Page 29 of You're Not My Mate

“I don’t know what I want, Rocco.”

She pulled out of his arms and kept walking.

“You don’t know what you want?” he asked, and followed her, once again taking hold of her hand.

Rose was tempted to shrug him off, but then she stopped herself. There was no problem with holding hands. It was nice, she liked it.

She stopped and turned toward him. “I thought I did know what I wanted. To find my mate, settle down, maybe have a few kids.”

“And you don’t want that now?”

Staring at him now, she saw his frown and sighed. “I think I do, but—and this is not me being difficult—but your reaction to me has changed things a little.”

“I fucked up. I know this.”

“Yeah, you did, and in that fucking up, it has made me question everything I want. I’m sorry.”

They got to the entrance of the cages.

“We better go and tell him the good news.”

Arriving at the cages, Rose made her way down the small steps. Graham was sitting, reading a book, the small book light she’d given him glowing in the darkness.

“Hey,” she said.

He dropped the book.

“Hey, yourself.”

“So, I’ve got some good news.” She held up the keys. “You’re getting to come and live with me for awhile.”

“You’re springing me out of here?”

She chuckled.

“Not quite,” Rocco said, coming up behind her. “We’re getting you out of here. It’s going to be a day-by-day thing. You and me will be living with Rose, and we’re going to see how you get on, how you handle things. You can’t be with the pack yet. You pose too much of a risk.”

“Will it help if I tell you I’m feeling fine?” Graham asked.

“No,” Rose and Rocco said in unison.

“Look at the two of you, finishing each other’s sentences. That is so cute. Does anyone else know you’re mates yet?”

“No,” Rose said.

“They will soon,” Rocco said.

She wanted to dispute him, but instead slid the key into the lock. “Why don’t you gather everything up, and then we’ll head to my place?”

Chapter Nine

Three Days Later

Rocco stepped onto the back porch and the moment he smelled the coffee, he felt at ease. Graham was curled up on a chair, complete with a mug of coffee and a blanket. He’d been tense the last three days, living with Rose, aware of another man close to her. The only reason he’d been able to cope was the fact Graham had no scent, which was fucking weird.

He didn’t like the camouflage that had clearly been added to Graham’s DNA, or whatever kind of shit Milton messed with.

“Morning,” Graham said. “I made a whole potful.”

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