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The guy standing in front of me can’t be real. He’s too perfect, and that golden glow around him only makes him seem even more impossibly attractive and angelic. He’s like some kind of earth-bound God who somehow stumbled into this room.
But there’s no mystery in why he found his way here.
He belongs with me. I knew it the instant I laid eyes on him.
The deep connection I feel to this stranger is unmistakable. I don’t know how many times I’ve watched a movie where the leads lock-gazes and suddenly, they both know, but I never thought it would happen to me.
We’re true mates.
He kisses my throat, and I don’t care that I know nothing about him.
I want to be claimed by him. I want his mark on my body.
The way he looks at me, I know he’s seeing me, the real me.
He knows I’m not Scarlett.
If he didn’t, this wouldn’t have happened.
“Gus?” I ask, wondering where I heard his name to know it.
Who the hell is this guy? I need to know.
He looks up from my throat, dark eyes glittering with lust.
Oh, who the hell cares who he is? Just let him claim you.
My teeth start to tingle in my mouth, and my heart is pounding so fast and hard it’s all I can hear.
“What do I call you?” he asks curiously.
He’s asking my name, because he knows I’m not Scarlett.
I can’t believe how good it feels that he knows that.
We’ve never even met, never spent a second in each other’s company, and he knows.
It’s unbelievably attractive that he just knew.
“Your mate,” I tell him.
He smiles. “I like that.”
God, I do, too.
I’m perfuming for him.
My suppressants have worn off.
Those little pills don’t work against true mates.
Mates, plural, Sapphire?
Right, yeah.
This guy is part of Pack Bishop.
Packs tend to take a single mate, unless there’s some polyandry involved.
