“Well,” Gerri said, and even through the speaker, they could hear the smug satisfaction in that single word. “That is delightful news. Saves me a trip. What about your bakery, dear? I assume you’ll want to liquidate?”
Kovrak braced for it—the pang of loss, the bittersweet farewell to the dream she’d fought so hard to build. But Faith’s gaze never wavered.
“Actually,” she said, a visionary light in her eyes he’d come to adore, “I want you to use my contract payment to find a new owner. Someone who’ll care for it. Someone who understands that it’s about… nourishment. Community. Love made tangible. I want it to flourish, even if I’m not the one baking there.”
The breath left Kovrak’s lungs in a soft rush. She wasn’t abandoning her dream; she was transplanting its heart. Ensuring its light would spread, even from light-years away. This was her magic—not destruction, but transformation.
Gerri chuckled, a sound like chimes. “Consider it done, my queen. I know just the person—a lovely young woman with pastry dreams and a heart as big as yours. I’ll work my magic.”
“Thank you, Gerri.”
“My pleasure. I’ll see you both very soon for the wedding.” The call ended with a soft click.
The silence that followed was charged. Kovrak rolled carefully onto his good side, facing her fully. The sunlight caught the deep blue of her ring and the glint of the diamonds.
“My queen,” he murmured, the words a reverent caress against her lips before he kissed her softly. “You were born for this.”
Her smile was a promise. “I was born for this place. The crown is just a… delightful accessory.”
He growled, low and possessive, and claimed her mouth in another kiss that was all heat. When he finally pulled back, hiseyes held a predatory glint. “We have two weeks until a wedding that will require us to be… diplomatic.”
Her breath hitched. “And this morning?”
“This morning,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his hand slid beneath the sheet, his thumb tracing the edges of his mate mark, “I am feeling decidedly undiplomatic.”
Kovrak studied the woman beside him. The completed bond was a living current in his veins, a symphony where her contentment was the melody. A slow, deliberate smile spread across his face.
“Plus, our engagement deserves a proper celebration.”
She arched a teasing brow, her gaze drifting to the healing wound on his side. “Does it? And does the patient feel well enough for such… festive activities?”
He brought her palm to his chest, over his heart, letting her feel the strong, steady beat. “The healers are impressed with my recovery. The bond is working miracles.” He held her gaze, his own turning intense, allowing the alpha certainty to saturate his words. “Let me be perfectly clear. There is no version of me that would ever be too weak for you.”
A blush painted her face. He didn’t wait for a verbal answer. He saw the answering heat in her eyes.
With a gentleness that belied his building need, he took her hand and drew her from the warm tangle of sheets. She followed willingly, her bare skin glowing in the dawn light. He led her across the chamber to the expanse of his bathroom, where the massive shower stood behind a panel of clear, river-smoothed stone.
He released her hand only to turn the engraved silver dials. Water erupted from above and from hidden wall jets, filling the space with a thunderous rush. Steam began to coil, soft and ghostly, blurring the edges of the world until it contained only them.
He drew her under the cascade. The water was perfect—warm and pounding. It sluiced over the tight muscles of his shoulders and her softer curves. He reached for a cake of soap that smelled of cedar and cold mountain air, working it into a lather between his palms.
“Let me,” he murmured.
He started with her shoulders, his strong hands kneading the tension from her muscles. She sighed, her head tipping back, her throat a graceful line he ached to taste.
Her own hands were not idle. She took the soap from him, her touch turning investigative and tender. Her fingers traced the edges of the sealed wound on his side, a feather-light caress over the pink, healing flesh. She washed him with a reverence that struck him to his core, her touch saying what words could not.
I see your vulnerability. I cherish your strength. You are mine to care for.
Every brush of her skin against his and every slide of her soapy hands sent pulses of lightning through the mate bond. It was no longer a quiet hum but a resonant chord, vibrating with a frequency that tuned his entire being to hers. His restraint, the control he wore like armor, began to dissolve in the steam, melting under the dual assault of her touch and the bond’s imperative.
His hands settled on her hips, pulling her flush against him. The hard proof of his desire for her pressed insistently against her lower belly. Her eyes looked down, dark and dilated.
“Kovrak…”
He silenced her with a kiss. It was not soft or questioning. It was a claiming, passionate and deep, a mirror of the bond roaring between them. He poured every ounce of his awe, his triumph, and his love into it. Her mouth opened for him on a moan, her arms twining around his neck and her wet bodyaligning with his with a familiarity that felt both sacred and urgent.
The cool, smooth tile met her back as he lifted her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord, locking him to her. The heat of her core seared him even through the pounding water. The sensation was exquisite, a promise and a torment.