009.

Liam’s POV. 

Two weeks into the retreat and the forest had decided to freeze us alive.

The temperature dropped lower than forecasted, and the firewood stash was near useless. Even the tent itself felt like a thin veil barely separating us from the wintery woods outside. My breath misted in the air, visible even inside.

Zelest shivered across from me, arms tucked into himself with his lips pale. I hated how my body noticed things I shouldn’t be noticing. Like the way his shirt clung to him after days of minimal laundry, or the way his skin flushed in the cold, drawing attention to his cheekbones.

“I’m fine,” he muttered for the umpteenth time.

“You’re not,” I replied bluntly. “You’re freezing.”

“So are you.”

“I can handle it.”

A long silence passed before his voice came again, low and dry, “We could share the sleeping bag. Body heat, and all that survival crap.”

My heart sank at his suggestion. 

No, that was a horrible idea. 

A terrible, hormone-triggering, bond-intensifying, dignity-shattering idea. But I wasn’t cruel enough to let him freeze. And if I said no, he’d call me out on being ridiculous.

“Fine,” I muttered, already regretting it.

The bag was barely large enough for one, let alone two grown men. 

Setting the stick between us aside, Zelest slid in first, back pressed to the edge. I followed, my body tense like a bowstring. The second my chest brushed his back, the bond pulsed between us, sending chills down my spine.

“Don’t tense up like that,” he mumbled against the sleeping bag.

“Can’t help it when I’m playing spoon with my rival.”

“You’re not even touching me.”

“I can feel your hair on my neck.”

He laughed softly. “So sensitive, Moonfang.”

But I was touching him. My thigh grazed his. My arm pressed against his side. The scent of his skin invaded my nose—intoxicating, familiar, perfect in ways I couldn’t describe. 

My fingers twitched with the urge to move.

The worst part? My wolf liked it, softly growling in my head and wanting more of it.

The bond hummed between us like a second heartbeat. My breathing slowed to match his. His warmth slowly and dangerously seeped into me, melting the resistance I was trying so hard to hold onto, but the cold too.

Then, his hips shifted a little, grinding against my thighs, sparks traveling down my nerves by the friction of the fabrics and the heat. My breath hitched in my throat at his little movement. 

“Hawthorne.”

“Hmm?”

“If you keep moving like that, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” he asked, voice thick with amusement. “Kick me out? In the cold?”

I gritted my teeth, trying to think of anything except how tightly pressed we were now. His back to my chest. My arm, unintentionally wounded around his waist. I hated this—I thought as a discomforting bulge grew in my sweatpants. And, I hated that I didn’t want to let go.

“Sleep,” I ordered, barely above a whisper.

He let out a small hum but never pulled away. And neither did I. I felt his tense muscles turn loose in my arms and his breathing evened out eventually. 

Slowly, I found my tense self loosening with him in my arms. I hated that I enjoyed it, I hated that I didn’t want to let go… and yet it felt so right. 

Despite defying every natural law that threatened to shatter our little bond—a cruel joke made by fate, this felt complete. 

I found a rhythm in Zelest’s breathing, realizing it was the same as mine. I could feel the rise and fall in his chest, and the warmth of his body against mine made something stir in me. A rather, strange fuzzy feeling in me. And I couldn’t say I hated it. Because for the first time in twenty-one years, I felt less tense about everything. I felt peace. This feeling right here, was peace. 

No, that’d be poorly put. He was peace. Zelest Anderson Hawthorne—do not question how I came to know his middle name—the chaos magnet, felt like the absence of chaos simply by being with me. 

As if hearing my thoughts, Zelest spoke up, his voice small, “Prince? Are you asleep?”

“No, but the cold’s gone. You?”

“Does that mean it’s working?” 

“Shut up,” I deadpanned, realizing what I’d just walked myself right into. 

A throaty laughter escaped Zelest’s chest, earning a frustrating throb in my pants. 

“Grumpy.”

Silence blanketed us as I felt my hands wrapped around Zelest’s body, enjoying the warmth that radiated from his—and mine—skin. 

Once again, I found a rhythm in his breathing as it fell in sync with mine. The thumping of his heartbeat resonated with mine. 

Slowly, I felt myself getting swallowed by darkness and I soon surrendered to it.

I woke up to warmth. 

Not the kind that came from a blanket or fire, but bodily heat. My eyes fluttered open with a grogginess that came with a good sleep. 

A steady rhythm pressed against my chest like it belonged there. It took a second for my brain to register the body curled tightly against mine.

Zelest.

His leg was tangled with mine, one hand splayed flat across my chest, the other buried in my hair. His nose nearly brushed mine, our foreheads lightly touching as if—Goddess help me—we had kissed and hadn’t moved since.

My arms were around his waist, locked tightly like I’d pulled him closer in my sleep.

It felt like ice had been shoved into my spine as I stiffened at the sight.

I should pull away. I told myself. 

But my body didn’t move. It refused to move. Instead, it melted into the comfort of him. 

Our bodies fit in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Like we were always meant to be this close. The bond hummed low in my chest, unbothered by the chaos in my head.

What in the goddess’s name happened last night?

I remembered the cold, the shivering... the suggestion that we’d share a sleeping bag only for warmth. That’s all it was supposed to be. 

But this? This closeness… this not-so-intimate intimacy?

My breath hitched slightly, drawing Zelest’s attention in his sleep. He shifted even closer, fingers tightening in my hair. A soft exhale brushed across my lips.

I knew this was a terrible idea. It should never had happened, I should’ve never agreed to Zelest’s idea of “sharing the sleeping bag, body heat, and all that survival crap.” 

Since when did I begin to take the suggestions of a man who looked like he was always five minutes away from starting a fire?!

Since the day I found out he was my mate, I guess. I found myself replying in my head. Beginning of a bad joke. 

I began to think of bright ideas on how to get out of this beautiful—terrible, rather—mess I’d gotten myself into when a light rustle came from the tent flap.

Company! I panicked, my muscles tensing. We have company! Someone would see this and tell other people who would get the wrong idea. 

The idea of everything set panic down my spine. 

My eyes darted to the entrance to see the healer, poised and unbothered as if she hadn’t just walked in on something that felt dangerously like a dream. 

Her gaze swept over us once, pausing at the tangled limbs and the suspicious lack of personal space.

“Good,” she said softly, as if she’d seen exactly what she expected. “I didn’t want to wake either of you, but you should know—something’s changed at the perimeter. The camp leader asked for both of you.”

I nodded, too stunned to speak. She turned to leave but not before flashing a smug, knowing smile.

Once she was gone, I dared to glance down again. Zelest hadn’t stirred. And my arms… still hadn’t let go of him.

This insanity in my head needed to stop.