiff of blood caught my attention and it didn’t smell like a wolf's.. 

It was a rogue’s.