Page 89 of Gunnar

I shake my head. “You can’t just tell your clan I’m your mate like it’s some kind of done deal.”

“You think I’m wrong?”

The question comes so fast it catches me off guard.

I look at him. Really look at him.

His face is set hard, but there’s too much under it. Too much pressure. He looks like a man holding a door shut against something enormous.

“That’s not the point,” I say.

“It’s exactly the point.”

I lick my lips. “You barely know me.”

A strange look crosses his face. “A bear knows its mate.”

I should say something clever. Sharp. Something that puts distance back between us.

Instead I say, “You told me you were going to respect what I said.”

“I am.”

“This doesn’t feel like it.”

His mouth tightens. “You said no because of Orson.”

“Yes.”

“If he wasn’t here, would the answer still be no?”

The question hits like a shove to the chest.

I stare at him.

The hall goes quiet around us. Even the wind outside seems to fall away.

“That’s not fair,” I say.

“Answer me.”

My breath catches.

He’s close enough now that if I leaned forward even a little, I’d feel him. The memory of his mouth on mine flashes through me so sharply my knees go weak.

I hate that he can probably smell it.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Something shifts in his face.

He steps closer—and this time I don’t move back. I should. I know I should. But I don’t.

His voice drops. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me about this.”

“That is not true.”

“It is.”