Page 34 of Trusting Her Mate

She rolls off me and grabs my flannel, the one she stole two days ago. Now it smells like her. Like us. The bond hums, satisfied with the scent of both of us tangled together.

I pull on boxers and a t-shirt and head for the kitchen. Wren perches on the counter, bare legs swinging, while I crack eggs and lay bacon in the skillet. She steals a piece of bacon before it’s perfectly crispy and I let her.

“You’re spoiling me,” she says.

“You need to eat. The bond burns energy.”

“How do you know that?”

“Caine told me. When he and Peyton mated, he ate everything in the pack hall for a week.”

She grins. “So I have that to look forward to?”

“You have me feeding you constantly for the foreseeable future.”

“I can live with that.”

I plate the eggs, bacon, and toast, and we eat at the kitchen table. Her bare knee nudges mine under the table. The contact sends warmth through the bond—steady, easy, the fire banked but still burning.

She’s licking bacon grease off her thumb when the knock comes. Not Calum’s shorthand. Not Raine’s assault. Three measured knocks. Alpha rhythm. I’m on my feet before the third one lands.

Caine stands on the porch, Peyton beside him, both dressed for formal business, their expressions carved from stone. My wolf rises, and the bond tightens.

“Boone.” Caine’s voice carries no warmth. “We need to talk.”

I step back and they enter. Peyton’s gaze finds Wren, and something softens in her face, a flicker of warmth before the iron returns. Caine doesn’t sit. He stands in the center of my cabin, legs braced, hands clasped behind his back. Alpha stance. The stance he uses when delivering news that will change things.

“Ashstone crossed the border thirty minutes ago,” he says and the cabin turns cold.

Wren’s hand finds mine, and I squeeze tight, and the bond flares with her fear and my rage, tangled and raw.

“How many?” I ask.

“Alpha Mercer, Dax, six enforcers, and two elders.” He pauses. “And a neutral adjudicator. Elder Gavin from the Stone Creek pack.”

My stomach drops. A neutral adjudicator means a formal challenge. Not a negotiation. Not a border dispute. A full legal challenge to the mate claim.

“They’re requesting scent verification,” Caine continues. “Formal. Witnessed. Binding.”

Wren’s fingers turn to ice in mine.

“They’re claiming the bond is fabricated,” Peyton says quietly. “That the claiming mark was forced.”

The words hit the bond like a hammer. Forced. They’re calling me Dax.

“They’re calling me a coercer,” I say flatly.

“They’re throwing everything at us right now,” Caine says. “Every angle. They want Gavin to scent Wren independently. If he finds the bond weak or contested, he can recommend the claim be dissolved pending council review.”

“And if he finds the bond real?” Wren asks.

“Then they have no legal standing, the claim holds, sanctuary holds, and Ashstone leaves with their tails between their legs.”

The bond pulses between us. Strong. Sealed. Undeniable. But the blocker, still crawling through her system after days, could muddy everything. Could make Gavin hesitate. Could give Dax an opening.

“When?” I ask.

“Noon. The clearing behind the pack hall.”