She startled again, her gaze darting up to his and holding. She seemed to want to see him. For the first time in his life, Malachi’s shield seemed to fight him. He fought back, a momentary but immense effort that cost him an instant headache.
“I need to know everything,” he said, “though it might be hard to talk about.”
“I’m prepared for that,” she said.
He looked to Nathan, who already watched him as though aware of some change in him. Of course. Meeting one’s mate, recognizing her, claiming her—each of these intensified the shifting of a wolf’s scent until at last, at their bonding, her scent joined his as part of his own signature. And this young wolf had attended three bonding ceremonies in less than a year. Even at his age, he’d now recognize the significance of the scent change.
“You’ll keep this to yourself until Saturday,” Malachi said. “I’ll inform the pack then.”
“Okay, Mal.” A grin broke out on Nathan’s face.
“No exceptions.”
“It’s yours to tell.” The grin grew.
Malachi rumbled a growl, warmth and warning in equal measure.
As Nathan faced April, who still smelled mostly of trepidation, he sobered though the excitement in his scent remained. “I’m glad you came to us. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”
“Saturday?” she said.
“That’s when we gather, every week.”
“Gather?”
Nathan shrugged. “Normal wolf pack stuff, right? Intense social attachment, blah blah blah. Didn’t the pack you were with before have get-togethers all the time?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered.
“There you go,” Nathan said with a smile. “Well, see you then.”
By the time he’d driven his truck out of sight down the road, April’s scent had pitched to straight terror. She stared in the direction he’d disappeared, motionless.
“April.”
Again Malachi’s voice set off her startle response. Fear emanated off her in heavy rank waves. This sort of fear…it was cultivated. It was the result of danger to her body, her mind, or both.
“Please come in, and we can talk.” Malachi motioned to his cabin.
“Y-yes.” She followed him onto the porch, then inside. She stood still in the foyer and stared down the hall at the glimpse beyond—the transition space from dining room to living room.
His mate. Standing in his home. Malachi’s body surged again with recognition and joy so intense he had to brace his hand on the wall. He drew a long breath and found his reserve.
His mate was petrified of him. Fate had pulled a cruel trick.
“Come,” he said, and she followed him to the living room.
Windows stretched nearly the length of the far wall, up and up toward the cathedral ceiling. At midday this room was nearly as bright as the outdoors, spacious and free. April shuffled toward the closest chair, stopped, and swayed on her feet.
His body was in motion without conscious thought. He grasped her elbow and kept her upright. April bowed her head and wrapped her other arm around herself.
“Are you ill?” he said.
“No.” Barely a whisper.
“What is it?”
“I’m fine.”
