Page 20 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“He is closer tonight.”

I watched Malrec sprinkle powdered bone along the last curve of the circle. “He objects to being handed over.”

“You are not being handed over.”

I looked at him then.

Ronan held my gaze. He was my Alpha, and I loved him. Both facts had cost me.

“The Thorne bond keeps the northern border quiet,” he said.

“For now.”

“For long enough.”

“That is what men say when they intend to let someone else bleed for the calendar.”

His jaw hardened. “Careful.”

My wolf lifted his head inside me. I let Ronan see enough of him to remind the Alpha that brotherhood was not obedience. Then I pushed the beast back down because Ronan had not earned my teeth.

Silas had. Maybe Malrec. Maybe the woman in white waiting across the circle with her hands folded and her pulse too fast.

Evelyn Thorne.

My intended.

The word tasted wrong.

She was beautiful in a bloodline way. Pale hair. Pale skin. Spine straight enough to make softness look trained out of her. She stood between her mother and Silas with the dignity of a woman being traded under moonlight and expected to call it honor.

I didn’t hate her but that made it worse. Hate would have been clean. I could use hate. I could hold it in my mouth and let my wolf worry it until the night made sense.

Evelyn was a daughter doing what daughters of powerful wolves had always been told to do. Stand still. Look willing. Bleed neatly if asked.

My wolf didn’t want her. My body didn’t want her. My loyalty was the only thing that had brought me to the circle, and loyalty was a blade with no handle.

Ronan followed my stare. “She deserves respect.”

“She will get it.”

“She deserves more than that.”

“Then she deserved a man who could give it.”

He said nothing.

Good.

There was nothing useful to say.

The rite had been arranged six months ago after the Thornes lost three border disputes and started pretending their grief was principle. Silas wanted land, Ronan wanted peace. The elders wanted an old blood bond to make everyone feel civilized while they moved pieces across a board.

They chose me because no one feared a treaty, but they did fear me. Tie me to Evelyn, and the Thorne pack gained pride. Tie Evelyn to me, and Ronan gained time. Tie the executioner to a rival bloodline, and every old fool on the coast could pretend the next war had been avoided by wisdom instead of a leash.

I had agreed, that didn’t mean my wolf had. The beast tested the meat of me again.

A pressure under the ribs.