Page 90 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“No, you won’t?”

“No, your life is not territory.”

The answer was too careful and I studied him.

“You’ve been territory before.”

His eyes came back to mine. I had not meant to say it. Not that way. But the mark carried something from him, and I had been sitting in his restraint all afternoon. Control didn’t feel natural in him. It felt trained, forced almost. Reinforced until the bones accepted the cage.

Ian didn’t answer and I knew I was right.

“That’s why you understand Ronan,” I said.

A muscle moved in his jaw. “Ronan is Alpha.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“No.”

His voice had gone lower.

I should have stopped, but I didn’t want to.

“Your brother talks about the pack, and you hear duty. I hear a man deciding what a person costs.”

“He has to.”

“Does he?”

“Yes.”

The word came hard, but the bond did something under it. A flash of old blood. Not an image exactly, more like the impression of one? Cold floor. A younger Ian with rage in his mouth. Ronan standing in front of him. Men shouting. The smell of fear. The shape of a boy learning that if his brother lost power, everyone he loved would bleed.

I inhaled sharply.

Ian went still. “What did you feel?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cassie.”

I looked at him. There was no command in my name this time. Only urgency.

“I think you were young,” I said slowly. “I think you were angry. I think Ronan was standing in front of you then too.”

His face closed, but not before I saw it.

Truth.

Sava had called it dream bleed, but apparently we were no longer waiting for dreams.

“Sorry,” I said.

The word surprised both of us. I didn’t know who I was apologizing to. Him, for seeing something private? Myself, for meaning it? The universe, for making me a woman who still apologized in captivity?

Ian looked away. “You didn’t choose to see it.”

“It didn’t stop me from seeing it.”