Page 67 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Ronan gave her the phone. “One message.”

She took it.

This one took longer. By the time she finished, her hand was shaking so hard Sava moved closer, ready to take the phone if necessary.

Cassie held it out and Ronan read silently. Then he sent it and placed the phone facedown on the table again.

Cassie’s eyes had begun to drift shut when the phone buzzed.

Ronan checked it. “Your sister replied.”

Cassie opened her eyes.

Ronan read, “I’m so sorry. Henry is safe. Dad is here. Mom is scared. Grant is being weird. Please don’t die. I love you.”

Cassie stared at the ceiling.

“Grant is being weird,” she said. “Of course he is.”

Ronan pocketed the phone again. “Enough.”

Sava adjusted the blanket. “Sleep if you can.”

“I don’t want to dream.”

The mark pulsed, I felt it.

Sava noticed my reaction. “Dream bleed?”

“Too soon,” Ronan said.

Sava’s gaze stayed on me. “Maybe.”

Cassie’s eyes opened a fraction. “What is dream bleed?”

No one answered, and her gaze found mine.

“What is dream bleed?”

I could lie. Ronan probably wanted me to. I had lied for the pack all my life. Lied by silence, by violence, by standing in rooms where others said peace while I calculated exits and body counts. Lies were not difficult.

This one stuck in my throat.

“Sometimes,” I said, “a mark lets one mate feel or see pieces of the other in sleep.”

Cassie went very still.

“Mate,” she repeated.

Ronan said, “Ian.”

I ignored him.

Cassie’s eyes stayed on me. “You said I wasn’t your mate.”

“I said you were not my anything.”

“Convenient difference.”