Page 45 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

I wrap my arms around his back, tangling my fingers in his hair.

The room is silent except for our ragged breathing and the soft moonlight spilling over the bed.

"Maisie," he whispers, kissing the fresh mark on my neck.

"Hi," I whisper back, smiling against his shoulder. I close my eyes, feeling his heartbeat thumping against my ribs and the warm, steady hum of the bond resting beneath my skin.

I didn't lose myself. I'm still Maisie Pope—stubborn, practical, and ambitious. But now, I have him. Permanent. Chosen. Mine.

I pull the sheets over us, bury my face in his chest, and let sleep take me.

CHAPTER 12

MAISIE

The flight back to Columbus for a four-day Thanksgiving break costs six hundred and forty dollars.

I know this because I checked the discount travel sites at two in the morning three days before break, stared at the total with my jaw clenched, and then called my mom from the floor of my dorm bathroom so I wouldn’t wake Delilah.

“Don’t you dare spend six hundred dollars to sit on our couch for seventy-two hours, Maisie Jean,” my mom said immediately, her voice crackling through the static of our ancient landline. “You come home for the full three weeks at Christmas when the tickets are normal. Eat some turkey on campus, study for your finals, and call your grandmother on Thursday.”

So that was the plan. Stay in the dorms, eat dining hall turkey with Delilah, and get a week ahead on Creature Physiology flashcards.

Then Boone found out.

He was sitting on the rug at the foot of my bed, taking up approximately seventy percent of the available floor space while supposedly reading a case study for his alpha leadership seminar. When I mentioned staying on campus, he went completely, unnervingly still.

“You’re not spending Thanksgiving in an empty dorm,” he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, absolute tone that usually means his wolf is about to start making executive decisions.

“Delilah’s here.”

“Delilah’s coven is doing a harvest ritual Wednesday night and she’s sleeping until Friday.”

“I have studying to do.”

“You can study anywhere.” He closed his textbook with a dull thud, looked up at me from the floor, and tried to make his face do something casual. He failed spectacularly. His jaw was tight, his amber eyes locked on mine, and his hands gripped his knees like he was actively holding himself down. “Come home with me.”

I stared at him. “Home home?”

“My parents’ place.”

“You want me to go to your pack’s house? For Thanksgiving?”

“If you want to.” He said it like it was no big deal. His scent, however, spiked with enough nervous, desperate anticipation to fill the entire hallway. “My mom has an extra bedroom. Or you can sleep in mine. Whatever you want. Just... come with me.”

“Boone, meeting parents is a huge deal. Meeting an entire werewolf pack is a medical hazard.”

“They’re just people, Maisie.”

“Your dad is an alpha.”

“He also burns toast every Sunday morning and loses his reading glasses on his own head,” Boone said, reaching up to take my hand and tugging until I slid off the edge of the mattress onto the rug between his thighs. He wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck right against my mating mark, his hot breath soaking through my collar. “Come home with me. Please.”

I made it another four seconds before I caved.

Which is how, at six o’clock on Monday evening, I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of Boone’s heavy black truck, watching the highway give way to winding, two-lane mountain roads lined with dense pine trees and late-November frost.

The drive takes three hours north of campus, heading deep into the wooded ridge territory that the Kinkaid pack has owned for about a hundred and fifty years. Boone has one hand on the steering wheel and the other clamped firmly over my right knee, his thumb rubbing slow, rhythmic circles against my denim. He’s been doing it since we hit the state line.