Page 16 of Make Me Bleed

My mouth opens. I can’t find the words so I close it again.

And, oh, he doesn’t like that at all.

His forehead furrows. “You denyin’ me?” He taps the scars on his throat, his voice dropping an octave. “After you just gave me these?”

I’m not the only one who notices his sudden mood. Bridget’s fingers spark. They’re not quite flames, but the promise of them setting loose from the witch at the slightest provocation. Next to her, Conall stiffens, his own protective instincts kicking in.

Of course. He has an upset bear in his territory… in hishome… with his own mate right there. Whether or not Hank is playing the part of the ‘nice guy’ with his ‘aw shucks’ demeanor, I don’t buy it when he says he wasn’t threatening Conall. Hewas, but only in the way a predator takes his job to care for his mate super seriously.

“You bit him?” Bridget squeals, turning to me, a flash of relief crossing her pretty face as I sheepishly nod. “You finally got blood? At least something good came out of this.”

“I do scent Elise on the bear,” adds Conall. “Those marks are from her.”

Hank crosses his arms over his chest, expression defiant. “And I kept them because they’re to commemorate the first time my mate marked me.”

I figured as much.

He has Bridget’s attention again. “How did you know? If you were sleeping in the woods when she bit you, how do you know she’s your mate?”

Unless she’s actively conjuring fire, it’s impossible to tell that she’s a witch. Most magic is like that. It’s hidden, and though I’ve heard some witches have a unique tell that tips off some other supes, the rare elemental witch isn’t one of them. I went six months before I knew what Bridget was—mainly becauseshedidn’t know, either—and even Conall believed she was human at first. Hank didn’t react when Bridget opened the door, showing off her fireballs, and I’m not sure if it’s because he wasn’t worried about her blasting him—or if he was too busy searching the house for his missing mate to even notice.

He gives her an assessing look now, probably wondering why a female a good head shorter than him is glaring up at him like that.

He has to be at least a foot taller than me. I’d put him at about 6’5” in his bare feet, everything about him so incredibly huge, I feel so small in his presence. That could be a good thing. As short as I am, most of my lovers are bigger males. I enjoy the sensation of being wrapped up in their arms, spooned from behind, loved and adored after a good fucking.

If Hank is like most other shifter males, I’m his only chance to fuck at all. That’s assuming the bear shifter that Conall describes as solitary didn’t enjoy himself with other females while waiting to find his fated mate—and one knowing look as our eyes meet again… me looking up, Hank peering down at me… makes me believe that my assumption isright.

There’s hope in those eyes. Satisfaction. Lust, yes, but also pleading. He wants me to believe him. He’s just as scared that I won’t. That I’ll reject him, and he’ll never be able to claim his fated mate.

Solitary… how lonely is this male? Living out alone in the woods, spending his days transformed as his bear… can I be his savior at the same time as he savesme?

Even if I can’t bring myself to deny him, I can’t deny the fact that he at least believes we’re meant to be together.

Buthow?

I swallow. “Bridget’s got a point,” I say softly. “Are you… are you sure?”

I am. That’s the worst part. From the moment I took that first sip, a part of me instinctively recognized that the bear was mine. I want to blame the thrall… but even if I could charm him, I can’t charm myself. I thought he was my beloved because of his taste.

And Hank?

He seems to readily accept that I’m his mate because?—

“Only one thing is powerful enough to yank me out of my hibernation: the scent of my mate.” He breathes in deep. “Lise smells like the first snowfall mixed with honey and something I can’t quite place that makes my mouth water. All I know is that it’s made for me, and it belongs to my mate.”

Bridget told me that Conall said vampires stink like old meat and ice and rust due to our steady diet of blood. There’s a reason shifters refer to my kind as ‘corpses’. Even born vampires present as dead to their kind… and Hank wants me to believe that he likes the way I smell?

If I’m his mate, he wouldadoreit…

Bridget scoffs. “Bears still hibernate in May?”

Hank’s eyebrows draw together. “The technical term for what I was doin’ is torpor, actually. It’s still a deep enough sleep that I didn’t know she was there until her scent filtered in through my nose… right about the time she sucked my throat and gave me the biggest hard-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Spots of pink appear on Hank’s tanned cheeks. Ruffling his hair, he hides his embarrassment behind the longish strands that fall in front of his eyes.

“Beggin’ your pardon,” he mumbles, addressing me. “I shoulda known better. You’re my mate, but that doesn’t mean I have to be so forward with you yet.” He gestures at his jeans. “See? I figured a male needed to be partly dressed to come callin’ and bring his mate back to his den.”

I instantly go pale.

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