Considering how rare animal attacks were, it was safe to assume that shifters in any form were less dangerous than human men.
I peeked at Rhett through the fuzzy hood of his winter coat. I felt ridiculous stuffed into the oversized thing, my hands disappearing in the long sleeves.
Before we left the airport, he found a quiet corner and unzipped his bag, pulling out hats, gloves, scarves, and a coat that had to be special ordered for someone his height. He was adamant that we couldn’t leave for the parking garage until I was properly dressed.
Further proof that he wasn’t trying to kill me. The man was just too considerate for that.
And thank God, because I would have frozen to death waiting for an Uber to take me to a hotel.
Alaska was cold. Colder than I knew cold could be. I should have known better, but I was in such a hurry to fly out here and rip my pride back from Evan’s hands that I didn’t bother checking the weather.
Or booking a hotel, or a rental car.
Or figuring out how the hell I was going to get to the remote address I found for him when I was sleuthing around.
I leaned forward in my seat, studying the heavy flakes of snow that were pelting the windshield.
“You have four-wheel drive, right?”
He tapped the steering wheel with an appreciative smile. “This thing is a tank in the snow.”
“But can you actually see the road? Are you sure your windshield wipers are going fast enough?”
“I grew up here,” he said, his confidence settling over me like a comforting weight. “A few flurries aren’t going to bother me.”
“Okay, you grew up in Alaska. That’s good to know. We should probably share our life stories if we’re going to pretend to be married in front of your whole family in like three hours.”
“Mated.”
“What’s the difference, exactly?”
“Marriage is a contractual agreement. All you have to do is sign a piece of paper to undo it. Mating is for life. The only exception is death.”
“Okay, but what would stop me from just walking away and starting over? Is there no such thing as a mating license?”
His hands flexed on the wheel like he was holding himself back. The answer came out gritty. Was I irritating him with questions already? He asked me to do this. I couldn’t go in blind.
“Shifters in most countries are required to get documents to prove their mating, but the document doesn’t make it official. The bond does.”
“What in the world is a bond? And why is your mom sick without one?”
“It’s—it’s like—" His brow furrowed, and there was something adorable about his stern, concentrated face. In the dimming interior of the car, his eyes seemed more bronze than brown. “It’s not something that you can really describe with words. It’s just…magic. Whether you’re fated or chosen mates, a bond forms between you that connects you in body and soul. There are pack bonds too, but they’re nothing compared to a mate bond.”
He cleared his throat. “Or so I’ve been told.”
I twisted in my seat, dropping the hood of the coat and staring at him like he was a crazy person. Because he was.
“Mates have a magical bond between them. Like what—a Twilight movie?”
“I don’t know what a Twilight movie is.”
“You really did grow up in bumfuck Alaska.” I wriggled my hands out of my sleeves so I could run my fingertips over the smooth coat of my blue nail polish. “You and your mate are like spiritually connected? Is it instant? Can you read minds? I don’t know if that’s cool or horrifying.”
“For shifters, it’s instant. For shifter and human pairings, it’s more complicated. But no, there is no mind reading involved.”
The coat zipped around me was suddenly stifling. I might have bitten off more than I could chew. What was new?
“I feel like you probably should have included that in your proposition. How are we supposed to pretend to know each other backward and forwardandhave some magical mind-reading bond between us in front of the people who know you best in the whole world? They’re going to call bullshit and send me packing in like ten minutes.”
