Titus’s POV
The Man was tight, his muscles coiled like steel cables beneath his skin, his breath coming in shallow, controlled hitches that betrayed the war raging inside him.
He was fighting the instinct with everything he had, locking his knees and clenching his jaw until I thought his teeth might shatter. He was fighting me. But I didn’t care. I was floating.
I was sprawled out in the back of his mind, basking in the golden, syrupy warmth of the Den. The walls were thick stone, the door was bolted with heavy iron, and inside—right here in the center of the territory—was the Mate.
She had chosen the nest. She had looked at the cold, hard floor of the hallway, then at the soft, dark expanse of the great bed, and she had made the correct choice.
Smart Mate, I rumbled, sending a wav
