Page 22 of Pleasure and Mane
"So wonderful," Caius repeated flatly. "Lavinia, she's human. She doesn't have the same instinctive understanding of fated mates that we do. Plus, she can't shift. And she'll probably think the mate bond is just physical attraction."
"So?"
"So how am I supposed to convince her that she's literally the other half of my soul?" Frustration bled into his voice. "How do I explain something she doesn't have the genetic programming to understand?"
Lavinia's laughter was bright and musical. "Caius, have you never heard of wooing a woman before?"
He stared at her, genuinely dumbfounded by the concept. "Wooing?"
"You know—courting, dating, romance?" Lavinia gestured with her fork, still grinning. "The age-old art of winning someone's heart through charm and persistence?"
"I've heard of it," Caius said slowly, feeling heat crawl up his neck again. "But it's not exactly something I've ever had to do."
The truth was painfully simple. He'd never been in a relationship. Ever. Between losing his parents at twelve, becoming Alpha at seventeen, and spending the past fifteen years focused entirely on building up his pride and protecting their town, romance had never been a priority. He'd assumed he'd either find his mate through the traditional shifter bond recognition or remain alone forever.
"There's a first time for everything," Lavinia said gently, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "And honestly? Quinn's already halfway there. I saw how she was looking at you last night."
"You think so?"
"I know so. But Caius, you're going to need help with this. You can't approach romance the same way you approach Alpha business—with commands and decisive action."
Caius ran a hand through his hair, feeling more uncertain than he had since his first week as Alpha. "I should probably talk to Bertram. Or Henry. Get some male perspective on this whole... situation."
"That's actually a brilliant idea." Lavinia's smile was encouraging. "They both successfully navigated the mate bond with grace. Well, mostly grace in Bertram's case."
The embarrassment was almost overwhelming. Caius Haider—billionaire, Alpha leader, the man his pride looked to for strength and guidance—was completely clueless when it came to love. It was the one area where his natural confidence and competence meant absolutely nothing.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I can negotiate million-dollar business deals and settle territorial disputes, but I have no idea how to court a woman."
"Love makes us all vulnerable," Lavinia said softly. "Even Alphas."
NINE
QUINN
The morning sun filtered through the oak trees and cast dappled shadows across the stone bench where Quinn sat with her bare feet tucked beneath her white sundress. Her notebook lay open on her lap, filled with delicate sketches of the wildflowers that bordered Caius's gardens—purple lupines and golden columbines that seemed to dance in the gentle breeze.
But it wasn't the flowers that had captured her attention for the past hour. It was the poem she'd written on the page opposite her botanical drawings. Words that flowed from her pencil like water after years of drought.
"Strong hands that could build empires
Yet gentle enough to cradle dreams.
Blue eyes that burn like summer storms,
A smile that makes the world stop turning."
Heat flooded Quinn's face as she reread the verses. When had she become such a romantic fool? At thirty-four, she was a successful midwife with her own practice, respected in her field, and trusted by dozens of families. Yet here she sat, composing poetry like a lovesick teenager about a man she'd known for less than three days.
The irony wasn't lost on her. Before her midwife practice had consumed every waking hour, Quinn had dreamed of being a writer. She'd filled notebooks with stories and verses throughout college, imagining herself crafting novels in cozy cafes or penning articles that would change the world. But practical Quinn had chosen the safer path—medical school, certification, and building a stable career that helped others while providing financial security.
She'd convinced herself she was happy with that choice. And she was, mostly. Her work brought genuine fulfillment, each healthy birth a small miracle she'd helped facilitate. But something about this place, about Caius, had awakened the creative spirit she'd buried beneath years of twelve-hour shifts and emergency calls.
"How he looks when laughter breaks free
From the careful control he wears like armor.
I want to be the one who makes him smile
