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Once people stopped searching for her, she’d return to Royal One to find a real job, just as Riane had. It was what people did...most people who didn’t inherit their family’s farm.
Those large, hopeful eyes blinked up at me, waiting for a response.
“No.” I shook my head for emphasis.
“What? But I’m horrible at this...”
The pounding behind my eyes slowed a little.
I shrugged. “Everyone makes mistakes, ’mara.”
Blood of my blood. The Fanger endearment had slipped past my lips too quickly to catch myself.
“Thank you for being so nice,” she said, a sigh of relief tumbling from her lips. “I—I have something to ask you.”
I nodded for her to continue.
“That scent...this morning in the barn. Did it come from you?”
I saw no reason to lie. “Yes.”
“And again in the kitchen?”
“That was me, too.”
She frowned. “I see.”
Except she didn’t. Not really.
“Do you?”
She nibbled on that damned plump lower lip again. The beat in my temples grew slower, more languid.
“Not really. I found an e-book that explained the basics of Fanger evolution but I don’t fully understand what happened this morning.”
It was my turn to measure words.
“If you read up about us, I’m sure you know there are certain calls among Fangers that are hard to ignore.”
She nodded.
“Fight or flight?” she ventured.
I tilted my head. “Fight or fuck,” I corrected.
I couldn’t mistake the shiver that ran through her body. She was having trouble meeting my eyes again.
“Okay...” she said in a small voice.
“When we find someone who’s genetically compatible to us, we produce what we term our mating or Blood Call. An overproduction of pheromones that affects only those whose DNA complements ours.”
She nodded.
“It doesn’t happen often—as I mentioned before,” I admitted quietly.
Large eyes finally rose to meet mine.
“Whenever I smell that scent, I feel a rush,” she admitted, and I could see a burst of red rising to her cheeks. The beat in my head started pulsating double-time. “It’s addictive, and my brain...it kind of goes on holiday.”
