Page 38 of Trusting Her Mate

She’s mine.

She chose it.

And every wolf in that clearing is about to know it.

Chapter Eleven

Wren

The clearing behind the pack hall smells like sweat, pine needles, and the particular kind of tension that precedes bloodshed.

Katu wolves line the perimeter in loose formation. Not armed. Not staged. Just present. Their bodies angled toward the center of the clearing where two wooden chairs have been placed facing each other, ten feet apart. The space between them is the battlefield.

Caine stands at the north edge, Peyton at his shoulder. Calum flanks them, arms folded, face unreadable. Talon and Raine position themselves near the tree line, close enough to intervene, far enough to look casual. Max leans against a post with his arms crossed, watching the road.

Boone stands beside me. His hand rests on the small of my back, not holding, just there. Warm and steady and possessive in a way that sends heat curling through the bond every time his fingers shift.

I can still feel him, inside me, on my skin. His scent layered so thick over my skin that I’m surprised the trees aren’t wilting. The green dress sways against my thighs. The claiming mark pulses on my throat, visible, exposed, and undeniable.

Perfect, let them see it.

The sound of vehicles reaches us before the Ashstone wolves appear. Engines grinding up the mountain road, tires crunching gravel, and doors slamming.

Then they emerge from the tree line. Alpha Mercer walks first, silver-templed and broad. Wearing authority like a coat. His eyes sweep the clearing, cataloging threats and counting wolves. Behind him, two elders in formal dress followed by six enforcers in black, spread in a protective wedge.

And Dax.

He steps out from behind his father, and the sight of him hits me like a physical blow. Tall and blond with polished boots and a dark coat. The same smile that used to make my stomach turn, fixed firmly in place.

Then he sees me and his stride falters. That cocky damn smile finally cracks. I watch his nostrils flare, watch the moment Boone’s scent hits him, watch the recognition, the confusion, and the rage that follows, chasing across his face like a storm cloud.

His eyes drop to my throat. To the mark. Dark and fresh and unmistakable. And the color drains from his face before rage floods back, hot and ugly, turning his jaw to granite.

“What is that?” he says.

Not to me, to Caine. As if I’m not standing right here.

Caine’s expression doesn’t change. “Wren Smith is claimed. The bond is sealed.”

“That’s not possible.” Dax’s voice strains. “She was at the gate just days ago. Unclaimed. Unmated. There was no bond.”

“And now there is,” Caine says.

Alpha Mercer’s gaze cuts to me. Hard and calculating. He smells the air, and something shifts behind his eyes. He knows. He can scent Boone on me from twenty feet away. Can scent the bond, the claiming, the undeniable proof that I belong to someone else.

“This is suspicious,” Alpha Mercer says carefully. “A bond formed and sealed in four days. Under duress, perhaps.”

“No duress,” I say.

Both Alpha Mercer and Dax look at me like they forgot I could speak.

“I was not coerced,” I continue. “I was not forced. I was not claimed against my will.”

Dax’s lip curls. “You don’t even know what you...”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” I lift my chin. “I know what I chose. And I know what I didn’t.”

Alpha Mercer ignores me and turns to the neutral adjudicator. Elder Gavin stands apart from both groups. He’s older than I expected. Thin and weathered, with sharp eyes that miss nothing. His scent is clean and neutral, carrying no pack allegiance.