Snap out of it, my Tiger snarls inside my head.
The beast is pacing behind my eyes, impatient and agitated.
Move.
“Hold your damn horses,” I mutter under my breath.
My Tiger doesn’t care.
He’s already made his decision.
Mate.
The word rumbles through me like thunder.
And the next thought that follows nearly makes me choke.
Bite. Claim. Cubs.
I stop dead.
“Cubs?” I whisper.
What the hell?
“No,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Absolutely not.”
Yes, we want cubs, the beast argues immediately.
Mine. Mate. Cubs.
“Fuck me.”
This is not happening.
I just got back to town. I’m barely unpacked.
I’m still adjusting to sleeping in a real bed instead of a barracks or a tent halfway around the world.
The last thing I need is the Fates dropping a woman in my path and telling me she’s the one.
And yet, my gaze slides right back to the shop window.
Because she’s there.
Curvy.
Dark hair pulled into a messy bun with a few stray tendrils curling lovingly across her forehead and cheeks.
She has a pink apron tied around her waist as she scoops ice cream for a pair of giggling kids.
My Tiger purrs.
Fucking purrs.
Like I’m some overgrown house cat instead of an eight hundred pound lethal predator.
Mine.
