Page 156 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“Well,” she said.

“Yes.”

“That was a terrible answer.”

“I do not know the right one.”

“Comforting. The ancient wolf man is bad at morning-after conversation.”

“I am not ancient.”

“You have old-law murder games and a family hedge. I’m counting it.”

I breathed out once, close enough to amusement that her eyes caught on my mouth.

The bond warmed again.

She felt it, because she looked away too quickly.

Awkwardness settled between us, strangely tender because neither of us knew what to do with it. We had shared breath, skin, pleasure, fear, and the kind of choice that left marks deeper than teeth, but she still didn’t know what I took in my coffee. I didn’t know how she liked her eggs. I knew the sound she made when she finally let go, and I didn’t know whether she preferred the left side of the bed because of habit or injury.

For wolves, the bond made depth feel natural. Recognition came first, knowledge after. For humans, I suspected that order felt insane.

Cassie’s fingers moved against my chest. “You’re thinking too loudly.”

I looked down at her. “You can feel that?”

“Not words. More like the emotional weather report is grim with a chance of brooding.”

“Brooding?”

She smiled. “You’re lying in bed looking like you’re about to apologize to the ceiling.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

I wanted to tell her that I didn’t regret it. I had said that last night, and it remained true. I also wanted to apologize for every way the bond might have leaned on her, every way my wanting might have entered her body before she invited it, every part of the wolf that had believed she was mine before the woman had said yes.

Instead, I put my hand over hers where it rested on my chest.

“I am glad you slept,” I said.

Her expression changed because the answer was smaller than she expected. Maybe smaller was better.

“I did sleep,” she said. “Which is concerning. I usually need a locked door, three pillows, and a low-grade grudge.”

“You had two of those.”

She grinned before she could stop it.

She looked toward the windows. “What time is it?”

“Early.”

“That explains why no one has arrived to argue about whether I should be alive.”

The warmth inside me vanished instantly.