Page 17 of Trusting Her Mate

She picks up the mug and sniffs it. “Are you drugging me?”

“If I wanted you unconscious, I would’ve left you with Peyton. She has mothering instincts and soup.”

She takes a cautious sip, closes her eyes for a second. “Thank you.”

Chapter Six

Wren

The front door swings open, no warning, no mercy. My heart jumps. Hot tea splashes over my skin, and for a split second, I’m ready to launch the mug straight at whoever just shattered my fragile peace.

A dark-haired woman steps in carrying a basket. She freezes when she sees me, then looks at Boone. “I knocked,” she says.

“No, you didn’t,” Boone replies.

“I thought about knocking.”

“That’s different.”

She grins.

She’s gorgeous, all sharp edges and restless energy, eyes too bright, smile too dangerous to trust. Trouble written in every line of her body. Behind her, another woman slips in, softer around the edges, and a third follows, blonde hair twisted up like she couldn’t be bothered, arms full of what looks like a mountain of blankets.

The dark-haired one looks me up and down. “So you’re Wren.”

I hold the mug with both hands. “Depends who’s asking.”

“Talon,” she says. “Beta female. This is Raine, and that’s Iris.”

Raine wiggles her fingers, Iris gives me a smile that feels like sunlight. Their names echo in my head, legends whispered between packs—women who crawled through hell and clawed their way out, survivors of storms bigger than my own mess.

I straighten. “Hello.”

Talon’s gaze flicks to Boone. “We brought supplies.”

“I have supplies,” he says.

Raine looks around. “You have one throw blanket and the emotional warmth of a tax form.”

I choke on my tea while Boone glares at her. She beams, and I like her immediately.

Iris sets a basket on the table. “Food, toiletries, some clothes Peyton thought might fit, and extra blankets.”

Talon adds, “Also snacks.”

Raine leans toward me. “Important. Never trust a male who says he has supplies. They mean bandages, batteries, and one can of beans.”

Boone looks offended. “I have more than one can.”

“That’s worse somehow,” I say.

The women laugh. Boone mutters something about invasion of privacy but opens the basket to check out the bounty they brought.

Talon watches me closely, though not unkindly. “How are you holding up?”

I glance at Boone, who’s pretending not to listen.

The cabin feels crowded and hollow all at once. Their kindness scrapes against my nerves, too bright, too much. Kindness is always a test. It pries at the cracks, digs for the soft places, and I can feel everything inside me threatening to spill out.