Chapter Four.2

GHOST

The storm outside had turned vicious, wind slamming against the building hard enough to rattle the windows while thunder rolled in deep, layered waves beneath the floorboards. Rain battered the glass in relentless bursts that drowned out the quieter sounds of the apartment. Ember stood in the doorway like someone deciding whether to fight the storm or surrender to it, her body betraying her with every passing minute. Her breathing had grown uneven, and she kept touching her arms in small, restless movements that weren’t meant for him but that Ghost noticed anyway, cataloging each one.

Her scent shifted again.

Stronger, warmer, the kind of warmth that curled low in his spine and demanded he look away to preserve what little control he had left.

He didn’t look away.

But he didn’t step closer either.

A bolt of lightning flashed across the windows, followed by a thunderclap sharp enough to rattle a picture frame on the far wall. Ember flinched, barely, but enough that Ghost saw her shoulders tense and her fingers curl slightly.

She swallowed hard.

“Shower,” she muttered finally, the word grudging.

Ghost blinked once, keeping his expression neutral. “Okay.”

“I’m not doing it because you said to,” she added immediately, defensive to the core.

“I didn’t say you were.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, searching his face for any hint of triumph. “Good.” He nodded and moved past her, careful to leave ample space so she didn’t feel cornered in any way. Inside his bedroom, he opened the dresser and pulled out the softest shirt he owned, washed thin with age, loose enough that it would swallow her petite frame whole. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed a pair of cotton sleep shorts too. He wasn’t sure she’d wear them, but he wasn’t going to let her try to sleep in jeans while the storm rattled everything around them. When he returned, she was still standing exactly where he’d left her, staring at the bathroom door like it was an opponent she needed to outmaneuver.

He held out the shirt.

“Here.”

She stared at it for a long moment before snatching it from his hand, the fabric brushing his fingers in a way that sent an unintended spark through him. The shirt hung ridiculously large against her frame when she held it up.

She knew it.

He knew it.

Her cheeks warmed another shade, the flush deepening. “Why do you own shirts big enough to rent out as studio apartments?” she demanded, voice laced with accusation.

“You’re small,” he said simply, no judgment in the words.

Her glare sharpened instantly. “I am perfectly sized.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

She clutched the shirt tighter to her chest. Ghost offered the sleep shorts next. “If you want these too.” Her breath caught—just enough to be noticeable, it wasn’t embarrassment, Ember didn’t embarrass easily. But the subtle shift in her scent told him her body recognized the intimacy of the moment even if her mind refused to acknowledge it. She took the shorts without meeting his eyes, the exchange brief but charged. “Thanks,” she muttered, which for Ember was practically a love confession.

Ghost nodded once, accepting it for what it was. That shirt had been sitting in his drawer for months, washed too many times and never thrown away for reasons he’d never examined too closely.

Then he turned away, giving her privacy. Just before he reached the kitchen, her voice stopped him. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she said quickly. He glanced back.“It’s just a shirt.”

Ghost kept his voice steady. “I know.”

He didn’t tease her. Didn’t press but as Ember slipped into the bathroom and the door clicked shut behind her, he closed his eyes for a moment and let the truth settle in his chest.

It did mean something.

To her.

To him.

And to the wolf pacing restlesly beneath his skin.

The shower started a moment later. Water struck tile, steam filling the small space behind the door while Ghost stood alone in the kitchen with both hands braced against the counter. Through the thin wall, her scent shifted again. Not fully, not strongly. Just enough to curl through the air like a whisper, warmth and sweetness, the sharp edge of rising heat. Ghost inhaled once before forcing himself to breathe through his mouth.

It didn’t.

It never helped where Ember was concerned. He could picture her easily—not because he was imagining anything he shouldn’t, but because he had seen her in a hundred other moments; angry, determined, protecting her noodles like a feral raccoon guarding treasure.

But never like this.

Never showering in his bathroom while the storm raged outside. Never reaching for towels he’d set aside for her. Never about to step out wearing his clothes. A small thump sounded from inside the bathroom, like she’d braced her hand against the wall. Ghost’s breath caught before he could stop it, not because of what she was doing but because of what it meant.

She was struggling, storm-rattled, overheated. Her scent rising faster than she could control.

Thunder cracked again outside. Ghost rolled his shoulders back and forced himself to settle. Ember needed calm. So he would be calm, Ember needed steadiness. So he would be that too.

The wolf under his skin disagreed. It paced harder, frustrated by his restraint, recognizing every subtle change in her scent with painful clarity.

She trusted him.

Even when she pretended she didn’t.

Ghost stared at the candlelight flickering across the kitchen walls. “I’m right here,” he murmured quietly.

Not loud. Not desperate.

Just true.

A moment later the water shut off. Steam drifted under the bathroom door along with a new scent—clean skin warmed by water, layered with the sweetness of rising heat and wrapped faintly in the cotton-and-cedar smell of his clothes. Somewhere behind that door, Ember was pulling his shirt over her head.

Ghost’s fingers curled against the edge of the counter.

It wasn’t explicit.

But it was intimate in a way that struck deeper than anything else could have. He had always wondered, quietly and privately, what Ember’s heat might smell like mixed with something of his. He never expected to learn the answer like this. Now that he had, he knew one thing with absolute certainty.

He would never forget it.

This was going to be the longest night of his life.

And it had barely started.