Page 23 of Trusting Her Mate

I retreat to the kitchen. Because that’s what a sane man does when the woman he’s supposed to be pretending with is half-naked in his hallway, smelling like his soap and her own wild scent, finally breaking through the bitter herbs like something alive clawing up from the dirt.

I press my palms to the counter and breathe through my mouth until the bedroom door closes. Finally safe.

Except my wolf is pacing, whining like a pup, my hands shaking, and her scent is fucking everywhere. Clean now. Sharper. The wildflower edge finally breaking free, sweet and electric, burning itself into my lungs.

Mate.

I slam the word down so hard my skull aches.

She is not my mate. She is a woman in trouble who grabbed my hand out of fear, and I said yes because my wolf is a traitor who doesn’t understand strategy. That’s all this is. That’s all it can be.

The bedroom door opens, and Wren walks out wearing the green dress Raine brought, the one that falls off her shoulders and sways at her knees. Her hair is still damp, loose around her face, and darker when wet. She’s barefoot.

She looks like spring after a brutal winter. Like something alive blooming in a place that forgot how to hope.

I don’t say any of that. “You look acceptable,” I say.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Acceptable?”

“Presentable.”

“Oh, well, excuse me while I swoon.”

“Your feet are bare.”

“I’m aware.”

“Put on shoes.”

“I’m getting there. Don’t have a heart attack.”

She sits on the couch, fumbling with the sandal straps. Her fingers tremble. She tries to hide it, dropping her chin so her hair falls forward, but I see the shake anyway.

I cross the room and crouch in front of her.

She goes rigid. “What are you doing?”

I wrap my hand around her ankle, careful, gentle. Her skin is warm and damp, her pulse thudding against my palm.

“Boone...”

“Hold still.” I buckle the strap. Then the other one. My fingers are steady because I force them to be. Her breathing is not steady at all.

She looks down at me, eyes wide, something raw and open in her face. Terrified. Wanting. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I stand before I do something stupid. “We need to talk about tonight.”

She nods, pulling herself together. “What do I need to know?”

“Katu gatherings are informal—food, drinks, socializing. But Peyton will announce the mate claim. After that, every wolf in the room will be watching.”

“Watching us.”

“Watching how we interact. How close we sit. Whether we flinch. Whether we smell right.” I pause. “Ashstone may have wolves in the area. Caine’s patrols are watching the borders, but information travels. We have to assume anything they see tonight will reach Dax.”

Her face pales, but she nods. “So we sell it.”

“We sell it.”