Page 240 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

I pulled her against me. For one breath, I held too tightly. Her ribs protested through the bond, bright with pain, and I loosened my grip at once with a rush of shame.

Cassie made a small, irritated sound and pressed closer anyway.

That nearly ended me.

I could not speak. Everything I might have said felt unworthy of her standing there. Sorry was too small. I love you was too raw to survive my mouth. Thank you sounded obscene for a woman who had bled herself open to drag me back from the edge I had chosen.

So I let the bond speak because it could not lie to her now. I opened every locked place I had kept from her. Evelyn’s words. My belief in them. The old shame that made them feel deserved. The decision to die. The relief I had felt when I thought she had escaped. The agony when I felt her fall at the cars and knew she had understood my betrayal.

I gave her the truth of me without shape or defense.

Cassie’s breath broke against my mouth.

“You idiot,” she whispered.

Yes, I answered through the bond. Her fingers tightened in my hair and I pressed my forehead to hers and felt her choose to stay inside the truth I had given her.

Not because she didn’t see the darkness, because she did and she stayed.

A wolf moved behind her. My body reacted before thought. The shift surged under my skin, ready to rise again, but Sava stepped into the space between us and the gathered wolves with her silver blade raised.

“Enough,” she said.

The courtyard froze. Sava stood in the rain with blood on her sleeve and fury in every line of her body. She looked at Ronan, then at the council wolves behind him, and her voice cut cleanly through the dripping silence.

“This could have been avoided if everyone were not so hung up on dumb old rules written by dead wolves who never had to clean up after themselves.”

One of the council wolves snarled.

Sava pointed the blade at him. “Try me. I am in a mood.”

More wolves stepped forward and I started to rise. Cassie’s hand pressed to my chest.

It was not command. It was trust.

Stay.

I stayed, though every instinct in me wanted to put my body between her and the world.

Cormac limped into place beside Sava. Blood ran from his shoulder and down one side, and one arm hung wrong. He still wore that expression of dry impatience, as if near-death was less offensive than everyone’s refusal to think clearly.

“I would listen to the doctor,” he said. “She is very creative when disappointed.”

The nearest wolf hesitated.

Cormac looked at Ronan. “We need a change.”

An elder snapped, “This is not the time!”

“This is exactly the time,” Cormac said. “We have a dead Thorne Alpha in the fountain, a human marked mate who just brought Ian back from full feral, and a courtyard full of witnesses to the fact that our old laws nearly handed Silas the pack.”

The elder’s eyes flashed. “Humans cannot be trusted with our secrecy.”

“Maybe they can,” Cormac said. “Maybe times have changed while everyone was polishing the same three fears and calling them tradition.”

No one answered.

Cormac wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Besides, who would believe them? Werewolves ruined my sister’s wedding sounds like a nervous breakdown with a catering budget.”