Page 64 of Frost and Felines

"Look at me," he commanded gently, lifting her chin with his finger. "Remember our deal? No more hiding. Not from each other."

She drew a shaky breath. "What if it's too soon? What if I'm not ready?"

"Then we don't do this today." His answer was immediate and firm. "We can wait another month, another year. Whatever you need."

"It's not that I don't want to marry you," she rushed to clarify, her fingers tightening around his. "I love you, Kieran. More than I thought possible. And I know—" her voice caught slightly, "I know Eli would have wanted me to be happy again."

"But?" he prompted.

"What if I disappoint you?" The vulnerability in her voice made his chest ache. "What if I'm not enough for you?"

Kieran nearly laughed at the absurdity of her fears. "Sweetheart, that's impossible. You could never disappoint me, and you are more than enough for me."

"And what if—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "what if I lose you like I lost him? I couldn't bear it, Kieran. I couldn't survive that grief again."

Now he understood the storm clouds. The recognition of her greatest fear hit him like a physical blow. Kieran felt a primal need to protect her radiate through his core. This woman—his heart—stood before him with fears that he could crush with his bare hands if only they were tangible.

He cupped her face between his hands, his blue eyes locking on hers. "Listen to me, Mallory Gale. I'm not going anywhere if I can help it. Tigers mate for life, and I've chosen you to be my mate." He pressed his forehead against hers. "You're stuck with me. For better or worse."

He felt her tremble slightly beneath his touch, and outside, the thunderclouds paused their advance, hovering uncertainly.

"My kind doesn't surrender what belongs to them," he continued, his thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones. "And make no mistake, you belong with me now. Just as I belong with you."

Vulnerability crossed her features. "But Eli?—"

"Was taken by something beyond his control or yours," Kieran said firmly. "I'm not planning on getting sick or leaving you, sweetheart. In fact, I've got about a hundred years of plans that involve waking up next to you every single morning."

The smallest of smiles quirked at the corners of her mouth. "A hundred years?"

"At minimum." He grinned, the predatory confidence returning to his expression. "My grandfather lived to a hundred and twenty-eight. I've got excellent genes."

A laugh escaped her, light and surprised, like sunshine breaking through clouds. Outside, Kieran noticed the storm beginning to recede.

"Now there's my girl," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. "The woman who faced down a rune witch and saved my inn. The woman who rebuilt me when I didn't even realize how broken I truly was."

He kissed her then, deeply and thoroughly, claiming her mouth with unrestrained possession. His hands slid down to her waist, careful not to disturb her wedding dress but making it clear that nothing would separate them—not fear, not the past, not even death itself when it eventually came.

When he finally pulled back, the storm clouds had disappeared completely, leaving only the brilliant blue sky he'd paid a meteorologist to guarantee.

"I'll see you at the altar," he whispered against her lips. "Don't keep me waiting too long or I'll come find you again."

Her eyes opened, that perfect light blue that reminded him of summer skies after rain. "Promise?"

"Always," he said softly. "In this life and whatever comes after."

With a final quick kiss, Kieran slipped back toward the door, pausing for a second to say over his shoulder, "Oh, and Mallory?"

She looked up, her expression open and trusting in a way he had spent a year and a half earning.

"I expect at least three dances at the reception. And zero storms unless they're the kind we make together." He winked and disappeared through the door before she could respond, hearing her laughter follow him into the hallway.

Kieran watched with fierce pride as Mallory glided down the aisle toward him. The afternoon sun cast a golden halo around her platinum hair, and her light blue eyes never left his. Not a single cloud marred the perfect sky above their outdoor ceremony—a testament to her control and her happiness.

His chest swelled with possessive satisfaction. This remarkable woman had chosen him, just as he had chosen her. The tiger inside him rumbled with contentment, recognizing its mate.

When she reached him, he took her hands in his. The scent of her—rain and lightning and something uniquely, perfectly Mallory—filled his senses.

"You look absolutely breathtaking," he whispered, his voice a low growl meant only for her.

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