Page 42 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

Max looks exactly like what he is: a male who got ripped out of sleep. At the same time, there’s something in the way his body is hunched slightly, drawing my attention to his furless chest, his toned body, and the absolute dominance pouring off of him.

His eyes seem to gleam in the dark of the bedroom, a glowing orange that tells me that I’m looking at the Alpha in all his glory.

“What’s wrong, Honey?” he snarls, his fury for whatever—whoever—made me scream. “Why did you scream.”

I point at the window. “Wolf shifter. Peeking into the room. I saw him!”

Do I know that it’s a him? No, but the height and the… I don’t know… vibe I got makes me convinced that it was a male out there, and he wasn’t just being a perv because I’m a female.

Max obviously agrees. “I’ll got see if I can run him down. You two stay here.”

An Alpha can order members of his pack, expecting them to obey. A mate might make suggestions, but in an equal partnership, he should hope that his mate has a brain.

Poor Max. He’s stuck with Honey Morgan.

I point at Gus. “Stay here,” I tell him, then pause only long enough for the power of Max’s dominance to fade. Once I’m sure he’s outside of the cabin, searching for whoever was spying on me, I shut my door behind me to keep Gus in, then take off after him in my pajamas

They’re cute. A matching shirt and pants combo with red cherries all over the pink material, I’m thinking that I probably should’ve changed into something dark if I wanted to hide in the woods. As it is, anyone seeing the blonde prey shifter running through the trees will know exactly who I am, whether I try to hide in the shadows or not.

I try to use my sniffer to scent him. Not happening. The entire Alpha cabin smells so strongly like Max, it’s impossible to pick up any other scent.

So I decide to go around the cabin to where my borrowed bedroom is. It has to be where Max would’ve started to search for whoever was out there, and if I’m probably being a dingdong, running toward the creep… I go anyway.

Nothing. There are footsteps standing directly in front of my window—and I wave at Gus through the glass so that he knows I’m okay—but I don’t see anyone.

I don’t see anyone.

I hear them.

A low, throaty howl rips through the night. For a second, I stiffen, but as though it was a song meant for my soul, I’m not afraid of the wolf singing it. I go running for him.

I find him, too. About fifty yards from the cabin, I stop short when an oversized wolf comes padding toward me.

I swallow a sudden lump in my throat. “Max? Is that you?”

It has to be. My normal reaction to seeing a wolf—whether it was a shifter or wild—would be to play dead. Duh. But when I see this beautiful creature with the russet-colored fur so similar to Max’s hair, plus a pair of gleaming, golden, intelligent eyes… Max’s eyes… I know it has to be him.

He’s a gorgeous wolf. Of course he is. He’s a gorgeous male in his skin. I expected no less of him when he was shifted.

Max stops when he sees me. I can just imagine the human version of Max gritting his teeth, a muscle jerking in his cheek as he accepts that I did the opposite of what he ordered me to do.

The big wolf shudders. A split second later, his body changes. A shift is like a snap. It’s one of your shapes remembering that it exists, taking over from the other. We’re supes. Even if we can’t cast spells like witches, any supernatural creature is touched by magic. There’s magic inherent to every shift. The force of it is enough to blow off anything we’re wearing that isn’t enchanted to survive the blast.

That’s why shifters try to take off their shoes and clothing before they shift. If they don’t, the shift inevitably destroys them, the material turning to ruined tatters. We’re naked as our beasts. We return naked when we go from four legs to two.

I know that. I’ve been a shifter my entire life. I’ve been caught without a change of clothes more times than I want to admit, and for half of those occasions, I have Roxy to blame.

Nudity isn’t a big deal for shifters. I knew what a penis looked like before I knew what a penis was. The only time it carries a different weight is when sexual attraction is involved.

And, oh, I’ve been attracted to Max Lobo for months now.

He shifts, and it isn’t until he’s standing in front of me without a stitch on that I really appreciate how beautiful a nude male’s body can be. From the muscles to his tapers waist to the cock that’s stirring slightly from the adrenaline of the chase, Max is stunning… he’s naked…

He isn’t mine.

Not yet.

I squeal, and though it’s considered bad form to draw attention to a shifter being bare when you have clothes on, I can’t help it. I cover my eyes.