Page 22 of The Wolf's Mate

“I didn’t.”

“Well, you should.”

“Do you want to bite me, Dove?”

Heat pools between my legs at his suggestive words. Despite my annoyance, my body reacts to him on a carnal level. The bond takes my reluctant attraction to him and amplifies everything tenfold.

“I’m just saying I shouldn’t be the only one with a mark, like I’m property,” I mumble, the bravado from earlier leaving.

The bastard only grins. Seems like the only time he smiles is when he pisses me off. He doesn’t reply as he pushes past me to open the door to our room. My body goes stiff as I see him enter. “You’re staying in here?”

Rip makes his way to the fireplace, grabbing the stoker that lies against the wall to poke at the already blazing fire. He watches the wood burn for a moment before putting the stoker back.

“It’s my room. Where else would I stay, Dove?” he asks like I should have already known that. I just expected him to stay somewhere else like he did last night. The large room suddenly feels too cramped.

Rip then walks into the bathroom, leaving me to my own devices. Today’s events hit me all at once, and I bite back a sob. I ignore the prickle of tears stinging my eyes as I find a neatly folded nightgown on the bed. I presume one of Rip’s staff members left it for me. I pick up the delicate fabric, the soft silk caressing my skin. It isn’t something I would normally wear. It’s a little too provocative to wear to bed with a near stranger, but I’ll deal.

I listen for any movement that Rip might come out soon, and when I’m certain he won’t walk in on me butt-ass naked, I strip. Getting the dress off is no easy task, and I’m certain I hear the undeniable rip of thread. The tulle on the skirt tangles around my legs more than once, and I barely save myself from face-planting.

By the time I get the gown on, I’m panting like I just ran a mile and not simply undressed.

Just as I thought, the gown barely covers my ass, and the neckline is cut low. One wrong move in the middle of the night, and a boob will pop out. The last thing I want to do is give my new mate a show he doesn’t deserve. My tits are nice, and it’s a privilege to get to see them.

After kicking my clothes out of the way, I climb into bed, facing away from the bathroom door. Thoughts of Michael and my rushed mating ceremony come to mind. Everything is happening so fast, and I’m not even certain I’m safe here like Ender said I would be.

Despite my best efforts, tears run down my cheeks.

I hate crying, but I’m not against it. I firmly believe crying is a show of struggling to win a battle—where nothing else will purge the emotions swirling and thrashing inside you. But for me personally, I hate crying. It’s not cute. It’s snotty. And I feel so small.

The door opens behind me, and I hear Rip moving around. Soon the bed dips, and my body immediately tenses. A silly part of me wonders if I stay completely still if he’ll notice me. But, of course he will. He can sense me now, not to mention I’m a big blob in the middle of his bed.

“Hettie…are you crying?” I can’t tell if he sounds horrified or concerned. Probably the former. Who wants a strange woman you just had to mate for life crying in your bed? Sounds like a real downer.

“No.” Even as I say it, another tear rolls down my cheek, and I quickly move my hand to wipe it away.

Not quick enough. Rip’s arm shoots out and catches my wrist. He is gentle but firm as he rolls me over in bed. My tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes are a dead giveaway to how I’m feeling. For once, I don’t see the teasing or apathetic façade Rip usually wears around me. He looks…pained. I can’t help but flinch.

Instantly, Rip drops my hand and pulls back. His pained expression is long gone, and through our bond, I feel his anger get past his defenses. I’m not sure how to react as he storms around the bed and all but drags me up into a sitting position.

“What the hell?!” I gasp, confused and angry by his reaction.

“That’s the third time.” His jaw is set in a hard line, eyes dark with something I can’t quite explain.

“Third time for what?” I swear, if this man plans to spend the rest of my life confusing me, I might just let Michael have me so I can get away from this.

“The third time you’ve flinched when I touched you. Have I threatened to hurt you?”

“No, but?—”

“Have I made any attempt at hurting you?”

“No, but?—”

“Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

“For fuck’s sake, Rip?—”

“Answer the damn question, Hettie.” His voice is unnaturally low. Never once does he take his eyes off me, even when I squirm and try to move away. He keeps me locked into place.

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