Page 26 of Fated to Him

A bitter scent snakes around us, almost masking his delicious cedar scent. I’m trying to work out what it is when he scowls down at me. “You weren’t afraid of Jerry or Ferris,” he says, still scowling.

“Who’s Ferris?” I ask.

“The shifter who attacked you. So you shouldn’t be scared of me. Stop it,” he orders.

So that’s what that scent is. My fear. Strange.

I wrinkle my brow. “You’re ordering me not to be afraid of you?”

He nods once, a jerky motion.

I ask myself for the thousandth time how my life twisted so sharply to the left that I don’t recognize any part of it. Or me. “Well, it doesn’t work like that.”

“It should.” And then he waits with an air of expectation for me to stop being afraid of him.

The rational part of my brain reminds me that I turned into a wolf, and I’ve yet to react as any normal person would about an impossible life-changing event like that.

I’m asking myself why I’m not pushing the big, scowling shifter off me and running for the hills when Malakhi lowers his head and licks my throat.

My stomach clenches. “What are you doing?” my voice is breathless, too high, and, I fear, reveals how much of an effect that brief caress had on me.

“Tasting my mate.” His voice is anything but breathless. It’s husky and determined.

He lowers his head again. I lean away, pushing on his chest. “Stop.”

To my surprise, he does. At once.

“You don’t like me touching you.” He sounds surprised that I wouldn’t.

Is he in the habit of women falling at his feet? Are they all grateful for his touch?

A new feeling snakes through me, one I’m not used to. It’s prickly and sharp. This man practically kidnapped me. I refuse to believe I’m jealous of the women who came before me. “Get off me.”

He slides a hand around my neck, forming a loose collar like he’s done before, as his eyes sweep over my face. A flicker of surprise—and pleasure?—chases away his scowl. “I don’t want other women. I want you. My woman. My mate. You.”

“Territorial,” I whisper, remembering something else that a bar patron told me about wolves. Maybe it also explains why his hold on me feels so possessive.

He cocks his head.

“Wolves are territorial,” I explain. “A guy in a bar told me that before.”

His scowl returns, more intense than before. “What did this guy look like? Did he touch you?”

“No, he didn’t…” My voice trails off, and my eyes widen in surprise. “You’re jealous.”

“Damn right, I’m jealous. You’re mine, Delilah Stacey.” He lowers his head and kisses me hard on the lips. “No one touches you but me.”

My lips are still prickling, burning from his kiss. “I’m not a thing to claim.”

“No,” he agrees, as his eyes darken. “But you’re mine all the same.”

When he lowers his head again, he moves slower. An inch away, he halts. “You’re not telling me to stop, Delilah. Why is that?”

No, I’m not. And I don’t know why.

“Could it be because you like my touch, and you want more of it?” he asks as he drags his thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes tracking the motion.

I shake my head, swallowing a moan.

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