Page 38 of Claimed By the Feral Wolves

How do you tell someone who thinks they’re your mate that you’re not looking for one at all?

I gesture for him to sit at the chair by the window and turn to the sink, rinsing a cloth until it’s warm and wet. Turning back to him, I settle in the chair across from his and work on his hands, dabbing and wiping to clear away the dirt and blood, frowning at the damage.

“Did you cut your hands on the berry bushes?”

“Yes,” he says, and it comes out as more of a grunt.

Then, why didn’t he stop? Why was it so important for him to get these berries for me?

“You probably could have borrowed some gloves,” I say, laughing lightly as I look back to him, but his eyes are focused on our hands and every point where they make contact.

For some reason, I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, and I try to ignore his hands, how I can feel his rough skin under the pads of my thumbs. How we both have worn hands, a similarity between us that’s hard to explain.

“I don’t like gloves,” he says, finally looking up at me, and those blue eyes hold me enthralled. “Ruins the feeling.”

Goosebumps break out over my skin, and I hurriedly return my attention to cleaning his hands. Because if I look him in the eyes, I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I know it won’t be anything good. This man knows how to weave a spell over me, and I’ll be damned if I let it pull me under.

Once I’m finished cleaning them with the cloth, I move across the room, depositing the cloth in my hamper and taking the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. I work on the deepest of the cuts, applying ointment and bandages. It’s partly for show—surely, as a feral, Xander’s cuts will heal by the timethe sun sets. But it only feels right to patch him up when he went through all of this just to get me some berries.

Glancing at the basket, I wonder if I could bother the cooks to make some jam, or maybe a pie. That would be a nice way to return the favor. Yes, I think I’ll make them into something for him. A gift, even though I’ll have to make it clear that it’s not intended as a romantic gift.

“Faye,” Xander says, and it startles me again, making me jump as our gazes catch. Suddenly, the room feels too small, too warm, like I’m pressed right up against him. “Do you feel nothing?” And his meaning couldn’t be clearer.

He moves our hands gently, which just makes me more aware of the faint, pulsing connection between us. Like our hearts are syncing to the same beat. It’s like he’s trying to show me something, that connection, and he’s succeeding. But that probably isn’t the mating bond—it’s probably just a tender feeling between two people sharing a space, caring for one another. Or maybe I’m just more aware of him because I understand more about men, women, and sexual energy.

“I want to be honest with you, Xander,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been through a lot of…stuff. And I think that’s affected me and my ability to form connections with others. I’m not even sure… what I feel with Cayson and Ezra.”

“What stuff?” he asks quietly.

It used to be that talking about what happened to me was the hardest thing in the world, but after telling Ezra, it feels like it comes easier. Like in baring myself to Cayson and Ezra, I’ve opened up places inside of me that I thought would stay locked away forever. To my surprise, even though I’ve only known him for a few hours, it starts to come out.

“A few years ago,” I say, wringing my hands together, “my brother was… murdered. It was not a good time, and nobody was willing to help me. Everywhere and everyone I turned to justpretended like it didn’t happen, like my brother didn’t matter, and I was alone. The rest of my family had already passed. He was all I had left.”

“I can understand,” he says, his eyes on the ground. “I lost my best friend.”

“Oh,” I say, reaching for his hand again, holding it carefully. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too.”

My chest fills with the kind of sorrow and grief you can only know when you’ve lost someone close to you. But more than that, I feel that connection between us growing.Is this what it is to feel like someone understands you?I’ve never really felt this until recently.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m leaning closer to him, my eyes flicking back and forth between his eyes and his hands. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m doing it, but it just feels right.

This close, I can feel him breathing, can smell his underlying woody smell. He leans forward, his expression astonished. Hopeful. Then, our lips are pressed together, and I’m surprised and uncertain all at once.

As I relax, I become more aware of him. His lips are warm and hard, molding to my own like he’d been built just for me. When I soften against him, breathing hard, he presses forward, his hands fluttering around my jaw so tenderly it makes my heart skip a beat.How can such a big man be so gentle?

He kisses me hard, just a little rougher, and I’m practically falling forward, trying to get closer to him. I want to wrap myself in his scent, in the strength of his body. He makes me feel alive in a way that only Cayson and Ezra have ever made me feel.

My thoughts start to spin.I’m kissing Xander. I’m kissing a feral. And we’re alone in my room.

The instant the thoughts enter my mind, I stiffen.What am I doing? I don’t want a mate. I’m trying to get these men to believe me that there is no connection. And more than that, I’ve put myself, foolishly, into a dangerous position.

Pulling back, I stand up so abruptly it sends my chair toppling to the ground. Xander looks startled, but I can’t think about what he looks like, or I’ll start kissing him again. Maybe I’ll just fall into his arms and get him to look at me with that surprised, happy look again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m not looking for a mate.”

“But we–”

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