Page 22 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“I am asking you to stand in the circle.”

Yes I would stand there. I would let the old words wrap around my throat. I would let Evelyn step close. I would let the moon decide whether duty could be carved into the shape of a bond. But if the rite tried to take more than I allowed, I would turn the old lawn red, and every wolf present would know why the pack kept me leashed.

Malrec’s voice rose. “Under the moon that sees blood and binds truth, two lines stand before one another.”

The gathered wolves lowered their heads. I didn’t. My wolf watched through my eyes.

Malrec continued. “Tonight, Ronan Holloway offers his brother, Ian Holloway, enforcer of Halcyon, in bond to Evelyn Thorne, daughter of the northern line.”

Offers.

The word crawled under my skin. My wolf hit the inside of my ribs hard enough that pain flashed white behind my eyes but no sound left me.

Evelyn’s gaze snapped to mine. There was fear there, and honestly, there should have been.

I was not safe. I had never been safe. I was controlled. Too many people confused the two because it helped them sleep.

“The bond is duty,” Malrec said. “The bond is peace. The bond is restraint.”

Restraint.

I almost smiled. They loved that word when they were asking a beast to hold still while they put their hands near his mouth.

Evelyn stepped into the first ring and the ash line accepted her. My wolf went silent again.

Not calm.

Ready.

Malrec turned to me. “Step forward, Ian Holloway.”

I looked at the circle. At the basin. At Silas. At Ronan. Then I stepped one foot across the old stone and the magic touched me. Cold at first. Then hot. Then invasive, sliding over my skin with the wet patience of a tongue.

Wrong.

My claws punched halfway out before I stopped them.

Several wolves drew back.

Ronan’s command cracked across the lawn. “Ian.”

The sound struck my spine and I held. The circle tightened and Evelyn’s breathing changed. Malrec’s hand dipped toward the basin again, the bitter scent rising.

My wolf surged so hard I tasted blood.

Stop.

The word was mine this time, not his, but if I let him out, I would kill everyone between me and the source of that wrongness, and I didn’t yet know whether the woman across from me was victim, blade, or bait.

A sound came from beyond the hedge.

Small. Frantic. Fast.

Every wolf on the lawn turned as a white dog burst through a gap in the hedge, pink leash snapping behind him, paws tearing through the ash at the outer ring.

The circle flared as wolves shouted. The dog shot past me close enough for me to smell champagne on his fur and terror in his skin. Human scent followed.

A woman crashed through the hedge after him. Blush fabric. Bare feet. Loose hair. A furious breath. A heartbeat hammering so hard it cut through the rite, the smoke, the wolves, the old law, everything.