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“So, what are you waiting for?”
“My wolf—” he breaks off, doesn’t finish the sentence.
“What?”
“I can’t take a mate,” he says at last.
I blink fast, trying to grasp his meaning. “You’ve never had a mate?”
“Nope.” He is looking down at me, tenderly, wistfully.
My heart beats fast. “In your whole life?”
“I thought I met my mate when I was young, younger than most. But it didn’t work out.”
“And now?”
“Oh, right now, I want to fuck you more than I’ve wanted anything in the whole world. But I’m scared my wolf will destroy us both.”
“B-but—” I stutter. “Why would it if you want this?”
“I was wrong before.” He looks so sad, it pierces my heart. “If I’m wrong again, I won’t make it out this time. Because there’s no knowing what my wolf would do.”
“Why would you be wrong?” Ridiculously, my lip trembles. I like him so much, and I can’t stand the thought that I might make him sick somehow.
“Because I don’t trust it anymore.”
I hardly dare speak the words. “What does it tell you?”
He gives a low growl. “It says you’re mine. It’s been saying that ever since you opened those beautiful green eyes of yours and looked at me.”
“I feel the same,” I manage to say.
“You do?”
“When you pulled me out of the riverbank, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning.”
“You’re mine, little wolf, I feel it deep in my bones,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “But I fear the fates. I fear I wasn’t destined to understand them.”
“What happened last time?” Jealousy burns inside me. I don’t want to hear about him being intimate with another female. But I have to know.
He sighs, draws away from me and lies on his back again, staring up at the sky.
“My wolf is a difficult one,” he says, after a pause so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
I close my eyes, buffeted by this torrent of fire and ice. His cock still hard, ready for me. And I sense his need, crackling through his body like electricity.
He’s into me, but he hates that he’s into me? I’m so confused.
“We’d better getyou to bed,” he says.
I sit up, pushing off the blanket, and a breeze whips up, chilling me all the way through. I’m bone tired. It’s been a long, long day.
I follow Beau down from the roof. He helps me descend the steps, his hands warm on my hips. The way he touches me—it’s like his hands were made for me.
Inside the bus, he pulls on a handle on the wall, and a narrow bed springs down, set on some ingenious contraption. He lays a pillow and comforter on top.
“There you go,” he says. Then he rummages around in a cupboard and pulls out a bunch of canvas and poles. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
