Page 9 of Fated to Him

“We need to talk,” he says.

Those were not the words I was expecting. “You licked me, and now you want to talk?”

He’s crazy. There’s no way he isn’t crazy.

He cocks his head, still scrutinizing me. “You were going into shock.”

“So you thought turning into a wolf would solve the problem?” I snap, which isn’t like me. “Sorry.”

My apology is automatic. A symptom of years working in hospitality. I honestly can’t remember the last time I apologized and truly meant it.

He snorts in amusement. “Well, you shouldn’t be. Some people deserve it.”

“People like you?” I ask, still wondering why I’m not clubbing him over the head and making a run for it.

“Occasionally,” he admits.

“What happens now?” I lick my dry lips, instantly regretting it when it triggers a flare of heat in his gray-green stare.

“Now, I guide you through your first shift. We mate. And we lead Pack Arleigh.”

It’s almost too much to process. One word sticks out, though. Maybe because of those licks.

“Mate?” My eyebrows must touch my hairline as my cheeks burn. “I hope you don’t mean?—”

He leans close. “I do. That comes later. First, you’re going to tell me about your dad. Then you’re going to tell me why you have hair like a wolf and how you smell human even after I bit you.”

4

MALAKHI

Icatch the exact moment Delilah’s expression shutters. “What about my dad?”

So there’s a story there. I intend to hear it.

“The shifter gene is strongest in males. If your mom was one of us, she’d be living in a pack, and so would you,” I explain, knowing she’s only asking to delay talking. The evasiveness in her gaze all but confirms it.

“Why would she be living in a pack?” she asks.

“Women are rare. We don’t let them wander around packless.” I stifle the urge to touch her. If I start touching, I won’t be able to take my hands off her. “I know what you’re doing. Tell me about your dad.”

Her gaze slides away from mine.

I grip her chin and turn her face right back. “Talk.”

Her jaw hardens. “I’m cold,” she bites out. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to?—”

“No, you’re not,” I interrupt. “We always run hot. Talk. Now.”

Her anger is…arousing. I should probably put some clothes on before she notices exactly how arousing it is.

As she stares at me, I read the fight in her eyes and her desire to not give me what I want.

I let her see my iron will. It’s why I lead.

“He died,” she finally admits.

“How?”

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