Page 57 of Mated Exile

Then I study him for a long moment and finally ask, "Would you be okay with being one of my mates?"

Lance arches a brow. "I think I made it pretty clear just now that I'm more than okay with it."

He helps me pull my pants up and retie them around my waist as I clarify, "I meant, would you be okay with sharing me? After all, I don't know if I can pick. And from what I've read about hybrids, it seems we oftendon'tpick, though I'm not sure why."

"The elders would know why," Lance points out, drawing me against his chest as I shiver a little. "I've been thinking for a while that we should try waking them up. Your father tried a few times—he thought they might be able to fix the curse—but was unable to wake them."

Our elders are ancient werewolf spirits who guard both the Mating Circle and the Elder Tombs, where our alphas are buried. They rest in carved statues made of a stone whose creation has been lost to our packs. From time to time their guidance and knowledge has helped werewolves, especially when we've fought humans or vampires, but they're hard to wake and often cryptic.

"Doesn't it take an alpha to draw them out?" I ask, craning my neck up to look into his face as his hands settle on my lower back. "We don't have one of those."

"We could ask the visiting alpha." Lance sighs. "You're right, though. But it's worth a try."

"It is," I agree, twisting my hand in his shirt. "You still didn't answer my question, though."

Curving a hand at the base of my head, Lance admits, "I do wish you could be mine, andonlymine. But I don't mind sharing you with the worthy. As long as that's what they are—and as long as I always get to have this time with you, where it's just the two of us."

Relaxing against him, I admit, "That's what I want, too."

"Then consider me in." He drops a kiss to the top of my head, and I burrow into his warmth. "Whatever makes you happy, Delilah. I just want you to be safe. Almost losing you made me realize what a mistake I'd made by not acting on my attraction."

Curious, I ask, "Then why haven't you acted on it sooner?"

"You hadn't made it clear what you wanted." He draws me tighter against him, until I'm surrounded by the smell of fresh snowfall and clear mint. "I meant what I said: I only act on attraction when it's wanted. What I showed you tonight is just a fraction of what I want to do with you. Whenever you're ready for more, all you have to do is ask for it."

Remembering the pulse of his confident fingers against my body and the smack of his hand against my ass, which still smarts pleasurably, I shiver in anticipation. "I plan on asking soon, then."

Lance chuckles.

After a long moment of holding each other, we part. He grabs our jackets and slings them over his shoulders. I pick up the flashlights and turn one on, pointing its beam ahead of us in the dark.

Throwing his free arm around my shoulder, Lance draws me against his side. I look over at him and smile gratefully at his warmth—then pause, my eyes darting down to something visible just at the edge of my flashlight's beam.

It's a shimmer thread of barely-visible light, colored a deep blue and dancing between us. As I blink, it winds its way around us, then vanishes beneath our skin. The sight of it sends a shiver through me that makes Lance pull me closer to him for warmth. He doesn't seem to have noticed it exists.

I've never seen a blue mating thread like that before. Silver and gold, yes. But never blue.

I don't know what it means, so I keep my lips firmly together, keeping it to myself. What I do know is this: a thread like that doesn't just spontaneously show up from a small connection. Threads can be built with time, but there's a reason why we spend four years between choosing an intended and making an official claim.

A thread doesn't grow that fast unless fate is somehow involved.

Twenty-Five

Roarke

I'm in Delilah's old bedroom, holding a hammer above my head, eyes narrowed on a stubborn piece of the new windowsill, when a voice makes me jump out of my skin.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

Whirling, I find myself standing face-to-face with Delilah herself. She has her long maroon hair pulled up in a thick pony, and is wearing simple, casual clothes for working on the house. Even their loose fit can't hide the curve of her hips or the swell of her breasts. The scent of her washes over me, dark chocolate and smooth as silk. I swallow, the wolf inside me pacing back and forth with want and need.

"C'mon in," I tell her, clenching my fist behind my back until my nails press into my palm, sharp and painful. The pain helps push down the overwhelming feelings that surge through me whenever I look her way. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it."

She enters the room, pauses for a moment, then closes the door behind her back. I swallow, remembering the last time we were alone together in a room with a closed door. Her green eyes flit across my face, that brown chip in the right iris a lovely little flaw, as she chews thoughtfully on her full bottom lip.

My eyes follow the motion, arousal and heat licking within me as I imagine that it's my own teeth sucking on the pink flesh of her mouth. I breathe in slowly through my nose, digging my nails deeper into my skin.

"Lance mentioned something last night, and it occurred to me that it might be a good idea, but I have no idea how to pull it off."

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