Page 13 of Trusting Her Mate

Boone snaps, “She is. Because arranged matings are garbage.”

I surprise myself by laughing, weak but real. “That was helpful.”

Caine continues. “If Ashstone believes you have a mate claim under Katu protection, it buys us time. A believable courtship. A public statement that Boone intends to pursue a mate bond.”

“Absolutely not. I’ve caused enough trouble.”

“Yes, you have,” Boone agrees.

“I said I’m sorry.” I hate that he has been dragged into this mess, I just didn’t know what else to do.

“I heard you.”

“Do you want me to grovel?”

He shrugs. “No.”

“Good. Because I’m bad at it.”

Peyton stands, asking Boone for a word. I watch them move to the corner, and Caine keeps his eyes on me. “Ashstone will expect a formal response in forty-eight hours.”

I close my eyes, exhausted. “What does playing along involve?”

“Rules,” Boone says when he returns. “No more improvising mate claims in public. You don’t go anywhere alone. No touching unless necessary. No kissing.”

I arch a brow. “Ever?”

He looks pained. “Ever.”

“Even if required?”

He grits his teeth. “It won’t be required.”

I deadpan, “Are you an expert in fake mate etiquette?”

Peyton laughs, Caine mutters, and Boone looks like he wishes he could be anywhere else.

He ignores my previous comment. “These are the rules, or you can find yourself another fake mate. No more improvising mate claims.” He holds up one finger.

He almost smiles, almost. Peyton’s mouth twitches, and the air fizzes, every comeback a shield, every joke a dare not to break.

But underneath, fear gnaws, cold, feral, and alive under my ribs. Every time Boone’s gaze lingers, heat skitters up my spine, my wolf pacing, hope sparking where it shouldn’t. I try to crush it, but it keeps pulsing, wild and hungry.

Peyton’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Wren, you’ll be staying with Boone.”

We both freeze. “Absolutely not,” we say, in perfect, horrified harmony.

Caine grins, all teeth and trouble. Peyton just shrugs, serene and unstoppable. “Convincing, remember?”

My heart is a fist in my chest. Boone’s jaw works, but he doesn’t argue.

I risk a glance at him, storm-grey eyes, unreadable. The air crackles. For a breath, nothing exists but the spark and the risk between us. Will I survive this, or just burn alive?

I swallow and try for bravado. “So ... about that no kissing rule?”

Boone groans, rubbing his temples. “Don’t start.”

Heat prickles my skin—fear, defiance, and something wilder still. The room feels too small for all of it. But for the first time in forever, I’m not bolting. This is my disaster. My fight. And I’m staying, come hell or high water.