Page 7

“Why have you brought me here?” she asks again, her voice louder this time.

A growl rumbles in my chest as I open my mouth and answer, “You’re mine.”

In the lantern’s dim light, I can see the color of her eyes more clearly now. The deep indigo depths turn nearly purple as she stares at me.

Her mouth falls open. “What?” The question is high-pitched, as if she struggles to speak.

I stop just a few inches from her delectable body. “You were made to be my mate. You belong here with me for the rest of our lives.”

Her mouth works, opening and closing, but no words emerge. After a moment, her lips snap shut, firming into a thin line. She takes a deep breath, letting it out on a slow hiss. Based on the way her eyes spark with ire and her scent takes on the burnt tinge that signals anger, I’m curious to hear what her next words will be.

“I don’t think so.”

I’m not surprised at her response, but her words still sting.

“Why do you question fate?” I ask.

My mate has magic. Surely she believes in fate.

She scoffs. “There is no fate but the one I create for myself, Sir Wolf. I didn’t escape an arranged marriage to a man nearly old enough to be my father just to end up forced into a mating with a Lycan.”

I can’t control my snarl at her words. Arranged marriage? This tiny witch belongs to me, not some human male.

While most Lycans mate with other wolves, a fair number still find human mates. As a child, I spent a great deal of time listening to stories of their first meetings.

“I want to leave,” she demands.

“No.” The word bursts from my lips before I can even consider stopping it.

I knew a human female would likely reject me at first, and it hurt, but it was expected.

Outright refusing to listen to her demands or requests isn’t the best way to win her over, but it’s too late now. I’ve already said it. Even if the human part of me understands, my wolf doesn’t. If I try to let her leave, he’ll take over and keep her here anyway.

Her stomach rumbles quietly, reminding me of the hunger she mentioned earlier in the clearing. I decide to focus on taking care of her immediate needs before we continue this argument.

Then, she shivers, further distracting me. Spring is here, but the nights still get cool, and it’s clear she is uncomfortable.

Careful to give her space, I walk around the cabin and light two more lamps before I stoke the coals. I add a couple of logs, poking at them until they catch flame. Once it is blazing merrily, I begin to make a thick stew of dried meat, potatoes, and a few root vegetables that grow wild around my cabin.

I hear her walk toward the door, but don’t try to stop her. The bar I laid across it is heavy even for me, and I know I’m much stronger than a human. There’s no way a human female, even one with magic in her veins, will be able to lift it.

She grunts and strains behind me, but I don’t acknowledge her efforts. Something tells me my mate is the type of female who needs to discover things for herself. When the bar doesn’t budge, I hear her growl in frustration.

The sound isn’t meant to be provocative, but my wolf is enamored. I doubt the little witch realizes female Lycans growl to express arousal as often as they do to share frustration or anger.

My mate approaches, watching as I add water to the stew and stir as it begins to bubble.

“I want to leave,” she repeats.

“No.”

She stomps her foot, and a sharp sound of outrage spills out of her mouth. “You can’t just keep me here against my will.”

There’s no use in telling her I already am. She can see it for herself.

Once the stew is simmering, I remember I don’t have anything to drink other than water. Well, except for the jug of wine the local woodsman brought me when he dropped by for a visit a few weeks ago.

The irritating human male grew up as part of my pack. He left years before I did. When I moved into this forest, it surprised me to find him living here. And that he remembered me. The cottage he recently purchased is only a fifteen-minute walk deeper into the woods, so he’s developed the habit of dropping by to “visit.”