Page 75 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“Yes.”

“And that means what exactly?”

His jaw tightened. “Among wolves, it begins a bond.”

“A bond.”

“A magical and physical tie.”

I stared at him.

He didn’t look away. “It heightens scent, awareness, instinct, and emotional response. It can cause pain when mates are separated before the bond is stable. It can calm the body when the mate is close. It can cause dream bleed, fever, territorial behavior, and compulsion toward protection.”

“So all of this,” I said, lifting my bandaged shoulder a fraction before pain punished me, “is romance to your people?”

“No.”

The answer came hard and immediate, enough that even Ronan looked at him.

Ian’s face had gone bleak. “No. The first bite should be chosen. Even when instinct drives it, the rite gives structure, consent, witnesses, and law. What happened to you was not that.”

The room held still around the words. I appreciated the honesty and I hated needing it.

“But your wolf chose me.”

He closed his eyes once. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I do not know.”

“Do you usually bite strange women who crawl through hedges?”

“No.”

“Reassuring.”

His eyes opened. There was gold in them, not fully, but close enough that my skin tightened.

“He recognized you before I understood what was happening,” Ian said. “That is not an excuse. It is simply the truth.”

“And the mark is killing me because I’m human.”

“Yes.”

Sava stepped closer. “It tried to kill you. For now, it has slowed.”

“For now,” I said.

The phrase had become furniture in this room.

Ronan spoke from near the door. “A human body cannot carry wolf magic. That is why everyone expected you to die already.”

“So what happens now?”

No one answered quickly enough.

Ian spoke first. “The mark has seven days before the full moon.”