Page 59 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“Grant wants me to look unstable because then no one has to listen to me,” I said. “That is not a werewolf problem. That is just Grant.”

Ian’s jaw worked once.

Ronan turned back to the cracked door. “Lucien.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“If Mr. Carrington raises concerns about Ms. Morgan’s drinking again, inform him that resort staff monitored all service at the dinner and will not support that claim. Remind him that any attempt to create a false liability narrative around an injured guest will be treated as interference.”

A pause, then Lucien said, “Understood.”

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

Ronan closed the door.

I stared at him. “Why would you do that?”

His eyes met mine. “Because his lie creates attention.”

Of course.

Still, the lie had been stopped, not for me, but stopped.

Sava finished adjusting the medication and checked the bandage. “You need sleep.”

“I need answers.”

“You need enough blood pressure to survive answers.”

“I dislike you less when you’re mean.”

“I am not mean. I am efficient with reality.” She stepped back and motioned to the nurse. “We will let the sedative work. Ian, stay close but do not climb onto the bed and start acting heroic. Ronan, stop standing near the door as if you intend to fight the ocean. It raises the room’s blood pressure.”

“No,” Ronan said.

Sava gave him a flat look. He ignored it and resumed his place by the door.

The nurse lowered the lights and the room softened, but nothing in it became safe.

I could feel the wolves beyond the door now. Not hear them, exactly. Not smell them. Nothing that made sense. It was more like pressure against the edge of a bruise. A knowing under the skin where the mark had put something new and unwelcome.

Ian stood beside the bed, not too close, but close enough. The mark settled into that distance with a quiet, traitorous relief.

“I’m not your mate,” I said.

The words came out before I knew I had chosen them. Ian’s face didn’t change, but something in his eyes did. Pain, maybe. Or restraint. With him, the two seemed to share a spine.

“No,” he said.

I expected the word to ease something.

It didn’t.

Because his mouth said no, but the room didn’t believe him. His body didn’t. The mark under my skin didn’t. The thing inside the bite pulsed once, slow and deep.

I closed my eyes against it. “I don’t belong to you.”

His voice came lower this time. “I know.”