Page 61 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

“There’s still…options people have for this sort of thing. Magic that can remove bonds that are no longer wanted and all that.” His voice is tight, like it physically hurts to even suggest it.

“I know there are,” Alana says. She cups his face in her hands to ease the worry in his features. “You asked me the same thing last night, and I told you I like it. This makes me your mate, right?”

Cyrus’ expression softens. He nods, his tail appearing with a languid wag. “My one and only.”

Alana’s heart feels too big for her chest. If someone had told her that a random porn-site inquiry could lead her to being mated to a werewolf, his scent etched into her skin, she probably would’ve had herself institutionalized for auditory hallucinations. She wraps her arms around Cyrus’ shoulders, angling her head so her eyes can roam his bare neck.

“Do I get to bite you back?” she asks, biting her bottom lip.

The shifter’s eyes brighten. His hands settle on her hips, and he tilts his head to the side to bare his neck. “Baby, I’m yours to do what you please. You can use me as a damn teething toy.” Alana snorts, rolling her eyes.

“It would seal everything,” Cyrus adds as he sways with her. “Make it official.”

“Yeah? Then you’d be my mate too?”

He nods, his smile never fading. “I would be. If you’d have me.”

To that, Alana stands on the tips of her toes and nips at his bottom lip with the points of her teeth. When she lets him go, her voice lowers, salacious as she whispers against his mouth.

“I’d love nothing more. Now, why don’t you hurry and get the water started so that we can get in that shower together?”

Cyrus’ purr could rival a jet engine. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

ALANA

Alana could get used to a life like this.

She hums a low and steady song, rocking back and forth on the rocking chair she’s claimed on Cyrus’ back porch. The old wooden panels are faded, the white paint left chipped or discolored after years of footsteps treading back and forth. She can feel the memories they hold—the heavy thud of workers’ boots tracking in mud from a night spent out in the stables. Or the eager rushing of kids as they speed in and out of the house, unsure of where they want to play. These floors are probably older than she is, so she pays no mind when they creak with her movement. She smiles around her coffee mug, enjoying the warmth seeping through the ceramic and warming her palms.

“Need any help?” Alana calls out.

Cyrus looks up from his work, his tanned skin slick with a thin layer of sweat despite the morning chill. It glistens against his bare chest, and Alana doesn’t attempt to hide how she soaks up the view. He has a bundle of chicken wire thrown over his shoulder, which Alana would probably flatten herself trying to assist with in any capacity.

He responds the way she’s expecting, a shake of his head and a dismissive wave of his free hand. “No, ma’am. You just sit there in my clothes, looking pretty. It’s my motivation to get my work done.” He winks at her.

“Oh, if you insist.” Alana takes another sip of her coffee, eyes trailing that sculpted ass as he leaves. The ass that’s now, undoubtedly, hers.

As the afternoon approaches, a warm breeze arrives alongside. The trees sway in it, and the birds that were perched on the branches take flight, their wings outstretched below wide blue skies. There’s not a cloud in sight, so the sun feels brighter than it has these past few days. Alana soaks it in with a deep inhale. It’s the making of another good day.

At least, it feels like it until the sound of tires kicking up gravel interrupts the peaceful quietude. Alana blinks, a brow lifted as she turns towards Cyrus’ driveway. She treads barefoot across the porch to peer over the side of the house, where dust blows across the front yard. When it settles, the pearlescent shine of a familiar station wagon comes into view.

Alana chokes. Her eyes widen, and her insides twist as though she swallowed something too heavy.

Raking a hand through her hair, she takes a step back to lean against the side of the house where she can’t be seen. Not that hiding is going to save her for long. Shit.

Cyrus rounds the corner from where he’d been fixing his chicken coop, brows pinched when she sees her. He mouths the question, “What’s wrong?”

Alana waves him off in a hurry. “I’m fine. Sorry, just give me ten?”

Her mate eyes her. He takes a step forward, only to pause and lift his chin to take in the scent in the air, then his expression shifts. He nods, returning to where he came from. When he does, Alana releases a heavy exhale before making her way to the driveway. Her nerves fray with each step, a match to thread.

Alana swallows as the older woman steps out of her car with long, pantyhose-clad legs. She struggles to get her footing, hesitant to step in the dirt, as if it were going to grab hold of her ankles and drag her into it. When she settles, she looks at Alana with a deep frown stretching down her mouth. Alana braces herself against it. “Nana? What are you doing out here?”

“What am I doing here?” The question comes laced with ire. All the carefully curated composure she normally wore is left fraying at her feet. “I’m here to talk. We have not heard from you since the party, Alana. We’ve been worried sick to our stomachs.”

Alana chews the inside of her cheek. Her phone had been but one casualty from that night in the woods. It’s likely hidden somewhere, smashed up, surrounded by her torn-up clothes. Should any poor, unsuspecting hikers stumble across the scene, there will surely be some concerns. “Sorry. I’m fine. I would have texted, but my phone got…displaced.”