Page 27 of Pack Kasen: Part 2

But this is Kat. I can’t leave her to sleep on hardwood floors.

I walk over to my closet, pull it open, and grab the sweaters I wear in the winter when even a wolf gets cold.

I cross over to where Kat is curled up on the floor and drop the clothes beside her. “Here. Sleep on that if you won’t take the bed.”

She doesn’t lift her head, though her breathing isn’t steady enough for her to be sleeping yet.

She’s awake. Just ignoring me.

I get into bed, leaving my shorts on even though I usually sleep in the nude. Kat doesn’t need even more of a reason to keep her distance.

I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling, as I tell myself to sleep. That arguing with Kat about this will only drive her away.

You need to learn to pick your battles with her. And you need to earn her trust. She will never stay if she doesn’t trust you.

When I blink my eyes open, the room is almost pitch black. I must have fallen asleep. Turning my head, I focus on the small wolf.

She hasn’t slept on my pile of clothes. She’s still on the hardwood floors, and, for the longest time, I don’t know what to do.

My wolf growls at me to do something for our mate, but she wants nothing I give her.

If I pick her up and put her on the pile of clothes, she’ll bite me for it.

She wants an apology from me that I can’t give, and is rejecting every single thing I do to show her I won’t mess up again.

And she said she’s going back to the city. To start a new job. When I broke into her apartment, I had time to nose around her closets and drawers. She had new linens, pots and pans, sheets—everything necessary to start a new life.

And she intends to go back to it.

Without me.

The bonds between us are growing, as they should with fated mates, but she acts like they don’t exist. Because she can’t feel them?

Will I be the first shifter who has his mate walk away from him?

What if I lose her?

9

KAT

The creek is calling my name so loudly I couldn’t have ignored it even if I wanted to.

And soft grass beats an uncomfortable hardwood floor, which has me limping into Aren’s bathroom to shift into my human form, my bag between my teeth, to get ready for the day.

Aren barely stirs. I change into my jeans and T-shirt, braiding my damp hair as I make my way outside, bypassing the laughter and delicious food smells coming from the dining room.

I’ve been out here for nearly thirty minutes when Aren strides from the house, frowning until he sees me.

His concern melts away, and he walks toward me. He’s wearing sweatpants and a black wrinkled T-shirt with no shoes.

“You looked worried,” I say, turning away from him to stare at a tiny bird soaring into the sky.

Even in a wrinkled T-shirt, unkempt hair, and half-asleep, the man still looks hotter than he has a right to.

“Thought you might have run off.” He takes a seat close beside me.

I glare at him.

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