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Wolf-Rhys puffed out a breath. When she said nothing more, he let out a soft whine and inched forward, his stare fixed on her face.
Amaia found her feet and shoved her immediate curiosities—and associated concerns—aside for later. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said, watching his eyes. “Is that stilltrue?”
Wolf-Rhys’s nostrils flared, then he promptly lowered his butt to the floor. As if to reassure her. He sat upright, his ears perked. Watching. Waiting.
Amaia cautiously moved closer, wondering if she had lost her mind somehow, and slowly extended one hand until her fingers found his fur. His fur was thick and softer than she’d actually expected, and before she could think better of it, she was stroking her hand up the side of his neck and around an ear. She scratched his head a little and caught herself smiling as he leaned into her touch. “This is crazy,” she said. “I’m petting a werewolf. In my living room.”
Wolf-Rhys snorted, the warm air from his exhale rushing against her skin. He angled his head, giving her inner arm a sudden lick, and then he stood. Except he kept standing, his fur shuddering and receding as a low series of cracks filled the air. The wolf was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, replaced by the man who’d preceded it. The still-very-naked man.
Heat rushed over her as Amaia drew a lungful of Rhys’s woodsy scent. He was so close! They were nearly chest-to-chest, and her body had a very distinctive reaction to his presence. It was hard to remember the things she wanted to ask him. “Rhys…”
He lifted one hand and molded it to the curve of her jaw, his skin warm against hers as his fingers stretched toward her hairline. With just that hand, he tugged her close and sealed his lips over hers. His hand slid to the nape of her neck as his tongue teased her lips, but to Amaia’s surprise—and admitted disappointment—he retreated instead of deepening the kiss. His touch fell away from her skin, and she blinked her eyes open at the sudden emptiness in front of her.
She couldn’t believe how badly her body ached with yearning after such brief, simple touches.
Rhys picked up his pants and stepped back into them, not making any particular effort to hide himself from her as he moved. She felt notably less embarrassed about watching him. In fact, she couldn’t look away. He moved with a natural, fluid grace that struck her despite the utterly mundane task he was doing. His body was perfection, and combined with the taste of his kiss on her lips, Amaia felt as though she was on fire.
“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll fuck you right on this floor,” Rhys said as he faced her again. He hadn’t bothered with his belt, but instead dropped it onto his shirt, which remained half draped over her coffee table.
The declarative warning jarred Amaia to her senses and she reared back. “Excuse me? What makes you think I’d let you?” She absolutely would, but it didn’t seem right to advertise that at this stage.
He smirked and leaned into her personal space, lowering his voice. “I can smell your desire.” Before she could retreat from that startling statement, he pressed his lips to the apple of her cheek, angled around her, and once again dragged her toward the sofa. “It’s distracting as hell, honestly,” he said, “but we’ve got things to talk about and I won’t haveconversationon my mind once I get you under me.”
Amaia jerked her wrist out of his grasp even as Rhys prepared to reclaim his earlier seat. She took a large step backward, putting herself out of arm’s reach, in the hopes it would allow her to think more clearly. She’d become understandably distracted, but his overconfident words had helped steer her back to some semblance of focus. “I’m not some toy you can do with as you please,” she said. “I don’t know why you felt compelled to show me your secret, and as awesome as it is, frankly, it scares the shit out of me. But it does not mean I’m obligated to spread my legs for you. If that’s what you’re after, you can leave.” Sure, she was attracted to him, but she hadstandards.
Rhys stared at her for a long second, both brows raised and eyes wide. He straightened, facing her, but made no move to reach for her. Although she doubted she could escape him if he really tried. His jaw tensed for a couple of seconds, and though he didn’t look away, she didn’t have the feeling he was trying to intimidate her, either. At length, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that.”
Amaia crossed her arms over her chest. “Then what did you mean by it?”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair with a nearly soundless sigh. “I just meant—fuck, this isn’t how I wanted this to go. There are other things you need to understand first.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Things other than whether or not I’m just a hole to conquer in your eyes?”
For a split second, he glared at her so fiercely she actually felt her knees wobble. But as soon as the breath rushed from her lungs, the expression vanished from his face, replaced with a passing wince as he averted his gaze. “I don’t see you that way,” Rhys said, speaking quieter. “Obviously, I’m attracted to you, but you’re not a conquest to me, Amaia.” He snapped his focus back to her, his stare burning. “You’re my mate.”
Amaia stared at him, slack-jawed. Her arms swung to her sides. “I’m … what?” She’d seen this man literally transform into the most beautiful wolf, right there in her living room. Somehow, this possibility seemed so much crazier.
Rhys tucked his hands into his pockets. She had the strangest sense that he felt restless just from the simple motion. But then he spoke again, and she forgot to wonder about that odd feeling. “All shifters have predestined mates,” he said, speaking calmly. Almost carefully. “We know them as soon as we catch their scent. Most shifters either search until they succeed in finding their mate or until they die, but an increasing numberhave taken to settling. It’s not like we can’t feel emotions for other people. So it’s not uncommon these days for a shifter to let themselves develop what you might call a strong-enough love for someone who isn’t their mate, and then to stay with that person. Maybe make a life.” He paused, drew a quiet breath, but didn’t otherwise move. “You are my predestined mate. And now that I’ve found you, I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you to accept me.”
Chapter Five
Amaia’s head spun wildly, leaving her little choice other than to sit. To her surprise, Rhys recused himself to the recliner she more often considered her reading chair. It wasn’t the most overstuffed, encompassing piece of furniture, and Rhys’s large size immediately dwarfed it. The sight was almost comical, and in a way, helped drag Amaia back from the proverbial ledge of an emotional freak-out.
She tucked her arms around her middle, fingers twisting in her shirt, and firmly told herself that the physical distance between them was a good thing. The way her body and the less rational side of her mind seemed to yearn for this man was frightening. It also forced her to wonder if his obscenely crazy words could be true. She didn’t know how to ask, to articulate her confusion, so she did the next best thing. “So what’s your plan, then?” She swallowed as confusion bled into twisted excitement. “Are you just going to insert yourself into my life until I can’t move forward without you? What if humans don’t respond to this destined mate thing the same way?”
His eyes sparked, and his lips twitched up in a grin. Something about her words amused him. “In a manner of speaking, that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he said. “It doesn’t matter how ordinary humans handle anything, because you, Amaia, are the daughter of a werewolf.” She stopped breathing, but he kept going. “You’re a hybrid. The instincts are there.”
Amaia shot back to her feet, nearly tripping over her coffee table. “No. There’s no way,” she said. “How would Inotknow about that?”
Rhys’s expression cooled to neutral. “That’s what I was getting at earlier,” he said. “Your father was a wolf, and a member of my pack. Your mother was human. She took you away when you were young, and maybe they’d kept you in thedark about shifters before or maybe she somehow convinced you you’d imagined it all, but obviously she put in some work to keep the truth of your heritage from you.” He stood as well and stepped closer again, holding her gaze. “You were born into the Marlow pack, Amaia. That means you are a part of it until the day you die. No matter where you go. Marlow is your home, and whether you accept me or not, you can always return there.”
Amaia wanted to argue with him. She wanted to shout in outrage for his implications about her mother. She wanted to insist that surely, even as a little girl, she’d known her father well enough to know if he spent time as a wolf. But the certainty in his eyes made her hold her tongue, and when silence settled, her mind began to wander.
Usually, when she thought back on her early childhood, she got lost in memories of her father and their small, happy family. She remembered laughter and sunshine through trees and the comfort of her dad’s hugs. When she tried harder to think back, she could sometimes recall the sense of another presence, something she couldn’t see or identify. But it was an awareness that brought her peace. She pictured her parents, together, but could never see it clearly.
Her therapist had been right. She’d really pushed those memories away.
Amaia sighed as she looked up at Rhys. “It’s just a blur,” she said. “Little bits of my dad or pieces of feelings. I remember stories Mom told me later, and some pictures we kept, but that’s it.”
