I would take it. Would take anything she offered and use it to build more.
“So.” She clasped her hands together. “We have an agreement. You can stay in the apartment. I’ll make up the couch for you. There’s a bathroom through that door. Kitchen is over there, help yourself to food. And tomorrow morning, we start work.”
“What would you have me do, little mate?”
“Wen,” she corrected. Then paused. Smiled that mischievous smile again. “Actually, if you’re working for me, you should probably call me boss.”
Boss. A title. A position of authority. My wolf loved it. Loved that our mate was strong enough to command us.
“As you wish, boss.” I tested the word. It felt strange in my mouth. But good. Right.
Her smile widened. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”
I should have been concerned. Should have been wary of that look in her eyes. But I was not. I was eager. Excited. Ready to prove myself.
“Tell me what to do, boss,” I said. “I am yours to command.”
The words came out lower than intended. Rougher. Filled with all the meaning she was not ready to hear.
Her cheeks flushed. Her heartbeat kicked up. And I knew, mate bond or not, she felt the pull too.
She wanted me. Even if she would not admit it yet.
I could wait. I had waited my entire life for my fated mate. I could wait a little longer for her to realize what I already knew.
That we belonged together. That the Moon Goddess had chosen well, and this bond between us was inevitable.
That she was mine, whether she liked it or not, I just had to convince her of it… And I had every intention of doing exactly that.
6
— • —
Wen
I walked downstairs, already mentally cataloguing all the ways I could put a six-foot-nine werewolf to use.
That came out wrong. I meant for bookstore purposes. Obviously.
I grabbed my marketing notebook from behind the counter and flipped it open. The pages were covered in half-formed ideas and desperate scribbles. Social media campaigns. Author events. Book club promotions. All good ideas in theory, but they wouldn’t matter if the store itself looked like it had been stuck in a time warp since 1985.
Which it had.
My grandparents had loved this place exactly as it was. Every worn shelf, every creaky floorboard, every faded posteradvertising books from two decades ago. But nostalgia didn’t pay bills. I needed to bring Woods & Pages into the current century if I wanted to attract customers under the age of seventy.
I looked around the bookstore with fresh eyes. The walls were a dingy beige that had probably been white in 1990. The shelves were dark wood that made everything feel oppressive. The lighting was terrible. The whole place screamed “dusty antique shop” instead of “cozy independent bookstore.”
I could fix this. Fresh paint. Better lighting. Some plants maybe. Make it Instagram-worthy so people would actually want to come in and take pictures with their overpriced coffee.
Decision made, I grabbed a piece of cardboard and a marker. Scrawled “CLOSED UNTIL MONDAY FOR RENOVATIONS” in my messiest handwriting and taped it to the door.
Then I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
I jumped, spinning around. Malachar stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching me.
“Jesus! Make some noise when you move.”
