The knowing grins spreading across both their faces tell me everything.
“Ohhh,” Russ says.
“Mating fever.”
“Shut up.”
“It is!”
“I said shut up.”
Steve laughs.
“Boss is cooked.”
“I'm leaving.”
I toss the rag onto my workbench.
“Lock up when you're done.”
Russ calls after me.
“Need us to bring soup?”
Steve adds, “Or a muzzle?”
I flip them both off without turning around.
Outside, the late afternoon heat hits me like a wall.
Doesn't matter.
The fire burning inside me is hotter.
Mating fever.
Every unmated Wolf fears it.
Every mated Wolf remembers it.
Find your fated mate, and fail to claim her, and your Beast starts unraveling.
It isn't sickness exactly.
It's longing.
Bone.Deep.Need.
Every instinct screaming that half your soul is walking around unprotected.
Every heartbeat reminding you she's out there.
Without you.
Without knowing.
Without understanding why she suddenly can't stop thinking about some biker she met last night.
