Page 27

I pull on a pair of sweatpants and head for the kitchen. I make eggs, bacon, toast, and pancakes because I can’t decide what she’ll want. Then I cut up some strawberries and add them to the tray beside a glass of water and a cup of coffee.

I’m about to carry everything back when I stop in front of the junk drawer.

My pulse jumps.

Do it, my wolf says instantly.

I open the drawer and reach all the way to the back. Beneath spare batteries and a roll of tape is a small wooden box. I carried it with me when I left the cabin after my parents died, but I haven’t opened it in years.

My mother’s ring rests inside. It’s simple, a round diamond set on a narrow gold band. I can already picture it on my mate’s finger, and I smile as I shove the box into my pocket and carry the breakfast tray down the hallway.

Elsie is awake when I step into the bedroom. She’s sitting against the pillows with the sheet tucked beneath her arms, her hair tangled around her shoulders and her dark blue eyes still heavy with sleep. She smiles at me, and the sight nearly brings me to my knees.

“Good morning,” she murmurs.

“Morning, Angel. How do you feel? Are you sore? Do you need anything? I brought water, but I can get juice. Or tea. I made coffee, but I don’t know if you drink it. I should have asked.”

Her smile widens. “I’m a little sore. And coffee is perfect.”

Guilt twists through me. “I hurt you.”

“No.” She reaches for me as I set the tray across her lap. “Pyrce, you didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. Better than fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I study her face until I’m convinced, then lean down and kiss her forehead.

“You made all this?” she asks, staring at the tray.

“I didn’t know what you’d want.”

“There’s enough food here for four people.”

“You need to eat.”

She laughs softly and picks up a strawberry. “Yes, sir.”

I sit beside her and watch as she takes a bite. She catches me staring and rolls her eyes as she shoves a strawberry toward my mouth. I take a bite, grinning as I chew it. I obey because I would do anything she asked of me. She feeds me another bite, then lets me feed her a strawberry. We share breakfast like that, passing the fork back and forth until the plates are almost empty.

The whole time, I’m aware of the box in my pocket.

It should feel too soon. I know that. I’ve known Elsie for only a few days, and yesterday she was still deciding if she could trust me.

But I’ve waited my entire life for her.

The mark on her neck says she’s my mate. The answering warmth beneath my skin says I’m hers. That’s permanent—more binding than any paper or promise humans can make.

I still want every one of them.

“What is it?” Elsie asks, sensing my mood. “You’re nervous. I didn’t know you could get nervous.”

“I get nervous around you all the time.”

Her expression softens. “Why?”

“Because you’re my everything.”