Chapter 82

Nephele's POV

I followed them inside, still thinking about what I'd just admitted to myself in the yard.

I didn't want Kaedan to leave tonight. Hell, I didn't want him to leave at all.

The kitchen looked exactly the same as always—Gregory's art supplies on the table, coffee cups in the sink, the same evening light coming through the windows.

But now I was imagining Kaedan's things here too. His coffee mug next to mine. His jacket hanging by the door.

God, when had I started wanting that?

I was still processing this shift in my feelings when Gregory's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Alright, you two," he said, already moving toward the stove with easy confidence. "I'm cooking tonight, which means you both get to be my assistants."

I blinked, pulled back to the present moment. Gregory was taking charge of the kitchen with the quiet confidence he'd been developing all week—directing me to chop vegetables while assigning Kaedan the task of setting the table.

Watching him move around the space with such purpose, I was struck by how much he'd changed. No longer the tentative, hypervigilant man who'd jumped at shadows, he seemed genuinely comfortable having us both here.

And I watched it all with new eyes, seeing not just Gregory's recovery, but the way Kaedan fit so naturally into our domestic rhythm.

"I've been thinking about what we discussed," Gregory said, stirring something that smelled amazing on the stove. "About that tactical training idea."

Kaedan looked up from arranging plates. "Oh? What's your take?"

"Maybe I could start small. Help train some of the younger pack members in hand-to-hand combat."

Gregory sounded... certain. Not like he was trying to give the "right" answer, but like he actually knew what he wanted.

"I mean, I had to learn how to fight without relying on supernatural abilities," he continued, tasting his sauce and adding another pinch of herbs. "Might as well put that experience to good use."

I paused in my vegetable chopping, surprised. "You want to train others?"

"Why not?" He shrugged, stirring the pot with easy confidence. "I survived twenty-two years in hell. Maybe it's time to make those skills count for something positive."

The matter-of-fact way he said it—not bitter, not self-pitying, just practical—made my throat tight. This was growth, real healing. The kind that came from finding purpose rather than just surviving.

"That's brilliant," Kaedan said, and I could feel his genuine enthusiasm through our mate bond. "We've always focused our training on shifting abilities. But what happens when those fail?"

"Exactly." Gregory's eyes lit up with interest. "But what happens if you're injured and can't shift? What if you're fighting someone who can neutralize your abilities? You need fundamentals."

I watched them discuss logistics and training schedules, seeing how naturally Kaedan encouraged Gregory's ideas without taking them over. He asked thoughtful questions, offered resources, but never once suggested he knew better or tried to redirect the conversation toward what he thought would work.

This was the man I'd fallen in love with. Not the controlling Alpha who'd once hidden threats from me, but someone who could see value in my brother's ideas and help him grow without overshadowing him.

And watching it only confirmed what I'd already admitted to myself outside: I didn't want this to end when dinner was over.

Gregory's cooking turned out to be surprisingly good. The pasta sauce had complex flavors that definitely hadn't come from a jar, and he'd clearly put thought into balancing the seasonings.

"This is incredible," Kaedan said, taking another bite. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

Gregory looked pleased but not overwhelmed by the praise. "Trial and error, mostly. I've been experimenting with different herbs and spices this week." He gestured toward the small herb garden visible through the kitchen window. "Nephele said I could use whatever I wanted from out there."

"I may have created a monster," I said, tasting the sauce again. "Yesterday he reorganized my entire spice cabinet by flavor profiles."

"It makes more sense that way," Gregory said with a small grin. "Alphabetical is useless when you're trying to build complementary flavors."

I caught Kaedan's eye across the table and could see he was thinking the same thing I was.

This was Gregory making choices, having opinions, defending his preferences. A few weeks ago, he would have asked permission to touch the spice cabinet, much less reorganize it according to his own system.

"Well, whatever system you're using, it's working," Kaedan said. "This is really good."

"Thank you." Gregory actually smiled—not the careful, tentative expression he'd worn for weeks, but genuine pride. "I was thinking maybe I could try making bread tomorrow. There's this technique I read about..."

As he started explaining different kneading methods, I realized something had changed. Gregory wasn't just getting through each day anymore. He was making plans, trying new things, actually enjoying himself.

He was getting better.

After dinner, we all helped clear the table. Gregory was putting away his art supplies when he paused, glancing between Kaedan and me.

"You know what?" he said, gathering up his brushes and palette. "I think I'll work on that painting outside for a bit. The evening light is perfect right now."

He headed toward the door, then stopped and looked back with a small smirk. "You two can handle the dishes without supervision, right?"

He gathered his art supplies and headed back outside, leaving Kaedan and me alone with the dinner dishes and a sudden weight of possibility hanging in the air.

We worked in comfortable silence, falling into the rhythm we'd established over the past week.

Kaedan rinsed while I dried, moving around each other with an ease that felt domestic in the best possible way.

But tonight felt different. I could tell through our mate bond that Kaedan was being careful—not pushing, not assuming anything about what I wanted.

A few months ago, he would've already been talking about next steps, making plans, deciding what this meant for us. Now he was just... waiting. Letting me figure it out.

I appreciated that more than he probably knew.

"Kaedan," I said as he finished the last plate.

"Yeah?" He turned to face me, and I could see the hope in his expression—cautious, like he didn't want to get his expectations up.

"I need to tell you something."

His expression shifted slightly, preparing for bad news. "What's that?"

I set down my dish towel and took a breath, committing to the truth that had been building in my chest all week.

"I don't want to take it slow anymore."