Serena stirred awake on top of Dex.
Her first disorienting thought was fabric. Silk. A short chemise she did not remember putting on.
Her second thought was the sensation. Everywhere his skin touched hers.
Then his scent hit her.
Forest after rain. Clean and deep and far stronger than she remembered. Had it always been like that, or was she only just aware of it now?
Memory crashed back like a wave. Fragments. Fire. His hands, his mouth, stirring a storm inside her.
Her eyes didn't even open, but her thoughts were sprinting.
Was this what the matebond felt like? Had he changed her clothes? Cleaned her while she was unconscious? Oh hells, she was a virgin so there was definitely blood. Gods.
Her face burned hot enough to rival a forge.
His arms tightened around her instantly.
"Hey… you're okay," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.
Then a strange surge of calm and adoration hit her hard. Almost like it was pushed into her, but it wasn't hers.
Did Dex just do that?
Her eyes flew open at the exact moment he rolled them both over. Her back hit the bed, and his body hovered over hers.
"What's wrong?" he asked, kissing her temple.
Then her cheek. Her forehead. The corner of her mouth. Everywhere.
She started to laugh, and it made him laugh mid-kiss.
Some of the stress she felt faded, but not all of it.
Then it clicked. He understood.
"I had to clean you," he said. "The smell of what we did was driving me crazy."
His lips found hers.
He knew she felt him now. It wasn't the deep bond they would share once her wolf healed, but she felt him—just like any mate would once they were marked.
He pulled back a second later. "I won't be able to stop," he said, voice low and strained, "and Alaric's already livid I marked you."
Her hand drifted to her neck.
Dex watched her carefully. "I wanted to ask you first... but my wolf..."
She cut him off abruptly with a kiss, feeling his worry. There was no need.
The kiss began to deepen, but a sharp knock at the door jolted them both.
"One moment," Dex called, rolling off the bed. He threw on pants and a shirt, then reached for a silk robe hanging in his closet.
Serena's gaze flicked to it, curiosity flashing. She had never seen it before.
"I got it for you," he said, crossing the room. He was already putting it on her before she could respond.
Alaric stepped into the room and shot Dex a look.
"Told you he was mad," Dex said, grinning.
Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose. "She was poisoned three days ago, had an EpiPen shot two days ago, and was marked yesterday." He paused. "Dear gods."
"She's my fated mate," Dex announced proudly, lifting one of Serena's hands and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
Serena blushed, caught off guard by the gesture.
Alaric froze mid-sigh, then smiled. "The most attractive couple in Drakenfell. A perfect match. Infuriating, but perfect."
He handed off a tray of tonics, which Serena downed.
"No physical activity," Alaric said sternly. "None. Take it easy today."
Dex opened his mouth.
"None," Alaric repeated, glaring.
His gaze lingered on Dex.
"That is a medical order."
Dex lifted his hands. "I hear you."
Alaric snorted, clearly unconvinced, and left the room shaking his head.
Dex picked Serena up before she had a chance to protest, sweeping her off the bed like she weighed nothing.
"Dex—"
He was already carrying her through the arched doorway into his bathing chamber, where a freestanding tub was steaming.
"You're sore," he murmured against her temple, kissing her cheek, then her jaw, then the corner of her mouth. "I can feel it."
His kisses made her laugh, breathless and blushing.
He pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion. She was still caught somewhere between flustered and enchanted when he reached for the belt on her robe, slipping it off.
He pulled the silk chemise over her head and then froze, forgetting how to breathe.
Her blush deepened at his stare.
"That blush," he murmured. His hand cupped her face gently. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."
He gathered her up and carried her to the marble bath, easing her in. Serena groaned the second the hot water hit her skin.
The heat, the herbs, the scent. It felt incredible. She was beyond sore. Not just from their activities; her muscles ached since she was poisoned.
Dex slid in behind her and pulled her gently against his chest, his arms locking around her.
This was something Dex had never done before. He'd always had his choice of women, but none had ever ignited a fire within him like she did.
Yes, he burned for her. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, to the point where he forgot how to breathe every time he saw her.
But what struck him hardest was the pull he felt to her soul.
They belonged together, and he knew it.
"My mate doesn't talk much in the mornings," Dex commented lightly, a playful tone threading his voice as he nibbled at her ear.
She laughed, soft and a little unsure, not quite knowing what to say. It was a lot to take in.
"Thank you for taking care of me," she said, swallowing, turning to face him. Her green eyes were open and sincere, filled with unguarded gratitude.
It hit him harder than anything else had.
The sincerity. The trust. The quiet appreciation for him.
Something in his chest cracked wide open. Dex swallowed, fighting down emotions he hadn't planned to face yet.
"I will always take care of you," he said quietly. It was all he trusted himself to say before his voice would betray him.
He washed her hair and shoulders, careful and attentive, until she suddenly turned in the water and reached for him.
"You are absolutely not well enough to be washing me," he said sternly, but melted at her laugh.
His resolve vanished, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "This goes against my better judgment."
Their laughter intertwined, easy and unguarded. It reminded Dex of who he was before war and duty hardened him.
In that moment, with her laughter wrapping around him, he realized he would gladly lose every argument if it meant hearing it again.
She was pure and kind in ways no one else seemed to notice. No one except him.
Dex wanted to take care of her.
After helping her from the bath, he wrapped her carefully in a towel before grabbing his own.
Gently, he brushed her hair and kissed her. Her ear. Her head. Her temple. Her cheek. All of her.
Before she could protest, he swooped her up, carrying her to bed where a fresh silk chemise lay waiting. He pulled it over her head, treating the moment with tenderness.
Every small act felt instinctive. Natural. Right.
Taking care of her did not feel like effort; it felt like home.
She fell asleep with him holding her, and he didn't want to let go.
In that moment, he realized something terrifying and true:
He loved her.
✦✦✦
Serena slept for another full day, her body recovering in slow, stubborn increments.
When she finally stirred, Dex was sitting beside her, engrossed in what looked like an official report. One hand gently stroked her back, as if he hadn't moved in hours.
"You have duties," she said softly, frowning. "You don't have to keep—"
"Nope," he cut her off, not even looking up. "Handled."
"You can't just pause everything to take care of me."
"I can and will. Try and stop me."
Then another thought crept in, less rational but far more pressing.
She didn't want to overstay her welcome in his quarters.
Dex felt her hesitation through the matebond, as if she were carefully weighing options. His gaze snapped to her, sharp and focused, trying to understand.
"Oh, right," Dex said, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "I had your things moved in."
She blinked.
"These are your quarters now."
"You what?"
"Relax. I did it days ago."
"Dex," she said, half-laughing, half-incredulous, "isn't that a little fast? Are you sure?"
He scoffed as if she had personally offended him. Then he starfished on top of her, claiming space like an overgrown, territorial toddler who had very loudly called dibs.
"You are mine," he mumbled into her shoulder, his voice muffled and stubborn.
She laughed, breathless, trying to shove him off. "You are ridiculous."
"No," he corrected, not elaborating.
She huffed another laugh as he tightened his hold, squeezing her.
The idea that she was intruding was absurd. He wanted her within reach. Within sight. At all times. Preferably touching.
"Still mine," he added, as if reminding her in case she had forgotten in the last three seconds.
She felt his emotions for the first time through the matebond.
Not dominance or certainty. Nerves. A tight, quiet tension he was trying very hard not to show. He braced himself for her to say no.
"You live here now," he said firmly. "I wanted that from the moment I brought you back."
He kissed her, soft and lingering, then pressed his forehead to hers.
"Mine," he said again, softer this time.
She felt more nerves roll off him and realized he needed to hear it.
"Yours," she said, squeezing him back.