Page 22 of Pack Kasen: Part 1

Marisa is getting attached. Which is a problem. There’s a reason I don’t stay with a woman for longer than a couple of months, and this is it. She’s starting to get comfortable in her position. That was before she sat by my side for almost every meal, and before she started trying to steal food from my plate.

I don’t want her to get comfortable.

I’d move on, find another pack member to have fun with for a couple of months, but inevitably I’d have the same problem later down the line.

They want more. I never do. I’m holding out for the real deal, the thing all shifters dream of but not all find. My mate. The woman that the universe has created just for me.

Every part of her will call to every part of me, and I’ll want to put my mark on her. A couple of the mated members of my pack say the itch to bite her will surprise me with its intensity.

At 29, that hasn’t come close to happening with any woman yet. Maybe it never will. Maybe I should settle for Marisa, bite her and claim her as a chosen mate, instead of hoping to meet my fated mate.

Then there’s the feral.

I’d snarled at Finan in my meeting room, surprising him and me.

We’ve danced that same dance over and over. We bring back any unusual feral to the pack; I talk to them in the meeting room, sitting in the throne that used to be my father’s and scaring them a little. Finan makes them think they have a potential ally so we can get more information from them.

The chain is a reminder that they are a prisoner here.Myprisoner. It’s made of real silver. Just enough to prevent a shift, but not enough to do damage to their wolf. That’s what the cage is for.

Then, once we’ve found out whatever mystery compelled me to bring them to Burning Wood, we kill them. Or I kill them.

Finan had knocked the feral unconscious, as usual, and I’d snarled at Finan like he’d done something wrong.

Why the fuck had I done that?

The run had been an attempt to gain clarity. I’ve been out for hours and I’m no clearer than when I left.

When I finish in the shower, I walk out, snatching a towel that I start to dry myself with until I spot Finan, who hasn’t left.

He’s standing in my bedroom, holding a ringing cell phone.

Grumbling, I snatch it out of his hand.

“I don’t want your sister,” I snarl.

Marisa, on her way into my bedroom with a flirtatious smile curving her full lips, freezes.

Then she starts walking toward me.

I shake my head, reposition my cell phone between my ear and shoulder, and point at the door. “Not now,” I mouth.

She pouts.

I don’t lower my arm.

She swings around and walks out with a little more sway in her hips than usual. Any other day, I’d appreciate that hip swing. Not today.

Today my brain feels scrambled. I head for the dresser, phone still tucked between my ear and shoulder as I dry myself.

“What’s wrong with Shira?” Tagge snarls back.

As my closest neighbor, my response to his question could cause me a lot of problems.

Finan materializes next to me and gives me a pointed look.

I know exactly what that look is communicating: whatever you’re about to say,don’t.

“There’s nothing wrong with her. But…” I pull out a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt from the dresser, tossing both on to the bed and wishing I hadn’t answered this phone.

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