Page 19 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

"Good to know what I'm working with." I trace the tense muscles of his shoulders with my fingers. "So... are you going to do that?"

He groans into my skin, his hands gripping my hips tightly, holding me completely still so neither of us can move.

"No," he says, his voice muffled against my neck. "Not tonight."

He slowly lifts his head, his amber eyes clear again, though the heat still blazes in them. He pulls my sweater down, smoothing the fabric over my skin with careful, deliberate gentleness.

"Why?" I ask quietly, not hurt, just curious.

"Because when we do this," Boone says softly, cupping my jaw with one large palm, his thumb brushing over my swollen lower lip, "I want you to know everything. I want you to have the whole story, every piece of it, and choose me anyway. Not because I lost my mind under some trees at a festival."

I look at him. I don't know what 'the whole story' means yet, but I can see the profound weight behind it. He isn't rejecting me. He's protecting my choice, even when every instinct in his body screams at him to take what's right in front of him.

Something warm and solid settles deep in my chest.

"Okay," I say softly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I lean down and press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. "For the record, though... this was the best date I've ever had."

Boone smiles, bright and genuine, and wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest while the maple leaves fall around us.

We walk back through campus hand in hand. The festival is starting to wind down, but Boone doesn't rush. He holds my hand like it's the most natural thing in the world, his thumb rubbing small circles over my knuckles the entire way to my dorm.

At the front doors, he leans down and kisses my forehead, soft and lingering.

"Goodnight, Maisie."

"Night, Boone."

I slip inside and watch through the glass as he turns and walks back across the quad with a slight bounce in his step.

When I unlock my dorm room door, Delilah is sitting at her desk with a stack of tarot cards and a half-burned sage bundle. She takes one look at my swollen lips, my flushed cheeks, and the leaf tangled in my hair, and immediately sweeps the cards into a neat pile.

"Okay," Delilah says, crossing her arms with a vicious grin. "Spill."

CHAPTER 6

BOONE

"Look at him," Tate says at breakfast, jabbing his fork in my direction. "Grinning at his phone like it personally handed him a winning lottery ticket."

"It's a text," I say.

"It's always a text." Deacon leans over to look, and I flip the screen down on pure reflex.

Soren slides into the seat across from me with a cup of black coffee and zero expression. He's a vampire, which means he doesn't eat breakfast with us so much as supervise ours with the kind of detached amusement most people reserve for watching paint dry.

"You look feral," he observes, taking a sip.

"He's been feral for four days," Tate says helpfully.

"I'm aware." Soren's dark eyes flick to my phone, then back to my face. "The question is whether he's going to remain functional, or if we should start planning his funeral now."

"Fuck off," I mutter, but I'm grinning.

"Already am," Soren says, returning to his coffee with the satisfied air of someone who's successfully completed his morning's entertainment.