Page 31 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

That’s easier said than done considering he’s inches away and all I want to do is throw myself into his arms.

He swings his. I didn’t notice it before. When I think of Max, I think of stoic. Kind of grumpy. Determined to be in control. For some reason, that just translated to being stiff and still, but I’m so wrong. He prowls, stalks, moving with such a deceptively lazy grace, I can’t help but be aware of his every movement.

There are accidental touches. Every time his hand brushes mine, my pulse jumps. My temperature rises. My breath catches. If he notices, he doesn’t say, but how can he not notice?

What is going on here?

By the time we finally reach the bakery, the air between us feels too warm for late fall. I’m almost burning up with things I can’t say to Max, and he’s just as quiet. Giving myself something to do, I grab my keys from my purse. I unlock the door and glance behind me. He’s still there, broad and silent, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was a wolf trying to decide if he was on guard patrol or a date.

That seals it for me.

“Want to come in?” I ask, surprising both of us.

His brows lift. “You sure?”

Not even a little. “Yeah. You can check the place for monsters if it makes you feel better.”

I’m teasing.

The door closes behind him with a soft click. The bakery smells like sugar and cinnamon, opossum—Gus—and a hint of pine that drives me wild.

He surveys the front room, doing his duty, then turns to me. “You need to be careful, Honey.”

“I am careful.”

“There’s danger in Moonburrow.”

I figured. “Right. Aren’t the big, bad wolves supposed to keep me safe?”

That earns me a look: half exasperation, half something else. Something that makes my heart beat in triple-time.

His mouth quirks, a begrudging grin. “You’re not scared of much, are you?”

“I’m scared of plenty,” I say lightly. “I just hide it better than most prey. Unless I lose control and play dead, that is.”

He steps closer. “Killer⁠—”

I blink. “You’ve called me that before. You said you believed me when I told you I didn’t have anything with Declan’s death. So why are you teasing me like that?”

He hesitates, eyes searching mine. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

He refuses to break eye contact with me. When it comes to the Alpha, this will be a challenge I have to win or lose—and as he makes a softly uttered confession that has me glancing away, I don’t think either of us won.

“Because I don’t want to see you dead. Calling you ‘killer’ feels better than thinking of you as another victim. I’ve been sheriff in Moonburrow for four years. Since I was twenty-seven and I took over the pack when my dad stepped down as Alpha. I got the badge and the top spot over Moonshadow… in all that time, the only deaths I’ve seen have been pack business. This one? It belongs to the sheriff. It’s not the same even though you’d think it would be considering we lost one of our own.”

The words knock the air right out of me. My throat tightens. “It’s not just a case to you. As the Alpha… you had to handle a death of a packmate, too.”

He nods once, jaw set. “Pack burial was this morning. I talked to Declan’s mother. She asked me if he suffered. I didn’t have an answer she’d want to hear.” A soft snort. “Ripping out throats is easy to explain. But poison? Who poisons shifters? And why stop at one?”

His voice tells me he’s sure there will be more deaths. The way he’s watching me is a big clue that he thinks it might be me—but he doesn’t want it to be.

I swallow hard, the sharp ache of sympathy and something warmer catching me off guard. “You’ll find who did this.”

“I have to.”

“I’ll help,” I say, softer than I mean to.