I stared at the screen. He wasn’t just sending words. He was staking a claim—quiet, calculated, undeniable. And somehow… it didn’t scare me anymore. It felt like returning to my pack’s true scent.
***
The communicator vibrated against my cheek, waking me. The same unknown number flashed again. Marcellus.
“Good morning, Isolde.” His voice was deep and warm, like dark timber under moonlight.
“Good morning.” I sat up, brushing hair from my face.
“Sleep well?”
“Better than I expected,” I murmured, fingers tracing the silk furs. “Your messages were… interesting.”
A low chuckle rumbled through the line. “I meant every word. By the way, what’s your plan for today? I’d like to meet if you dint mind.”
The question lingered. Logic told me to refuse, but something else tugged—an instinctual pull.
“Isolde?” he murmured. “You’re thinking too hard.”
“Yes.” The word slipped out. “Well, I have no plans for today.”
“Perfect. Check your communicator in five minutes.”
I rushed through my morning routine, still breathless. After a quick shower, wrapped in a towel, I finally saved his number.
Right on cue, a message arrived, [Moonbrew Pavilion. Eleventh bell. I look forward to seeing you, Isolde]
***