Page 60 of Just a Friend for the Lion
“I said no, Mom.”
I’m already halfway to the damn door, box of childhood junk in one hand, my pulse jackhammering in my throat from the conversation I swore I’d never have again.
Not after last time.
“But sweetheart, the Pride’s Autumn Lottery is already in motion,” she calls after me, her heels clicking softly on the polished wood floor. “And you’re not mated?—”
“I am mated, Mom.”
The words rip out of me like a roar.
I turn, eyes blazing, every muscle tight with restraint.
“But she’s just a human?—”
“My mate’s name is MJ. No, she’s not a Lioness. But she ismine. So please, for the last time, don’t put my name in the lottery again. I mean it, Mom.”
She stops short, clutching her gold-leafed weekly planner like it’s the damn Pride codex.
Her lips purse.
Her forehead wrinkles.
She looks me over like I’ve just confessed to falling in love with an office chair.
“But, she’s not from a Pride,” she says quietly, like that’s the final nail in the coffin. “You need a strong mate, Carter. Someone who understands our ways. The responsibilities. The expectations?—”
“I do have a strong mate,” I snap, voice lowering into a growl that’s half-man, half-Lion. “She’s brilliant. She’s bold. She’s fantastic. She makes pizza so good, it’d make you cry. The woman creates dishes with her own hands that are every bit as amazing as a Michelin rated restaurant. She’s beautiful, Mom. Perfect. She yells at pigeons and gets flour in her hair, and she still leaves me breathless. Every. Single. Time.”
I take a step forward.
“She’s got a heart ten times the size of this house, and a mouth that could ruin a lesser man. And guesswhat, Ma? She runs circles around me without even trying. And I love her for it.”
She flinches. Not at the words, but at the weight of them.
Love.
The thing they always say a Shifter should wait for after a good, clean bond is formed with the right kind of female.
The kind who fits in at Pride functions and signs cub-rearing schedules in cursive.
My mother is a good woman.
She doesn’t mean to break my heart, but I know if we’re going to have a relationship, then she needs to accept this—my mating to MJ, and the fact she’s more important to me than anyone else ever will be.
Mom raised me with discipline and grace and more affection than most Lion mothers offer.
But she’s still too wrapped up in her vision of what my life should be—cub count included.
And frankly? I’m fucking done apologizing for not fitting the mold.
“Who sanctioned the Autumn Lottery?” I demand, voice clipped.
She doesn’t answer. Just smooths the cover of her planner like she can hide behind it.
So that’s a no on King Donovanthen.
Probably some leftover nonsense from the Elders trying to keep traditions alive while the rest of us are out here evolving.
