Page 50 of Chev's Mate

Now is not the time.

“I see no mess,” I say.

The place is spotless, and I find the few items lying about endearing. Her breakfast dishes are scattered around the kitchen, and a smile spreads over my lips as I imagine her rushing around cooking something delicious to eat. Sometimes she dances when she cooks, and I wonder if she did so this morning.

Vanessa shuts her front door, but she doesn’t lock it as she usually does. She doesn’t fully trust me, not yet, and she probably wants to keep an easy escape from me. I try not to let it hurt my feelings, and I stick close to the wall and try to make myself small. This is her home, her space of comfort and safety, and I don’t want to ruin it.

She brushes past me, her pace fast as she grabs and throws her dirty dishes into the sink. I want to help her, but I don’t think she’d appreciate me drawing attention to the small mess. She’s clearly embarrassed.

Instead, I take a seat on her couch.

I can’t tell if she’s genuinely anxious about the slightly dirty state of her home or if she’s trying to prolong our conversation, but I remain patient either way. I still don’t know what to say to her, and I use this time to find the most delicate words. I won’t go into detail. I refuse, and I will destroy every device in her home if I need to.

After several minutes, Vanessa finally meanders to the couch. Her hands are clasped tightly behind her back, and she scans me head to toe before taking a seat on my left. I’m not toofond of the distance between us, and I stare at the gap between our thighs before turning my upper body toward her. She copies me, and I take her hands.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

I can’t tell if her thundering heart is due to discomfort with our touching or just general anxiety. Vanessa glances at our connected hands before giving a jerky nod.

“What are they saying, Chev?” she asks.

I will not lie to her, but I won’t give details. They’re saying we’re not a good match because she’s not physically strong, and they assume I’m devastated by the fact that she’s my mate. They’re talking about how important physical intimacy is for shifters, and how disappointed I must be to have a mate who’s been taken before. I read one article that said I probably regret saving myself. It’s not true.

Their words make me sick.

“People are not being kind,” I admit.

Vanessa’s hands shake.

“But they’re wrong,” I assure her. “I’m so grateful for you, and I’m proud to be your mate. I’m happy with you, Vanessa. You’re enough. You’re always going to be enough—more than enough.”

Vanessa’s eyes grow wet. Why is she crying? I slide my hand down her arm, wanting to comfort her but unsure how. I usually wait for her to initiate our contact, but when tears begin to streak down her cheeks, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against my chest.

She folds into me, her cheek resting against my skin as she returns my hug. I slide my hand up and down her back, beyond pleased she’s letting this happen.

“Is there anything else?” she asks.

I hate this.

“They’re making assumptions about our level of intimacy,” I say.

Vanessa stiffens, but I’m not surprised. I had a feeling this was going to be the thing that hurt her most—mainly because the rumors are true. She and I are not intimate, and there are no plans for that to change.

I release Vanessa and kneel on the ground between her thighs. I want to hug her tightly, and I think that will be better done when I’m below her. She peers down at me as I wrap my arms around her torso. This position brings my face close to her breasts, but I pretend I don’t notice as she buries her face into the hair on top of my head.

Her body relaxes as my scent fills her lungs, which pleases my bear. Loud noises begin to pour from my chest, and Vanessa giggles when she hears them. It’s not the mating call my bear usually makes, this one deeper and slower. He’s trying to comfort her the only way he knows how, and it seems to be working as Vanessa turns to putty in my arms.

It’s lulling her to sleep.

I’m lulling my mate to sleep.

It’s the best feeling that exists, and I continue running a soothing hand up and down her back as she gradually goes limp. The mate bond hums between us, beyond content. It’s making me sleepy, too, but I force myself to remain awake.

I want to enjoy every second of this.

I hold Vanessa until long after the sky has grown dark. This is the best day of my life, and I bury my face in her hair and smell her for hours. My back aches from being in the same position for so long, and I grimace as I finally work up the strength to pull away and stretch my spine. The movement doesn’t wake Vanessa, but I’m sure that has to do with our bond. My scent has surrounded her, and she unconsciously feels safe.

I stare at her sleeping form, hesitating, before lifting her into my arms and carrying her upstairs.

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