Page 48 of The Wolf in My Tavern

It is not fear that keeps me immobile, though, but more a dangerous sense of curiosity.

“Imprinting,” he says, his voice a purr beside my ear, “is when a shifter’s beast latches onto another with a mind to make them his mate. That is the simple definition that could be understood by a human. To us, it is far deeper than that. More a compulsion, a strong, almost undeniable one, to claim, to bite, and to breed.”

They are almost the exact words that Callum used when he claimed me. They ignite the same fire, one that makes my stomach take a slow dip.

His breath tickles my ear, but he does not touch me again.

I wish that he would.

A sweet, purring sound emanates from his chest, and I instantly soften, fighting the urge to lean toward him and rub my cheek against his chest so that I might better hear that beautiful sound.

“But you can deny it,” I say, and how those words cut me. “And then, when you leave, your wolf will find somebody else.”

He leans back a little and slowly shakes his head. “Nay, lass. When a wolf imprints, as mine has done, being prepared to kill for you, there is no turning back.”

I swallow, searching his eyes, trying to understand what should be simple but failing.

“Never?” I ask.

“Never,” he confirms.

“And what about the man?” I whisper. “Does he imprint, too?”

His nod is slow. “The man and wolf are aligned in this.”

His tone is almost bitter. He doesn’t want to want me. It is some freak of nature that he does.

A sense of deep sorrow envelops me, both his and mine.

“I love Callum,” I say.

His growl is a warning that I do not heed, and I admit, “But I am also drawn to you.”

“Do not tempt me, wench,” he growls.

Is that what I am doing? Tempting him?

I never meant to. All I know is that I was drawn to him from that very first day—filled with curiosity for sure, but also with feminine interest in such a powerful male.

I love Callum. I know I do. So how can I covet another man?

“You think I resist you because of that whelp?” His lips curl, bringing the first frisson of genuine fear. “Make no mistake, he would not stop me. I have dreamed many a night since I met you of rutting you while he lays bleeding on the floor.”

I shake my head, not wanting to believe him. “You won’t hurt Callum. If you hurt him, it would hurt me.”

“Maybe not kill him.” His lips tug up on one side in a distinctly wolf-like expression as he leans in closer again. “Maybe I would just teach him that his place is below mine. Wolves are known to take more than one mate… not that I ever envisioned such a life, for I am too possessive by nature to share… But little matters once a wolf has imprinted. I would claim you. I want to. My wolf wants to, as well.”

My chest tightens, and my head spins as possibilities pound into me. Distantly, I know such hopes are wrong, for there is more than me to consider; there is the man I will wed in a matter of days, and who knows nothing of this secret longing I hide.

“But it is more complicated even than you and your blacksmith whelp,” he says ominously.

My jaw tightens. “I don’t appreciate you calling him that.”

His smirk turns sinister as his eyes lower to my lips. “I would do much worse than call the bastard names if you were mine. Yet you cannot be mine, for I already have a mate.”

He is mated?

His words wound me more than any blow could. Now everything makes sense: his distance—why he holds back. I should be relieved, for I will never need to confess my feelings to Callum. We can wed, and soon, I will forget all about Gray and this foolish infatuation.

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