<h4>Chapter 27: Chapter 27: GLORIOUSLY NAKED</h4>


    <strong>MAEVE’S POV</strong>


    <strong>[MOMENTS EARLIER]</strong>


    Muscle-sculpted, sun-kissed, pant-dropping—like the forest had decided to hand-deliver temptation itself. It took me a few stunned seconds to realize who it was.


    Ivan Cross.


    My breath caught in my throat.


    What the actual hell was he doing out herepletely nude, like a scene ripped from one of the filthier daydreams I swore I’d buried?


    Every instinct screamed at me to look away. I didn’t. Couldn’t.


    It had been years since I’d seen him like this. And goddess, time had done him favors.


    Hard, lean lines. Broad shoulders. That body had no business looking that fucking good.


    Heat bloomed in my chest and dropped straight to my core the second my eyes dipped lower—to his size, the hanging monster between his legs—


    And fuck—


    My wolf began to pace. Hungry. Breathless.


    Maeve, get a grip.


    Think of your chosen mate!


    Devon. Devon. Devon.


    At that, I forced my gaze toward the woods behind him, willing my heart to stop racing. Desperate to ignore the traitorous pull of tension stretching between us like a live wire.


    Focus, Maeve. You need to focus.


    And then I realized—for the first time since we’d met again, Ivan’s eyes weren’t on me.


    They were on Asha.


    Gazing at my little boy like he was frozen in ce. Quiet. Gaping.


    Judging by the mud streaks on his feet and fingers, he seemed to havee from the woods. He’d most likely been out for a run.


    He looked different from ourst encounter. The Ivan standing in front of us now didn’t seem like an aggravating asshole or a seducer.


    This Ivan had a weird, hesitant look in his eyes—like a schoolboy trying to be on his best behavior in front of his most intimidating teacher.


    And the teacher, in this case, was Asha.


    Ivan continued to stare at him with quiet fascination, like the boy hung the fucking moon.


    I doubted he even realized he was still naked. He wasn’t bothering to cover up. Just stood there, openly staring.


    Asha, clearly done with the weirdness, whimpered and scurried behind me. Honestly, in his defense, Ivan did look like a fucking weirdo right now.


    It was enough to snap Ivan out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. He took two steps forward, but I stopped him before he got any closer.


    "Whoa!" I said, throwing my arm out in front of Asha like a mama bear. "What do you think you’re doing?"


    "What?" he blinked, clearly confused.


    "You’re naked," I snapped, gesturing at him. "Goddess—put on some clothes!"


    Asha whimpered again, clutching my legs even tighter.


    Ivan finally looked down and realized what had scared Asha.


    To myplete shock, a blush bloomed across his cheeks, staining them a faint pink. Ivan Cross—blushing. He was actually embarrassed.


    "Fuck. Right. No— not fuck, I wasn’t supposed to say that. I meant... fudge. Sorry. Of course. I’m sorry," he stammered, then sighed in frustration. "I’ll just get changed."


    He turned, and I instinctively shut my eyes to avoid seeing more of him than I already had.


    "Actually, my clothes are behind that tree—by your side," he added, ncing back. "Do you mind grabbing them for me?"


    I nodded awkwardly, but Asha still clung to me, tears welling in his eyes.


    "Don’t leave me, Mummy!" he wailed, clinging tighter.


    "Oh, honey." I scooped him into my arms and held him close. "I’m not leaving you. I would never leave you. I’m just moving over there to grab some clothes for this... nice gentleman. Don’t worry, baby. He won’t hurt you. Let’s help him get dressed, okay? Can we do that?"


    Calling Ivan a gentleman was a stretch—and by stretch, I meant a damn leap—but right now, Asha didn’t need the truth.


    I smiled at him gently, rubbing circles on his back.


    "Do you want toe with me to get the clothes?"


    Still wary, Asha nodded reluctantly, his sobs tapering off into sniffles.


    I turned to Ivan. There was a look of hurt in his eyes, and for a second, it pierced something fragile inside me. But I shut it down immediately.


    I refused to let myself feel anything about how much it must hurt to realize your own son sees you as a stranger—worse, as someone to be afraid of.


    With Asha in my arms, I walked behind the white oak tree. Just like Ivan had said, there was a folded change of clothes lying on a cement b near the roots.


    A pair of pants and a ck T-shirt.


    Monochrome. His signature style.


    "Here you go," I passed the clothes on to Ivan, careful not to brush against his skin.


    He epted them numbly.


    "Thanks."


    I turned away, giving him a moment to dress.


    He was done in ten seconds t. "You can turn back around."


    When I turned back around, Ivan was dressed, but that strange look hadn’t left his face—something between hurt and yearning.


    Once again, he wasn’t looking at me. Like before, he was fixated on Asha. I guess that’s what not knowing your son for five years does to you.


    You start noticing the growing simrities—the color of his hair up close, the sharpness of those gray eyes that mirror your own—and then you feel it.


    The tug of everything you’ve missed crashing into your chest all at once. I saw it build in his eyes, the ache for something he couldn’t name, and maybe didn’t deserve.


    I didn’t know what to say at first. So we just stood there, awkward and quiet, the breeze brushing past like even the wind didn’t want to interrupt whatever this was.


    After a moment, when it became clear all Ivan was going to do was gawk, I shifted Asha on my hip.


    He was calmer now, head resting against my shoulder, but his fingers still clung to my shirt like he wasn’t ready to let go.


    Tentatively, the words left my lips—softer than I meant them to be,ing from a more vulnerable ce than I’d ever admit.


    "You okay?" I asked.