Page 45 of His to Hunt

“That’s because you’re used to too little,” I mutter. “Things are different now. You just have to learn to accept that.”

She goes quiet. I hate that I keep hitting those tender places without meaning to, but maybe they need to be hit. Maybe someone needs to keep telling her the truth until she finally believes it.

I cup her jaw and stroke my thumb over her cheek. “You’re my mate. You’ll be cared for. Protected. Fed. Clothed. Fucked until you forget how to feel lonely. That’s not too much. That’s the bare minimum.”

Jennifer and Susan sigh and blush, but my mate doesn’t. Not this time.

“Okay,” she breathes.

That one word is small, but the bond warms between us.

The sales associates finish bagging everything, and I arrange to have most of it delivered to the hotel Saul insisted was the best in Covington. Taryn frowns when she hears the word hotel, but she doesn’t question it until we’re walking back to the SUV.

“Hotel?” she asks.

“I told you I was finding somewhere without mold on the walls,” I remind her.

“I thought you meant later,” she says.

“I meant now,” I say firmly. “You’re not spending another night in that fucking basement. It’s not fit for a pet, much less my mate.”

“What about my stuff?” she asks, some concern in her voice.

“We’ll get whatever you need from the basement,” I say. “The rest can rot down there.”

She looks back toward the street, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

I stop beside the SUV and turn her toward me. “What is it?”

“Frank and Melinda will be mad,” she sighs.

“Let them be mad,” I snarl. “They could have done a lot more for you, and they didn’t.”

“They gave me a place to live.” She looks away and I can see the conflict in her eyes.

“And now I’m giving you a better one,” I counter.

“It’s not that simple,” she argues.

“It can be,” I insist.

“For you maybe,” she whispers.

I study her face, then soften my grip on her hips. “No. Not just for me. For you too. You’re allowed to leave places that kept you alive but never let you live.”

Her eyes glisten. Fuck. I didn’t mean to make her cry in the parking lot of an overpriced boutique.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits. “Just… walk away from everything? Melinda might be glad I’m gone, but Frank still needs my help at the diner. Plus, Shana will be upset with me if I just move out. She’s the reason I had somewhere to go. I know the basement is bad. I know that. But Shana tried. Back then, she really did.”

That softens some of the rage in me. Not all of it. Never all of it. But enough for me to remember that my mate’s life isn’t as simple as monsters and victims. Some people failed her by inches. Some by miles. Shana may be one of the few who tried to pull her out before the world shoved her back down.

“If Shana’s your friend, she’ll understand. I’ll make sure everything is squared away with Frank,” I say. “Properly.”

“How?” she asks.

“I have my ways. Don’t worry about it,” I coax. “Just trust me. You’re my mate. I’ll never do anything that isn’t in your best interest.”

She looks up at me. I lean down, brushing my mouth against hers. It’s supposed to be gentle. Just a taste. Just enough to reassure her. Then she sighs against my lips, and I can’t resist. I pull her against me and kiss her harder, swallowing the little sound she makes as my hand slides down to the curve of her ass. She melts into me, fingers gripping my shirt. The bags crinkle at our feet. Somewhere behind us, Jennifer or Susan gasps from inside the boutique.