Chapter 17
The morning sun spilled weakly through the curtains, brushing her face with warmth she didn’t entirely feel. Clara stirred, muscles stiff from a night of tossing and turning. Her mind was foggy, still tangled in the remnants of her dream—the forest, the wolves, the flash of Rowan’s eyes glowing in the dark.
She sat up slowly, rubbing at her temples. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Then she noticed it. The faint smell of him in the air—wood, warmth, and something sharper she couldn’t name.
Her heart stumbled.
Sliding out of bed, she padded quietly to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Her breath caught.
Rowan.
He sat on her porch steps, back straight, eyes scanning the trees as if nothing had changed, as if the night had been just another routine. Morning light caught the angles of his face, highlighting the roughness of a night spent vigilant. He hadn’t moved. Not once.
Clara’s chest tightened. He’d been there all night.
She swallowed, unsure what to say—or if she could say anything. Every rational thought screamed at her to pull back, to retreat inside and lock the door. But another part of her, a deeper, more reckless part, ached to step outside and speak to him.
Her fingers trembled as she unlatched the door.
“Rowan…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge her. “Morning.”
The single word was enough. Enough to send heat curling through her, enough to make the night’s fear feel distant, replaced by something she didn’t have a name for.
“You… you stayed?” she asked, voice trembling, half in disbelief, half in gratitude.
He gave a small, controlled nod. “Didn’t want anything—or anyone—getting close to you while you slept.”
Clara’s knees felt weak. She wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t necessary, that she was fine—but the truth caught in her throat. She hadn’t felt fine. Not last night, not for a second.
And yet here he was.
His gaze softened slightly as he watched her, and for a moment, the distance between the porch and the door felt like nothing. He wasn’t just a presence outside her home anymore. He was there. For her.
Clara’s hand trembled as she reached for the doorframe. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely able to meet his eyes.
Rowan’s lips twitched faintly, almost a smile. “Always.”
The word carried a weight she hadn’t expected, and she realized with a jolt that she’d never felt this seen before—not by anyone.
Her pulse raced, a mix of lingering fear, awe, and something far hotter—desire. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to admit it, even to herself. But deep in her chest, she felt the pull of him, strong and unyielding, and she knew that this was only the beginning.