Juliet goes still, and I catch the rapid flutter of her lashes even though she doesn’t meet my stare.
Did I upset her?
Thinking back on what I said, I can’t imagine which of my words could have caused her discomfort.
“Sometimes, I wonder …” Her lips tighten, keeping the rest of that statement back.
Only she might as well be a fat bunny, hopping across the wolf’s path, teasing me with a hunt.
“You wonder what?”
Juliet shakes her head, picking apart the crust of her bread.
I scoot my chair around the table, closer to her, so I can rest my hand on her knee. “Tell me.”
A muscle tics in her jaw, and I think she’s going to keep resisting. But then she answers, “I wonder how you all can be the same as them. I wonder if maybe there’s more than one version of your kind.”
Almost a full minute passes before I comprehend what she’s saying.
Werewolves. Juliet’s experiences before Pine Falls clearly colored her perception of us. And though my interest rarely extends past the Pine Falls pack territory, I suddenly wish I had detailed knowledge of the wolves on the East Coast. Is there even a pack in Delaware? That’s where Juliet said she was from when she was talking to Tanya. The place she had some kind of experience with wolves that had her changing her name and moving clear across the country.
She told me not to ask.
Kill them all, my wolf snarls.
One day, when she fully trusts me, I’ll learn their names, and I’ll seek revenge for my woman.
“Do you believe that I’ll never hurt you?” I ask, needing to know if she fears me.
My librarian gives me a tight smile. “I believe you.”
But the tension remains in her eyes, and my wolf clamors for me to soothe our mate, and I try to think of ways to reassure her. To fashion a picture of our life together so that she knows there’s no reason for her to be anxious or unhappy.
She needs to know I’ll keep her safe from the shadows of her past. That I’ll seek out every beam of light and shine it on her.
Our future together will be full of sweet, happy, lusty days.
My mouth opens to tell her so. “When we mate?—”
“When wewhat?” Her gasped question cuts off my words.
I clarify, “Mate. Not right now.” Though it would be if it were up to me. “Just … in the future.”
Juliet stares at me, eyes so wide that I know something is wrong.
Hell, she’s probably like Zoey, thinking of mating as akin to marriage, which, in a way, it is. But human women are used togrand gestures for proposals, not practical discussions about the coupling. At least, that’s what it’s like in the movies.
Bringing up the idea of us mating so casually probably let down her hopes for a romantic setting. My practical nature gets ahead of itself sometimes.
I’m about to ask her to forget I said anything, maybe try to kiss my stumble out of her memory.
But then Juliet leaves.
My woman launches from her chair and stalks out of the kitchen, her tread directed toward the front door. If she opens it, I will follow after her, but her footfalls stop, and there’s no sound of the knob turning.
Silence descends on the little house, and I wait for her to say something. Do something.
Follow her,my wolf demands.
