She continued to struggle against him for a few more seconds, her fingernails digging deeper into his forearm, her breathing ragged and panicked.
Then, her entire body went still.
“Henrik?” “Yes.” He loosened his hold just enough to let her turn around in his arms, without letting go completely.
“It’s me.” She turned toward him, her chest heaving, her silver hair plastered to her cheek by sweat and fear.
For a moment, she simply stared at him, as if her mind hadn’t yet grasped that the arms holding her posed no threat.
He caught her scent then: sharp with fear, yet mingled with that wild sage fragrance that was uniquely hers.
“There was a man,” she said.
“He was right behind me.
He didn’t answer when I called out; he just kept coming.” “I saw him.
He ran off the moment he sensed me.” Henrik glanced over her shoulder toward the dark hedges, his jaw set.
“Are you hurt?” “No.
I don’t think so.” Her hands were still pressed against his chest; she clung to him while waiting for her legs to regain their strength.
“What are you doing here?
You said you wouldn’t be able to come.” “I finished what I had to do earlier than expected,” he said calmly, his thumbs brushing against her forearms.
“So I decided to stop by.” Her skin was cold.
He draped his suit jacket over her shoulders, and she looked surprisingly frail wrapped in the thick fabric.
Colette closed her eyes and pulled it tight around herself, finally letting out a long, relieved breath.
“Let’s go inside,” he said.
“Wait.” She stepped back slightly, though her fingers remained hooked in the jacket’s sleeve.
“That man…
He was following me.
Someone let him onto the property.” “I’ll have my men search the grounds tonight,” Henrik said, keeping his tone steady even as a sinister knot tightened in his stomach at the thought of someone stalking her.
“And I’ll handle your security team.” “No,” she said sharply, her pride reasserting itself despite her trembling hands.
“This is my estate.
I’ll deal with my guards and have them search…” “Colette.” His voice cut through her protests, firm and unyielding.
He placed his hand over the one she was using to grip his sleeve.
“You’re shaking.
I’ll handle it.” She opened her mouth to object, but the words died in her throat.
Before she could voice another protest, Henrik bent down and swept her up into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Put me down.
I can walk.” She struggled briefly before wrapping her arms around his neck, glaring at him as a flush rose to her pale cheeks.
“We’re getting married in a week, Colette.
You might as well get used to it,” Henrik said, heading toward the main house.
She quieted and pointed toward a side entrance away from the reception.
Without a word, Henrik carried her through the side door, up the silent service stairs, and into her room, setting her gently on the edge of the mattress.
She looked down at her feet, carefully slipped the jacket off her shoulders, and handed it back to him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
A sharp pang hit his chest.
Crouching in front of her, he watched her usual composure return as the guarded Colette reasserted herself, feeling a sudden, strange sadness as her walls went back up.
That was when he noticed a small scrape on the back of her left hand.
“You’re hurt,” he whispered.
He gently lifted her hand.
The faint scent of her blood, mingled with the aroma of wild sage, struck his senses with sudden intensity.
Before his mind could stop him, he leaned down and licked the thin trickle of blood from her skin.
Colette gasped sharply.
Henrik snapped his head up, meeting her violet eyes.
His wolf stirred just beneath the surface, and his gaze drifted to her lips as he leaned closer, irresistibly drawn by an impulse he couldn’t control.
A sharp knock broke the spell.
Henrik stood up abruptly, backing away from the bed.
Colette looked just as stunned, her face flushed in the silence.
Without a word, he turned and left the room.
He strode down the hallway, his heart pounding against his ribs, and wove through the crowded main hall until he spotted Elias near the terrace.
He pulled Elias aside and explained the situation in a few brief words, making it clear he was leaving, before heading straight for his car.
Rysand was waiting by the vehicle.
“Is everything all right?” “Have a few men search the perimeter,” Henrik ordered.
“Report back to me as soon as they’re done.” Henrik got into the car and stared straight ahead as they pulled away.
Left alone with his thoughts, he kept reliving the last hour: the pull in his chest, holding her on the stairs, and the moment he’d nearly kissed her.
Guilt hit him hard.
He had sworn to devote himself solely to raising his daughter.
How could he look Colette in the eye now?
When he returned, Laura was sleeping.
He stood outside her door, listening to her steady breathing, before heading to his room to lie awake for hours.
Morning came anyway.
He was walking toward his office, coffee in hand, when his phone rang.
He answered on the third ring.
“Henrik, hello.” He nudged the office door open with his foot and replied, “Hello.” Her soft voice enveloped him, and he felt a knot form in his stomach.
“I’m calling to thank you for last night.” “Oh, there’s no need; I was just doing my duty,” he said curtly, gripping the phone tighter.
“No, I want to.” A brief silence followed.
“How are you?
You left so abruptly.” He set his coffee cup on the desk without taking a sip.
“I’m fine.” The words came out clipped, precise, and restrained.
They remained silent for a long moment.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll let you go back to it,” he said, almost hanging up.
“Wait.” “What is it?” “Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you.” “I’m listening.” “Rosella Shawn’s funeral.” A brief silence.
“I want to go with you.” It caught him off guard.
“You want to attend the funeral of someone you didn’t know?” “He’s family to you, Henrik.
I’m about to be your wife, I should be standing next to you, not sitting at home.
Plus, we’re getting married next week, people will expect to see us together.” Her words stirred an unexpected, almost unwelcome warmth within him.
He immediately pushed the thought aside, preferring not to dwell on it.
“All right,” he said.
“You can come, I’ll send you the details.” “Thank you.” She hung up first, as was her habit.
Henrik remained standing by his desk, phone still in hand, replaying her request over and over.
The explanation seemed logical on the surface, but he sensed it wasn’t the whole truth.
Two days later, he was still thinking about it.
The IronClaw cathedral loomed, dark and imposing, against a gray sky; its heavy iron bells tolled as Henrik’s car pulled up to the curb.
Laura, dressed in a simple black frock, sat beside him, holding his hand as they stepped out of the vehicle.
Her large eyes gazed up at the towering stone arches overhead.
“It’s really huge,” she whispered.
“It is.” “Are we sad today?” Henrik crouched down to be at eye level with her.
“A little.
That’s normal.” He took her hand and led her toward the wide stone steps.
Guards from both packs stood by the heavy oak doors as mourners filed into the sanctuary.
He was about to grasp the iron handle when the crunch of tires on gravel made him turn around.
A dark sedan had stopped at the foot of the steps.
The door opened, and she stepped out onto the pavement.
Her silvery-white hair was swept up beneath a black veil.
She wore a fitted black full-length dress, accented by a subtle silver trim along the collar that caught the dull afternoon light.
She moved with quiet grace, her every step marked by a commanding presence and dignity.
Henrik’s breath caught in his chest.
Fuck.