Chapter 176
Sebastian
"My standards are very flexible when it comes to your safety." I let teeth show in my smile, knowing it probably looked more threatening than reassuring. "But fine. Go downstairs if you must. I'll try to contain my separation anxiety."
She rolled her eyes at that, but I caught the slight curve of her lips as she headed for the elevator, and I waited exactly three minutes after the doors closed—counting them off in my head while I paced the length of the penthouse like a caged animal—before pulling out my phone and initiating a video call.
She answered on the third ring, her face filling the screen with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and amused. "Sebastian, I literally just left your room."
"Twenty minutes and forty-six seconds ago, to be precise." I settled back against the headboard, hair still damp from the shower I'd taken while she was in the elevator, and let my eyes track over her face with the kind of intensity that usually made people uncomfortable. "I'm simply checking to make sure you made it safely."
"It's one floor down." She was trying not to smile now, I could tell. "What could possibly happen between the 88th and 87th floors?"
"You'd be surprised. Faulty elevator cables. Rogue housekeeping staff. Aggressive dust bunnies." I kept my tone deliberately light, but underneath it was the truth I couldn't quite voice—that the thought of her being out of my sight, even for a few hours, made something in my chest feel too tight. "The world is full of unexpected dangers."
"You're ridiculous." But she was smiling now, a real smile that reached her eyes and made the wolf preen with satisfaction. "Was there an actual reason for this call, or are you just bored?"
I could've deflected with sarcasm or innuendo, could've made a joke about any of the dozen things I usually used to avoid showing genuine emotion. Instead I found myself saying the truth, my voice dropping to something quieter, more honest than I usually allowed myself to be.
"I miss you."
The words hung in the air between us, carried across digital space and the physical distance of a single floor, and I watched her expression shift—surprise, then something softer, more complicated, before settling into an exasperation that didn't quite hide the pleasure underneath.
"I've been gone less than half an hour." Her voice had gone quieter too, matching my tone. "How can you possibly miss me already?"
"I'm very efficient at missing people." That was a lie—I'd never missed anyone in my entire fucking life until her, had never felt the absence of another person as a physical ache that needed to be remedied. "It's one of my many talents. That and making unreasonable demands. Speaking of which—come back upstairs."
"Sebastian—"
"Come back upstairs," I repeated, letting a hint of Alpha authority creep into my voice, the command that she usually resisted but sometimes, inexplicably, yielded to. "Sleep here tonight. I'll even let you have the left side of the bed."
I watched her internal debate play out across her face, the war between her need for independence and whatever this thing was between us that neither of us wanted to name, and then she sighed—pure surrender that made victory taste sweeter than it had any right to.
"Fine." I could hear her moving, the rustle of fabric as she presumably gathered whatever she'd brought downstairs. "But I'm taking the bathroom first, and you're not allowed to complain about how long I take."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I lied, already anticipating the satisfaction of having her within reach again, of knowing she was close enough to touch if I wanted to. "I'll be waiting."
The call disconnected, and I set my phone aside with more force than necessary, restless energy still coiling under my skin. I grabbed the ridiculous moon elf pillow Marcus had ordered as a joke last month—silver hair, emerald eyes, the kind of cutesy design that was so far removed from reality it was almost offensive—and pulled it against my chest, fingers digging into the soft fabric hard enough to leave impressions.
Pathetic. I was thirty years old and clutching a stuffed animal like some kind of—
She found me like that twenty minutes later, sprawled across the bed with the pillow tucked against my chest, and the look on her face was worth any amount of dignity I might have sacrificed in the process.
"Are you seriously cuddling a stuffed animal right now?" Amusement danced in her eyes, lighting them up in a way that made my chest feel tight. "You're thirty years old, Sebastian. That's... that's actually kind of adorable, in a deeply disturbing way."
"It's not a stuffed animal, it's a decorative pillow," I corrected, tossing it aside with perhaps more violence than necessary and opening my arms in clear invitation. "And it's a poor substitute for the real thing. Come here."
She came, climbing onto the bed with careful grace that suggested her body was still recovering from the moonshade, and I pulled her against my chest with perhaps more force than necessary, arranging her exactly where I wanted her—head tucked under my chin, her smaller frame fitting against mine in a way that felt inevitable, like two puzzle pieces that had finally found their matching edges.
For a long moment we just breathed together, her heartbeat steady against my chest and my arms wrapped around her with a possessiveness that should probably have alarmed her but didn't seem to. My fingers traced idle patterns on her spine, feeling the delicate architecture of bone and muscle beneath the silk robe, and I found myself saying something I'd sworn I'd never say to anyone.
"If there comes a day when I can't hold it back anymore," I said quietly, my lips brushing against her hair, "when the beast finally wins and I become what my brother became—I want you to be the one to end it."
She went rigid in my arms, her entire body tensing as if I'd struck her. "Don't say that. Don't you fucking dare—"
"Let me finish." I tightened my hold when she tried to pull away, my arms becoming a cage she couldn't escape. "If that day comes, I want you to arrange a sea burial. Take my ashes out past the reef, where the water runs deep and clean, and scatter them where the currents run strong. That way, every time you see the ocean, you'll know I'm there. Free. Finally at peace."
"You're not going to die." Her hands fisted in my shirt with a strength that belied her smaller size, and I could feel her trembling against me—with anger or fear or some combination of both, I couldn't tell. "I won't let you die. I'm working on the treatment, I'm going to fix this, and you're going to live long enough to get old and gray and annoying."