Page 39 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

“Are you okay?”

There it is.Notwhat’s wrong?Notcontrol her.Notdon’t shift here.Just,are you okay?

I hate that a simple question can feel like tenderness.

“She wants to run,” I admit.

Daniel sets down his tool slowly.“Then you should run.”

My laugh is thin.“That easy?”

“No.”He wipes his hands on a rag.“But that simple.”

I narrow my eyes.“You’re using my own emotional damage against me.”

“I’m using consistency.Very different.”

“My wolf wants you to come.”

His expression goes still and the bond pulses.There’s no taking the words back now.I don’t even know if I want to.

Daniel’s wolf pushes into his eyes, amber glowing brighter in the kitchen light.His chest expands on a slow breath, and the scent of him deepens.Wilder.Darker.

My body notices.Very enthusiastically.

“Do you want me to come?”he asks.

Damn him!Damn him for asking the one question that matters.I look away, toward the back door, toward the night waiting beyond it.

“Yes,” I whisper.“But no touching.No claiming.No weird wolf dominance nonsense.”

His mouth twitches.“Define weird wolf dominance nonsense.”

“You’ll know it when I stab you.”

“Clear boundaries.I like that.”

“This isn’t funny.”

His smile fades.“I know.”

For a moment, neither of us moves.Then Daniel nods toward the door.“Where do you run?”

“There’s a trail behind the old mill.It leads into the woods.”

“Do you feel safe there?”

“Yes.”

“Then lead the way.”

I change in the storage room because shifting requires nudity, and I’m brave, not suicidal.I fold my clothes with shaking hands, every sound in the bakery too loud.Daniel moves somewhere beyond the door, quiet and respectful and very much not peeking.

Again, rude of him.

My wolf is practically vibrating.When I step out wrapped in my robe, Daniel is by the back door with his back turned.I stop.He’s shirtless.Because apparently the universe has decided I have not suffered enough.

His back is broad, muscles shifting beneath tanned skin as he turns slightly at the sound of my footsteps.Scars mark him here and there, thin pale lines across one shoulder, another near his ribs.His jeans hang low on his hips, unbuttoned, ready to be discarded before the shift.