Page 35 of Trusting Her Mate

Four hours. I look at Wren. Her jaw is set and her eyes burn fiercely. But I feel her pulse through the bond, fast and frantic, like a bird slamming itself against a cage.

“We’ll be ready,” I say.

Caine holds my gaze. “Boone. If Gavin finds any hint of coercion...”

“There isn’t any.”

“I know that. But Gavin doesn’t. And Dax will do everything he can to make it look like there is.”

The message is clear. Control. Composure. No snarling, no growling, no threatening to rip Dax’s throat out, no matter what he says. I nod once.

Peyton touches Wren’s arm. “You won’t be alone.” Wren nods, but her hand is still freezing in mine.

They leave, the door closes, and the silence crashes back. Wren pulls her hand free and stalks to the window. Her shoulders are rigid. The claiming mark on her neck stands out above the flannel collar, dark and fresh and impossible to miss.

“He’s going to try to use the blocker against us,” she says.

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. Definitely. If Gavin scents me and the herbs are still muddling things...”

“The claiming mark is real. The bond is sealed. No herb can hide that.”

“You don’t know that.”

I cross the room and stand behind her. She doesn’t turn, but she doesn’t flinch when I set my hands on her shoulders.

“Look at me,” I say.

She turns and her eyes are bright. Not with tears, but with fury. Good. I’d rather fight beside her anger than her fear.

“Whatever happens at noon,” I say, “Dax Mercer does not get to take you. That is not an outcome I will allow.”

“Boone...”

“I’m not talking about brawling with him. We’ll defeat him with evidence, with truth, with the strength of our bond. And if that’s not enough, then I’ll challenge him openly for you.”

She lifts her chin. “Then let’s make sure there’s nothing left to doubt.”

I feel the change in her before she speaks. The fear burns off, replaced by something sharper. The bond tightens between us, and when she lifts her chin, my wolf answers.

Four hours. I should be strategizing. I should be planning. I should be doing anything except looking at her in my flannel shirt with her hair messed up and my mark on her throat, and that look in her eyes, the one that says she’s done running.

She crosses the cabin. Grabs the green dress Raine brought, the one that falls off her shoulders and makes my brain short-circuit, and holds it up.

“I should get dressed.”

“You should.” My voice is lower than I intend.

“This is your shirt.”

“It looks better on you.” It’s the truth.

She smiles as she turns toward the bedroom and I catch her wrist. She looks up and the gold in my eyes reflects back at me in hers.

“Boone.”

“Before you put on the dress.”