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He sighs. “I got addicted to how happy it made you.”
“You ate dog food.” I finally find a parking space and ease into it.
“It was very concerning when I thought I wasn’t going to be the only one.” In proper judgy Oxford fashion, he side-eyes me.
I scrunch my nose. “Does it taste good?”
“No.”
But he ate it anyway. Just so he could be with me.
I might cry.
Biting my lip, I say, “So you fell in love with a human girl and pretended to be her puppy just so you could be near her while you wrestled with the complications of the situation? That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” I am going to cry.
How can you care about someone that much?
I don’t know how in the world I’m supposed to be worthy of it.
He blows out a breath. “Not quite. I hadn’t intended to make contact. I just…saw the girl I loved crying in the woods one day when I was going to check on her, like some kind of freakish stalker. I couldn’t bear standing idly by, thought maybe my stupid tiny chihuahua body could offer some comfort, and made the egregious mistake of doing what I swore to myself I wouldn’t.”
My car engine halts after I pull the key out, and I let my brow furrow as I try to put that information together. “Why were you checking on me? Was I in danger?” My slim knowledge of werewolf story plots tumble around in my head. Warring packs. Alphas battling for supremacy. Rogue wolves on the loose.
He mutters, “You were dating an—” He curses. “I wanted to make sure you stayed out of danger.”
“You knew Noah was…that word?”
“He smelled like—” He curses. “I assumed he was an—” He curses.
Ollie curses quite a bit. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if this less-refined edge was the real him he was scared to show. Obviously some foul language doesn’t compare to being a chihuahua shifter, though.
My face heats. “Can I ask…how did you fall in love with me? Have we met before? In a moment that I don’t remember? I vaguely recall Willow taking me somewhere to meet someone, but bits and pieces of the experience seem blotted out. So many bits and pieces surrounding you and Willow and Zylus feel unreachable.”
His next sigh is deep, disturbed, and on the edge of done. “Forget about anything you remember from that excursion with Willow. She was trying to make a point, and I didn’t appreciate it. That sensation of fog that manipulates the consciousness is called glamour. It’s a natural safety mechanism to protect what I am from humans who wouldn’t understand or accept the presence of magic. That said, I can’t glamour you.”
“So…we haven’t interacted before?” But he’s been begrudgingly acting as my pet chihuahua for a year and writing songs about me? That’s…weird. Feels like I’m missing an important detail. But I don’t know how to ask for it.
So I just…stare.
Clueless.
And, honestly, a lot less unsettled than I should be.
Ollie, who broke a man’s wrist a few hours ago, still feels safe to me.
He mumbles something into his hand.
I tilt my head. “What?”
Cheeks blistering, he looks elsewhere. “We’re…soulmates, Brittny. Natural glamour doesn’t work between soulmates, and I’m not strong enough to intentionally override that.”
My heart takes a giant leap into the deep end. I bite my cheeks to keep from grinning lunatic wide. Soulmates? I have a soulmate? This is a fated mate sort of shifter romance? The most safe of all the romance tropes?
Absolutely, cosmically, meant to be? No one will ever be better than me to him, no matter how much of a mess I am, because the universe looked into our souls and said, Oh, neat, these messes match each other. I ship it?
“Brittny?”
“Mm?” I squeak.
