Muriel turned off the water and dried herself roughly with a towel. She pulled on the soft t-shirt she'd surreptitiously swiped from Brandon’s hamper—one that carried the scents of cedar and sandalwood and ozone—and a pair of sleep shorts.
TheCodexsat on the bathroom counter where she'd left it, vibrating softly.
She picked it up, and the grimoire pulsed warm beneath her fingers.
Go to him.
“It's too soon,” Muriel whispered.
TheCodexpulsed again, more insistently this time.
Go.
Muriel looked at herself in the mirror. Wet hair. Bare face. Brandon's shirt hanging to mid-thigh.
There was no doubt about it. No more fooling herself. She was already his.
What was it Jessie had said?“The bond didn't make me love him. It just made it impossible to pretend I didn't.”
Yeah. She was done pretending.
Muriel left the bathroom and placed theCodexgently on the pillow on her bed. The ancient grimoire settled with a contented sigh that felt almost smug.
She padded down the hallway on bare feet and quietly pushed open Brandon's bedroom door.
He was exactly where she'd left him—sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over his head, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. His face was peaceful in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away.
He was so beautiful.
The urge to climb into bed with him was overwhelming. But that was crazy, right? They hadn’t even kissed.
She rounded the bed and slipped under the covers.
Brandon stirred slightly, then rolled toward her instinctively, one arm draping over her waist, pulling her close. His face buried in her hair, and he made a soft sound of satisfaction.
He was still asleep, but holding her like she was precious.
Muriel's throat went tight. She pressed her hand over his where it rested on her stomach, lacing their fingers together, and felt his heartbeat, steady and strong and perfectly in sync with her own.
“I choose you,” she whispered into the quiet. “I choose this.”
A surge of warmth washed over her, so intense it made her chest ache.
Muriel closed her eyes and let herself sink into the warmth of him, and the rightness of being exactly where she was meant to be.
Tomorrow, they'd talk. She'd tell him everything—that she forgave him, that she understood why he'd hidden the truth, and that the bond wasn't a trap but a gift.
But right now, held snugly in Brandon's strong arms, Muriel let herself simply rest.
Morning came soft and slow.
Muriel woke to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains and the solid warmth of Brandon pressed against her back. His arm was still around her waist, his breath warm against her neck. Through the bond, she felt him hovering at the edge of waking—comfortable, content, not quite ready to let go of sleep.
Because he thought he was dreaming.
She smiled and shifted slightly, pressing back against him.
Brandon went very, very still.