Page 19 of Posing for the Artist Wolf

I picked up a tangled mess of Christmas lights, my fingers working to separate the strands. “My world isn’t gentle,” I told her. “There are pockets of goodness, like here. Rafe’s all right. The Hollow wolves aren’t likely to murder anyone for fun.”

I freed a section of lights, letting them dangle as I continued working. “The Silver River pack I grew up in—Maddy and Shauna, too—was not like that. Strength was prized above all else, either personal or what could be bought with allies. A female’s worth came from who she mated and how many pups she bred.”

As expected, Claire’s scent and expression soured.

“Shauna ruined herself in their eyes by sleeping with me, but I took what was meant for an alpha. That meant death for me, and as an added ‘fuck you’, Bowen declared he’d mate Maddy as a trade.” I flexed my hand again. “Maddy got us out, but Shauna was left behind in that rat’s nest.”

I should have told her no, but then Bowen would have ruined her in other ways. I should have insisted she leave with us, only that would have revealed the plan before we packed our bags.

I cleared my throat again and reached for another box. A few loose ornaments mixed with castoff bits of fake foliage. I picked up a sprig of mistletoe and spun it between my fingers. “Shauna and her mate are getting out of the country and need a place to keep their heads down until the final paperwork comes through to travel. I owe it to her to see she gets to safety.”

The string of lights in Claire’s hands drooped with inaction, her hands trembling. Horror and sadness washed through her scent as she lifted her eyes to meet mine. “That’s why you think you deserved what happened to your hand.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Bowen broke it after he hunted us down, and my wolf has been spiraling into madness ever since.” I held out my hand. The softer skin of the top, marked up with thin lines. My palm where the scars were harder to see and easier to feel. “The culmination of a long series of fuckups.”

“No.” Her jaw tightened, and she huffed angrily as she adjusted her glasses. “You were trying to help someone. That’s admirable.”

I grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Her words washed over me, a soothing balm to the raw edges of my guilt. The understanding in her eyes, the softness in her voice—it was more than I deserved, but everything I craved.

A fraction of the weight piled on my chest eased. My wolf stirred, urging me to close the distance. To wrap her in my arms and never let someone so precious go.

Claire’s lips quirked in what might have been an attempt at a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just... maybe don’t wait two whole days to spill next time? I’ve had enough of secrets.”

I let out a strangled laugh, running a hand through my hair. “Deal.”

Her smile widened, this time seeming genuine. The last bit of weight slipped from my chest. If she forgave me, maybe, one day, I could forgive myself.

Mate.

My wolf circled inside me. The need to claim Claire was overwhelming. The urge to press her against the nearest wall, to sink my teeth into the smooth column of her throat and bind her to me forever, was almost too powerful to resist.

I wanted her. But I wanted her to want it, too.

Claire reached for a box of ornaments, pulling it onto her lap. As she rummaged through the contents, she stole little glances in my direction. My eyes lingered on her lips, the delicate curve of her collarbone. The slight peek of pale green bra strap at her shoulder.

Her scent shifted, a hint of nervousness mixing with the cinnamon and blackberries. She pulled out a worn, wooden candy cane and delicately traced the edges. “Earlier, you used the word ‘mate’,” she said, not looking up. “I’ve heard it before, but... it seems to mean something different to you. Is it some kind of wolf thing?”

The question sent my pulse racing. She didn’t want secrets, and I didn’t think I could force a lie from my lips. Not about this.

“Mates,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “can be like any relationship, really. Some wolves choose their mates for political reasons, some for love, some for convenience. It’s not always romantic.”

I paused, gauging Claire’s reaction. She nodded, encouraging me to continue.

“But for the lucky few,” I said, my voice softening, “there’s something more. Fated mates. It’s... it’s like finding your soulmate, but deeper. When a wolf finds their fated mate, it’s like the whole world shifts. Everything becomes clearer, brighter. It’s as if you’ve spent your whole life seeing in black and white, and suddenly, there’s color everywhere.”

Claire’s eyes widened, her lips slightly parted. “And how does a shifter know?”

I toyed with the sprig of mistletoe I’d been holding, twirling it between my fingers. “For some, it’s a slow awakening. A gradual pull toward someone that grows stronger over time.”

“And for others?” she breathed.

I held her gaze, and I felt that familiar pull. The one that had drawn me to her from the moment I first saw her. “For others, it’s an explosion. A scent. A touch, maybe. One moment you’re standing there, breathing in the air, and the next you’re on fire.”

Claire’s breath hitched, and I caught the faintest hint of arousal in her scent. Heat rolled through me, hard and fast. I shoved back on my inner wolf, fighting to keep control.

“Am I...” she hesitated, adjusting her glasses. “Am I your mate? Is that why you’ve been watching me?”

---