Bound

Chapter 23

Nyah woke before Dean, aware of the goofy smile etched onto her face, and in absolutely no hurry to peel herself away from his side as sleep slowly released its hold. If Dean was right about her wolf surfacing when she was happy, she must have sprouted fur and howled at the moon last night. They'd talked for hours, Dean refusing to allow her slide an inch away from him—not that she'd wanted to. Lying in his hold was a memory she would treasure for the rest of her life.

With a sad smile, Nyah allowed herself a long, admiring look at her mate. He slept on the flat of his back, one arm acting as her pillow, the other resting on his chest where his hand lay protectively on top of hers.

For a long moment she listened to the steady rhythm of his sleeping breaths, her fingertips pulsing over the drumming of his heart. He looked so peaceful; not a single worry lined his face or eased the ghost of a smile softening his mouth.

Happiness drained.

Nyah slowly untangled her legs from his and eased away. He stirred and stretched out a sleepy hand towards her.

"Sleep on," she whispered, propping herself up on one elbow to press the softest kiss on his mouth. "I'll make breakfast."

He murmured a drowsy request that she hurry back to his bed. In reply, she stole another light kiss—the last, she warned herself, throat tightening as she smoothed the tousled lock of hair from his forehead.

With a final look, Nyah slid away, leaving behind the forbidden life of which Dean Carson dreamt.

***

Dean knew as soon as he peeled his eyes open he'd overslept. Bacon, fresh toast and brewing coffee teased his nostrils. He sat up, sighing at himself for falling asleep in the first place. His intention last night had been to remain awake, stay alert and present. But Nyah had scuppered that plan. Watching her drift off to sleep he'd succumbed not long after. How could he not? The warmth of her body, the comfort of her hand resting on his chest, the way she'd nuzzled into his neck. . .

He'd have to resist tonight. If Northfell orchestrated another visitation, he didn't want to be comatose.

The grandfather clock in the hall announced ten-fifteen when Dean came down the stairs.

"I slept way too late," he muttered to himself, wondering why Nyah hadn't woken him sooner. He inched into the kitchen with an apologetic grimace, fully expecting Nyah to be waiting with a scowl. "Hey, I'm sorry for being such a lazy . . ."

A vacant room greeted him.

Toast had popped, bacon sat in congealed fat on the pan, and cooling coffee waited on the counter.

"Nyah?"

Dean focused on the silence of the house waiting to be broken by her reply.

"Nyah?"

He ducked into the utility room. No sign. He crossed the hallway and took a quick glance around the living room. It too was empty.

"Nyah, where are you?"

The silence of his home remained unbroken.

Dean darted into the kitchen, forcing himself to make a focused study. It was the strangest thing; breakfast had been made in entirety; toast, bacon, coffee—even the table had been laid.

A small white fold of paper rested against the milk jug.

"No."

For an agonising moment, Dean found himself trapped in place. He knew what the simple piece of paper meant for him. He knew the very first words would say 'I'm sorry' and reading beyond would be pointless.