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CHARLES FOX. I never intended to bring Ruby back to my home again. I had sworn to myself that it would never happen. But when she called crying, something inside me shattered. It was as if every promise I made to myself crumbled instantly. I had to be there for her. There was no other choice. Now, as I watched her sleep soundly in my bed, I could not stop the rage inside me. My feelings for her were a tangled mess—an impossible mix of protectiveness, tenderness, and something deeper, something that I knew I should not be feeling. She was not my mate, yet I felt this overwhelming urge to keep her safe and care for her in a way that defied all reason. I did not understand why she affected me so much. She wasn’t like the women I usually found myself drawn to; she was plain, not the strikin