Page 33 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Cassie’s fist still held the leash. I reached down, unwound it from the post, and wrapped the end around my hand.

Ronan stepped beside me. His gaze went over Cassie once, then to the mark, then to my face.

“Can you hold yourself?”

“No.”

Several wolves shifted at the honesty and Ronan’s jaw tightened.

I looked at Malrec. Then Silas. Then every elder who had been ready to end her in the grass.

“I can hold myself if no one reaches for her.”

Ronan accepted that because truth was more useful than comfort. “Then walk.”

I stood with Cassie in my arms. She weighed almost nothing.That enraged me. A woman should not feel that breakable after surviving me.

Evelyn stood near the western post. I had to pass within arm’s reach of her. She looked at Cassie first, then at me.

“Ian,” she whispered.

There was accusation in it. There should have been. There was humiliation too, and fear, and something underneath both that I could not read with Cassie’s blood flooding my senses.

I gave Evelyn the only truth I had. “I didn’t choose this.”

Her eyes filled.

Cassie made a sound against my chest, a small hurt breath that dragged my attention back down. The apology I owed Evelyn died in my throat. My wolf didn’t permit attention to leave the marked female.

That frightened the man in me more than any blade on the lawn.

Ronan walked ahead of us, clearing the path with nothing but his presence. The gathered wolves parted. Some stared at Cassie with horror. Some with disgust. Some with fascination sharp enough to make me memorize their faces. The Thorne wolves whispered. The Holloway wolves watched my hands. They were right to watch. I was one bad breath from violence.

At the hedge, Lucien returned. Behind him, the human voices had grown more distant, redirected by staff and confidence.

“The wedding party believes Ms. Morgan fell near the east service path while retrieving the dog,” he said. “They have been told she is injured and being evaluated by the resort physician. Her father is insisting on seeing her.”

My arms tightened before I could stop them. Lucien glanced at the movement and wisely said nothing.

Ronan asked, “How long can you hold them?”

“With apologies, legal concern, and champagne, perhaps a couple hours before the father becomes difficult.”

Ronan’s face didn’t change. “Then buy the hours.”

Lucien nodded and left.

The east infirmary sat in the old guest house, far from the human side, built for wounds that could not be explained by room service accidents. Stone steps led to a private entrance. The air inside was cool, clean, and sharp with antiseptic strong enough to cut through the scent of blood.

Dr. Sava was already there when we arrived. She was small, gray-haired, and meaner than most soldiers. She had stitched me back together after silver, claws, knives, and one memorable winter when a bear trap took half my calf and I finished the hunt anyway. She didn’t frighten easily.

Then she saw Cassie and her expression froze. That was the closest Sava came to fear.

“Put her on the table,” she said.

I didn’t move.

Sava’s eyes lifted to mine. “Ian.”