Page 57 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

Yes. And his mate.

I take Max’s hand in mine, twining our fingers together, ready to kiss his knuckle when something catches my attention.

“What’s this?”

It’s a small white scar on his first knuckle.

Shifters don’t scar. It’s one perk of our type of supe. We have rapid generation which means that—unless silver is involved—we can heal any injury except decapitation without a single clue left behind to show that we were hurt at all.

There are only two exceptions, and it’s really only one if you think about it. Shifters have to choose to keep a mark on their body. Usually that’s the mating mark that comes when a shifter either bites or claws their mate, claiming them as theirs. Some shifters… and it’s almost always the predators… they choose to leave a scar on their body

“Let’s call it a reminder.”

I’m just about to ask what that means when my mate stiffens.

“Someone’s coming,” Max announces.

And, yet, he makes no move to untangle his body from mine. Either he’s so confident that he can take our unexpected guest effortlessly while butt-naked or he is pleased to show off his new mate to whoever is so rudely interrupting our morning after.

“It’s not Gus. He’s still back at the cabin. Even if he was here, it couldn’t be him. He might be getting a little chunky lately from all of his treats, but he wouldn’t make the stairs creak.”

As though the person approaching heard my comment, they stomp the rest of the way up the stairs.

That should’ve been my first clue. My second should’ve been the way that Max’s nose wrinkles a little, muttering, “Trash,” under his breath.

I scent it, too. Obviously not as clearly as my wolf shifter mate does, but when my visitor comes wearing eau du dumpster, it’s kind of hard to miss.

Plus, there’s the fact that they’re comfortable walking onto my territory at three a.m. There’s only one soul in Moonburrow who would do that, and she’s pretty good at picking a lock.

Two seconds later, my suspicions are confirmed when Roxy Kane pokes her head in my bedroom while saying, “Honey, I was gonna leave this downstairs for you, but then I thought I hear something and—oh.” She blinks, a small smile curving her lips. “Oh. Look at that. My raccoon said… yeah. I still wasn’t expecting you up here, handso— Max.” Roxy is a lot of things, but she’s not the sort of shifter who will make a play for a mated male. Childhood crushes are one thing. Finding me in bed with Max? Yeah. She knows better than to see how fiercely protective a jealous opossum can be. “At least, not until Honey stopped pretending to be things she wasn’t. I take it this is a good thing?”

Max growls softly. I smack his chest. “Yes,” I tell her simply. “He’s my mate.”

“Congrats. That actually saves us all some trouble.” Roxy lifts up her hand, showing a rolled-up piece of paper about twelve inches long. “Sheriff will probably want to see this.”

Uh-oh. “Roxy, what did you do?”

She shrugs. “I decided to be Nancy Drew.” She waggles the scroll-looking thing. “And I hit pay dirt.”

Max sits up, careful to keep as much of his skin covered with the blanket. Smart male. He doesn’t want to trigger his mate’s jealous side, either. “Let me see.”

She starts to cross the room.

I hiss, then cover my mouth with my hand.

Roxy rolls her eyes. “Take a chill pill, Hon I don’t want your predator.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Nah. It’s cool. You only just mated so you’ll be super jealous for a bit. I get it. But we still have a couple of murders in Moonburrow to take care of. Lucky for you, I think I figured it out.

“See, it was Abigail’s death that clued me in. I liked her. Skittish but nice. So I decided to take a look into it myself. Her office was on the same street as the apothecary. She was going on secret dates with a wolf shifter. I talked to a couple of pals I have”—pals? Roxy has pals? And I shouldn’t say that out loud, right? —“and they gave me a name. Turns out he’s been spending a lot of time near Witches ‘n’ Things, too. He claimed he was just doing his job, but check this out. I think he’s full of it.”

Keeping enough distance between her and the bed, she starts to toss the paper to Max.

Starts to, then pauses. “You sure. You might not like what you see.”

“Is it Honey?” Max asks.