Page 41 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“Antlers?” I whispered.

“Wrong species,” Ian said.

I looked at him. “Did you just make a joke?”

“No.”

“It sounded close.”

“It was not.”

“Work on that.”

His mouth didn’t move, but something in his face changed. Barely. It vanished before I could decide what it was.

Ronan took that in too. He saw everything and I disliked that about him immediately.

A knock came at the door. Everyone froze except Sava, who muttered something that sounded deeply insulting in another language and went back to checking the IV.

Ronan opened the door only wide enough to speak through the gap.

A man’s voice came from the hall. Angry, muffled, unfamiliar.

“The council demands an answer.”

Ronan’s tone cooled. “The council has one.”

“She is human.”

“Yes.”

“She is marked.”

“Yes.”

“She is a breach by existing law.”

“She is under my protection until I say otherwise.”

My stomach turned. Protection sounded better than imprisonment only when spoken by people who had not locked the door.

The voice outside dropped lower. “Alpha, if the enforcer cannot control himself, others must make the choice before dawn.”

Ian moved. He crossed the room so fast my eyes barely followed him. One second, he was beside the bed. The next, his palm hit the door above Ronan’s shoulder hard enough to crack the frame. The door shuddered and the voice outside stopped.

Ian leaned close to the gap. “If anyone makes a choice about her body,” he said, low and calm enough to be worse than shouting, “I will start with their hands.”

No one in the hallway answered.

Ronan didn’t move from under Ian’s arm.

“Step back,” he said.

Ian stayed there another second, then he stepped back and Ronan closed the door.

His face was controlled, but the muscle along his jaw was tight now.

“That,” he said, “is why she is alive.”