Page 82 of Red

“What? Why would you ask if I fell in love?” I leap off the bed and stand in front of him. The motion makes my stomach slosh, and I grip it with arms tight, not minding my sagging straps.

“It’s a question. Did you?” The Alpha voice is back, and I want to scream.

“I wasn’t exactly there for romance.”

He huffs at my comment. Rude.

“If we’re talking about love, why haven’t you done the mating ceremony yet?” I reach out and run my fingers across his forearms. My heart skips at the tingles crawling up my arm, and I trace where his mark would be if I were to make it.

“Why aren’t you? Or are humans more your type?” There’s an unusual snipe to his voice.

I drop my hands. What am I thinking? Stupid tequila. He’s M.A.T.E.D.

My anxious hands go to my hips. “When would I have had the chance? And what? ‘Cause I’m more like them than I am like you?”

“You said you got close with someone at the camp?” How am I supposed to know what she wants?

“Do you mean Tripp?”

Stark’s blue eyes are like lasers boring into me, veins crawling up his neck.

“What about him?” I move away to focus on my feet, tracing the length of the rug like a tightrope.

“Did you fall for him?”

This must be the strangest conversation we’ve ever had . . . And we talked about ghosts the other day. I told him Pratt’s voice slips into my thoughts sometimes, so clear it’s like he’s right beside me. He said it’s probably just my conscience watching out for me. I’m not as sure.

I put my arms out to balance. “Why are you even asking?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” If he was in wolf form, I bet his hackles would be up.

“I don’t answer your questions all the time.”

Stark stands up off the bed and leans against the bedpost, crossing his arms. “I want an answer this time.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Technically, I haven’t given him a straight answer on anything he’s asked tonight.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m going to look up to you with puppy dog eyes and bow down to the command. You’re not my Alpha.”

He growls, but I just fall off my invisible tightrope and stalk toward the bed.

His chest heaves, but he pauses before talking, the silence long. “Who’s your Alpha then?”

“No one.” I am not officially a part of any cohort since Pratt left. I could be a nomad.

“Back to my question. Did you fall in love with”—his hands grow tense around his biceps—“Tripp?”

Why are we back to this? Did he see the same blush on my face that Lirea pointed out after my talk?

“No, I didn’t.”

His arms relax but stay crossed.

“Anything else?” I smile at him. Despite this weird interrogation, I feel wonderful. Magic hums through me in a nice way. I could dance away the rest of the night.

“So, humans aren’t what you want, even though you’re . . .”