I have to stop this dangerous way of thinking. She’s already made it clear she wants me, but I can’t let that drive my actions. I will give her whatever time she needs, even if she doesn’t want it. Because in the end, I don’t want there to be a single ounce of possibility that she might regret anything between us.
After the incident with Patrick, it felt like something in me snapped. It wasn’t just that I wanted to protect Raegan from someone that would cause her harm, at that moment, I needed to shelter her from the entire world. I needed to pull her into my arms and claim her as mine because, with me by her side, no one would ever think about hurting her. Ever again.
Now I’ve accepted the reality of what happened—that moment with Patrick being the spark that ignited the mate bond between us—I thought that extreme need would fade. I understand it now, the raw, primal desire to claim and protect. Yet the more time passes, the stronger that desire gets. I’m finding that fighting against this bond is an even tougher battle than fighting the shift each month, and that’s saying something.
After getting dressed, I find Raegan in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a travel mug. Her dark hair is still wet from the shower, and she hasn’t brushed it out yet. Thick clumps ofknotted waves fall to the top of her shoulders and drip water onto her maroon sweatshirt. She’s wearing stretchy black biker shorts, her porcelain legs on display, and I want nothing more than to spread those pretty thighs apart on the kitchen table and have her for breakfast.
Instead, I clear my throat. “What’re your plans this morning?”
She glances up as I enter the room, fresh-faced and makeup free. I love the way she looks without makeup. I love her with it, too. But without the mascara and photoshopped complexion, she’s the girl I’ve known since high school.
The girl I want to spend the rest of my life with.
“I promised I’d help Joanna at the rescue today,” she says, placing a lid on her cup. “I’ll text you when we’re done, and then we can go to the furniture store.”
My heart sinks. I was being completely serious yesterday when I told her she didn’t need a bed. But I guess she still wants her space.
“Okay. Just remember,” I say, making sure my voice is clear of any emotion, “Cleetus likes being an only child.” I nod toward the loaf of fur on the back of the couch. As if agreeing with me, he lifts his head and gives Raegan a slow blink.
Her face turns into that of a doting mother and she rushes to give him a kiss on the forehead. “No siblings today, I promise,” she mews, telling him more than me. “You’re still my number one baby boy.”
I can hear him purring from where I’m standing across the room. He’s a baby alright–a spoiled one.
“How many dogs does she have now ?” I ask, moving to the refrigerator to grab a carton of oatmilk.
As I prepare my own cup of coffee, Raegan continues peppering Cleetus with kisses. She finally stops and turns for the door.
“I think ten?” She says it as if she’s not really sure. “Jo said a family dropped off a pitbull a few days ago. It was ‘too aggressive’ with their newborn,” she says with air quotes.
No doubt the family simply doesn’t want to take the time to train a young dog, or they hadn’t paid attention to the animal’s personality traits when adopting. Some dogs just need to overcome their trauma. Other dogs just need to get out their energy, and I have a feeling a couple with a newborn doesn’t have the time or energy necessary to take care of, essentially, another child.
“Then there were three found abandoned on a farm last week,” Raegan continues. “They were tied up and left outside, so they need extra affection and human interaction.”
“So when you say ‘helping’, what you’re really saying is you’re going to play with a bunch of dogs.” Raegan smiles sheepishly. I move to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Have fun.”
Her smile turns unabashed.
And with that, she’s out the door, leaving me alone with Cleetus. He doesn’t bother glancing my way. He simply tucks his head between his paws and goes back to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
RAEGAN
Jo’s rescue is located about half a mile past the werewolf pack’s territory. It sits on the edge of the forest, tucked into a section of trees that surround the property. Two large barns, outfitted with playrooms, bathing areas, and a clinic, sit on the western side of the farm. On the eastern side is the main building, and pushing back into the forest is an open area of paddocks and farm land stretching for about ten acres. Besides running a rescue for abandoned dogs, and sometimes cats, she also takes care of three cows, two horses, one pig, one turtle, and six chickens.
I head straight for the barns and find Jo dragging out a plastic kiddie pool. It kicks up dust as it slides across the bumpy dirt lot and settles with apoofwhen she drops it into place.
“Hey!” Jo greets me, hands on her hips. She’s wearing a pair of dark rounded sunglasses, and her brown hair, a shade or two lighter than mine, is plaited into two long braids that drape over her shoulders. A red bandana is tied around her head like a headband, the bow resting above her right ear. She’s wearing a pair of tan cargo pants with about a dozen pockets and a croppednavy crewneck. She looks like she’s ready to paint a house, or maybe plant some flowers.
Before I can say anything, two large dogs bound from the barn and start circling Joanna. They pounce and wag their tails happily, eager for whatever it is they think is happening.
“Sorry, guys,” Jo tells them. “This isn’t for you.” The lab with short black fur and floppy ears lets out a sad but adorable whine, and the other, a brown-colored mix with pointed ears, sits without command, then huffs out a breath of air when it doesn’t gain him anything. Joanna looks at me. “These two love B.A.T.H. time.” She spells it out so the balls of energy nipping at her heels don’t understand her, then narrows her eyes on them while still directing her next statement at me. “But they already had their time in the sprinklers yesterday.”
The brown mix then proceeds to roll onto his back and wiggle, purposefully coating his fur in dried leaves and dirt.
I let out a laugh. “He’s smart.”
“Too smart.” Joanna groans then commands, “Get up, Moose.” He snaps to attention, ears perked and waiting to see if his plan has worked. It hasn’t.
