Page 15 of Fated to Him

I eye him a little longer. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

He shakes his head. “I was on my way to doing it before.”

“Because he tried to grab me in the bar?” I dip my spoon into my bowl of chili but make no move to eat it. My stomach is suddenly cramping. I place my palm over it, feel it churning, and hope I’m not about to throw up over this table.

“Nope. I planned to kill him for looking at you the way he was.”

“And what way was that?” I ask, recalling how Jerry was staring at my boob. When he did it, it made me feel dirty.

So why is it that when Malakhi noticed you were naked, you liked it much better?

“As if he had a right to touch you. Only one person does,” Malakhi says.

I don’t need to ask him who has a right to touch me. His possessive stare makes it clear exactly who he means. Him.

I look away, releasing a quiet sigh of relief when my belly stops cramping. “Do the people in town know you’re a werewolf?” I ask.

He rises and crosses over to the pot. I watch him refill his bowl, amazed he could empty it so fast. “Nope. And it’s a shifter, not a werewolf. You want more?”

I glance down. More? I haven’t even started.

“So, what do you do? Just run in the forest as wolves and howl at the moon?” I ask instead.

He returns to the table with another full bowl of chili. “Pretty much. Except for the howling part.”

“So you don’t need to?” I ask, still struggling to believe that this is a conversation I’m having for real and not in a dream.

“Need to? Nope. Do I like to sometimes? Sure.”

My curiosity piqued, I cock my head. “Why do you like to howl?”

He shrugs. “Just do. You’re not eating.”

I’m bursting with questions, is what I am. “You called me your mate before. What did you mean?”

He stares across the table at me. “That’s not a conversation we should have at the dining table, Delilah.”

I don’t dare ask him where we should have this conversation. The heat in his eyes is practically screaming bedroom.

He nods at my bowl. “Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Why do I suddenly feel like I’m burning up?

It’s like I’m sweating from the inside out. My arms are itchy like I have ants crawling over me. I want to scratch, but with the way Malakhi is studying me, he’ll want to know what’s going on with me.

As if he can tell how hard I’m fighting not to scratch my irritated, burning skin, he gives me a probing look. “Your skin is flushed.”

I recall what he said about my failure to turn into a wolf. Is that what’s happening now?

Don’t be ridiculous, Delilah. You are not turning into a wolf.

“This sweatshirt is thick.” I search his gaze. “You said my dad was like you. If he was, why aren’t I like you already?”

He inhales a second bowl of chili and returns for a third. I don’t know where he’s packing it because there’s not an ounce of fat on him. He’s all toned, hard muscle.

“You might’ve been dormant,” he says.

I go back to picking at my chili. “Is that a regular thing, then?”

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