Page 142 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“No, now I get to say it.”

He looked as if the word had gone under his skin.

I held onto that because anger was easier than wanting him again. “You don’t get to kiss me like that, put your mouth there, and then decide I need saving from myself.”

His jaw tightened. “The mark is affecting you.”

“Everything is affecting me.”

“It is not the same.”

“No, it is not the same. Nothing here is the same. That does not mean I have vanished!”

“I felt it answer.”

“The mark?”

“Yes.”

“So did I.”

His eyes searched mine. “Then you understand why I stopped.”

“No. I understand why you’re scared. I understand why you think stopping makes you honorable. I even understand why part of you believes wanting me after hurting me makes you worse.”

His face went still.

“But you do not get to decide that my wanting is only magic because it makes you feel safer.”

His hands opened at his sides. “I am trying not to take from you.”

“Then stop taking my answer!”

Ian looked as if I had struck him, and I almost wished I had because a slap would have been cleaner.

“All of you keep doing it,” I said, my voice lower now. “Ronan decides when I know things. The council decides whether I should die. Evelyn decides my survival is manipulation. Grant decides my injury means he gets to remember my body. And now you’re deciding that if I want you, it cannot be real enough to count.”

His throat moved. I hated the pain in his face. I hated more that it didn’t make me wrong.

“I do not know what is real either,” I said. “That is the truth. I don’t know how much is the bond. I don’t know how much is fear. I don’t know how much is being trapped in a room with the only person my body trusts right now.”

The mark pulsed warm, cruel and honest.

“But I know I kissed you,” I said. “I did that. And if I decide tomorrow that it was a mistake, that will be mine too.”

Ian didn’t speak.

I shifted on the bed, intending to stand again because apparently I had not learned a single lesson about gravity. The room tilted before my feet touched the floor. Ian moved before my body finished swaying, then stopped himself again with his hands half raised.

The sight nearly undid me. Careful, even now. Furious with himself, aching with want, eyes still gold, and still waiting.

Damn him.

“May I help you lie back?” he asked.

I wanted to be petty. I wanted to say no and crawl if I had to, but my knees were shaking, and pride was not the same as self-respect, though I had confused them often enough to know the difference by now.

“Yes,” I said.