The first night in the sealed suite was a torture chamber of silence and proximity. The massive King bed suddenly felt small. Anya lay rigidly on the far edge, fully dressed in her tactical suit, her back to Kaelan.
Kaelan lay facing the ceiling, his breathing deep and even, yet his body radiated a heavy, suppressive heat that permeated the air. The Mate Bond was loud in the silence—a constant, rhythmic hum of his enormous, possessive presence.
Anya couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she was aware of his mass, his scent, and the primal undercurrent of the bond demanding physical closeness. Her own traitorous body reacted with a nervous, anxious warmth.
Hours passed. She heard Kaelan shift, rolling onto his side, now facing her back. The bond pulsed sharply, transmitting a spike of frustration and need. It wasn't sexual; it was the raw, protective instinct of an Alpha needing physical confirmation of his Mate's safety.
Anya felt a low thrumming begin in her spine, the involuntary physical response of the bond urging her to move closer. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, fighting the visceral compulsion.
Suddenly, a massive, warm hand reached out across the gap and rested gently on the duvet covering her hip. The contact was feather-light, barely a touch, but it detonated an explosion of feeling.
The Mate Bond flooded with a dizzying wave of satisfaction and calm from Kaelan, instantly soothing the anxious current that had kept them both awake. Anya's involuntary physical response was immediate: her body relaxed, a sigh escaping her lips, and the tension in her muscles dissolved.
"See, Mate," Kaelan murmured, his voice husky with sleep and satisfaction. "Control is simple when you accept the natural order."
Anya lay still, horrified. She hadn't moved, she hadn't given consent, yet her entire nervous system had rewarded the Alpha's contact with peace. The knowledge that a simple touch could neutralize her defenses was the most dangerous revelation of their shared captivity.