Page 24 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

She sits with that for a second. Then she looks right into my eyes.

"Have you ever found yours? Your mate?"

The question hits like a physical blow. I freeze. One beat of hesitation. Two. Every nerve in my body screams at me to say Yes, it's you, it's been you since the library, but the fear of cornering her chokes the words in my throat.

Maisie's face falls.

She tries to cover it with a quick, dry laugh, but it lands thin and brittle. "Oh. You totally have."

"Maisie—"

"No, it's fine." She slides off the couch and stands up, already shoving her notebook and pens into her backpack with sudden, frantic efficiency. "I mean, if you'd found her, you'd just tell her, right? You wouldn't keep it a secret. You wouldn't be messing around with me."

"That's not what this is⁠—"

"I have an early lab tomorrow." She cuts me off, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her chin lifts, defensive and guarded, but her eyes are bright with hurt. "I should go."

"Maisie, wait, please⁠—"

"Goodnight, Boone."

The front door clicks shut behind her, leaving the apartment dead silent.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing out on my balcony in the freezing night air, gripping the railing until the metal groans. That's when Tate steps out from his adjacent porch.

"You look like shit," he says, leaning against the divider.

"She asked if I found my mate," I say, my voice flat and hollow. "And I hesitated."

Tate goes completely still. "You know she thinks that means she's not your mate, right?"

The words slam into me like a punch to the chest.

I thought I was being noble. I thought I was protecting her agency, giving her space to choose me without the weight of biology bearing down on her. Instead, my silence told her she's just a temporary distraction—someone to kill time with until my 'real' mate shows up.

I drag both hands down my face, my wolf howling in pure frustration.

"I'm telling her."

CHAPTER 7

MAISIE

I lie in bed for an hour staring at the ceiling, replaying the exact moment his brain short-circuited. He hesitated. It was barely a full second, but I saw it. I asked one simple, direct question and watched Boone Kinkaid freeze like a deer in headlights before dodging it entirely.

Have you ever found yours? Your mate?

I know how werewolf biology works. Finding a mate isn't a casual crush you file away for later. It's the entire point of their existence. And Boone—who is brutally honest about everything from football plays to how terrible my biology notes look—stopped dead.

Then he gave me some careful, diplomatic speech about choice. Which was sweet. Great sentiment. But it also sidestepped the actual question.

I roll onto my side and yank the blanket up, pissed at myself for caring this much. Is there someone else? Did he already find his mate, and I'm just the human girl he's messing around with until things get real? Or is he holding out, keeping me at arm's length so he doesn't get attached to someone who isn't biologically his?

Either option makes my chest feel tight and bruised. I'm lying here in his damn gray sweatshirt, inhaling his scent like a total freak, feeling like an idiot.

He knows something. And the worst part is, I'm pretty sure everyone else knows it too.

By Thursday, the weirdness is impossible to ignore.