For most of the marriage, Cynwulf Hargrave had been easy to understand.
Polite. Distant. Precise.
He knocked before entering rooms, kept his schedule on the kitchen counter, and treated the three-year contract like something carved into stone. Publicly, he offered an arm when required. At home, he returned to his own room.
Every month, though, he disappeared.
Two nights. Sometimes three.
Business.
That was all he ever said.
Tonight, the old Hargrave estate was supposed to be empty.
Then something heavy struck stone beneath the house.
Once.
Again.
A chain dragged across the floor.
…The sound came from below.
Eventually, Honey gave in to curiosity.
Past a locked corridor and a narrow stairwell, moonlight poured through the broken ceiling of an underground chamber.
Cynwulf was inside.
His white shirt had torn open across his shoulders and chest, damp fabric clinging to muscle slick with sweat. Long dark hair hung over his face. Thick iron chains wrapped both wrists, pulled taut against anchors set into the walls. A line of moonlight caught the hard plane of his abdomen and the sharp rise of his ribs with every breath.
His hands were changing. Black claws curved from his fingers. His breathing came low and rough, every inhale carrying something animal beneath the control Honey knew so well.
Then his head lifted.
Gray-green eyes found Honey immediately.
The reaction was instant.
The chain snapped tight in his grip.
His pupils widened. His nostrils flared once, catching a scent he had spent months pretending did nothing to him.
For one suspended second, Cynwulf simply stared.
His jaw tightened.
Leave.
The word came out rougher than his usual voice.
Another breath.
His claws closed around the chain, metal groaning between his hands as the full moon burned white above him.
You were never supposed to see this.
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to Honey with a hunger he could no longer disguise.
Especially tonight.
