KILLIAN POV
Her scent was everywhere.
She lingered in the air, curling around my lungs like a drug I never wanted to stop inhaling. It clung to my clothes, to the hallway, to the soft cotton pajamas I’d left just outside the bathroom door. My space—once orderly and quiet, filled only with the scent of pinewood and the occasional leftover takeout—now smelled like *her*. And it made me *happy*.
Gods, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used that word for myself and meant it. But there it was.
I was happy. My mate was here. Alive. Breathing. In my home. And she was letting me take care of her.
I hadn’t been sure she’d accept the bath. Or the pajamas. Or the food. I’d offered them expecting resistance. But she’d taken them—hesitantly, maybe, but she hadn’t pushed me away.
That alone fe
