* * * *
“Mate,” Sloane murmured against Jamie’s shoulder.
“Huh?”
“Not boyfriend. We’re mates.”
Jamie didn’t get it. Was Sloane saying they were just friends?
As if reading his mind, Sloane said, “Mates, pumpkin. Two people who are destined to be together.”
Destined? The word tangled in Jamie's thoughts, heavy with meaning he couldn’t quite grasp. William had claimed ownership too, but that had been possession born of jealousy, control wrapped in pretty words. Chad before him had done the same—promises that turned to chains.
But Sloane’s voice carried something different. Not demand, just fact. Like stating the sky was blue or water was wet.
“Mates,” Jamie repeated, testing the word. It tasted strange on his tongue, ancient and binding. “Like wolves mate for life?”
“Like that, yes.” Sloane’s hand splayed across Jamie's stomach, warm and solid. “But more. Deeper.”
More than forever seemed impossible to comprehend. Jamie's relationships had shelf lives measured in months, sometimes weeks. The longest had been William at eight months, and look how that had ended. Now Sloane offered him something that transcended human understanding, and Jamie's brain kept buffering, unable to process the download.
“How do you know?” The question escaped before Jamie could stop it. “That I'm your… that we're…”
“My wolf knew the moment you walked into that bar.” Sloane’s lips brushed against Jamie's shoulder blade, sending heat cascading through his nervous system. “Your scent, your voice, everything about you called to me.”
Chemistry had always been Jamie's worst subject, but this transcended science. This was magic or fate or some cosmic joke where he'd stumbled into a supernatural romance novel. Except the warm body pressed against his back felt very real, very present, very much not fiction.
“What if I'm not?” Jamie's voice came out smaller than intended. “What if your wolf's wrong?”
Sloane’s arm tightened around him, not constraining but grounding. “He's not wrong. Neither am I.”
Such certainty should have terrified Jamie. Instead, something in his core settled, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. His body knew this truth even if his mind struggled to catch up. Every cell seemed to lean toward Sloane, magnetized by forces beyond comprehension.
“This is insane,” Jamie murmured, but even he heard the lack of conviction in his voice.
“Maybe.” Sloane’s mouth found that sensitive spot behind Jamie's ear, tongue tracing the shell. “Does it feel wrong?”
No. That was the problem. Nothing about this felt wrong. Not Sloane’s hands on his skin, not the absurd revelation about werewolves, not even this talk of mates and destiny. Jamie's instincts, usually so skittish after William's violence, purred contentedly in Sloane’s presence.
Rolling over required coordination Jamie's jellied muscles barely possessed, but he managed it, needing to see Sloane’s face. Those bluish-gray eyes held heat and patience and something deeper that made Jamie's breath catch.
“You really believe this,” Jamie said, not a question but recognition.
“I know this.” Sloane’s thumb traced Jamie's cheekbone, careful around the bruise that had darkened to purple-green. “But I’ll wait. However long you need to believe it too.”
Emotion clogged Jamie's throat, unexpected and overwhelming. After William's demands, Chad's manipulations, here was Sloane offering patience. Time. Choice, even when he clearly believed choice didn't exist.
“What if I never believe it?” Jamie asked, testing.
“Then I’ll spend forever proving it to you.” A promise that burrowed under Jamie's ribs and made a home there.
He surged forward, capturing Sloane’s mouth because words had become inadequate. The kiss started desperate but gentled into something sweeter, deeper. Sloane’s tongue slid against his, mapping every surface like he was memorizing the geography of Jamie's mouth.
Hands roamed without urgency now, learning curves and planes and sensitive spots that made breath stutter. Sloane’s fingers traced Jamie's ribs, counting each one, while Jamie explored the definition of Sloane’s abdomen, feeling muscles contract under his touch.
“Beautiful,” Sloane murmured against Jamie's mouth, the word reverent.
Heat bloomed across Jamie's skin, not just arousal but something more vulnerable. Being seen, truly seen, by someone who looked at him like he was precious rather than breakable.
