Gods, it’s been so long since another man held me like this. My cock hardens in seconds, flooding with heat. Been even longer sincethathappened. Long enough that I thought I was impotent. My body comes alive with heat anddesire.
Until the door opens and Arlo’s mother walks in. Shit. I’ve got to stay on my side so she doesn’t see.
“Morning!” she says with a bright smile, carrying a tray loaded with coffee and food. The scent makes my mouth water.
“That smells divine, Mum,” Arlo says, sitting up.
I prop myself on my elbow and smile. The only thing hotter than my cock right now is my face.
“Any plans for the day?” she asks.
“I’m grabbing lunch with some mates of mine to tell them the big news and invite them to the wedding.”
Mates? My heart drops into my stomach. Arlo has mates. I’m just one of many to him? I don’t realize I’ve tuned out the rest of their discussion until Arlo’s mother leaves the room and we’re alone.
“Hungry?” Arlo asks.
I’ve never felt less hungry.
I grunt a response and sit up, staring down at the food with disinterest and a sick churning in my stomach. If Arlo already has mates, then why did he ask me to be his fake mate? Am I the only wolf shifter he knows? Is that why he asked? Humiliation heats my face. What a fool I am.
The boar springs onto the bed and shoves her snout in front of Arlo’s plate. He gives her snout a light smack. “Wait your turn, Truffles!”
She snorts and sits back on her haunches. “Put lots of jam on mine!”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Arlo scoffs, a fond smile tilting his lips as he spreads several spoonfuls of jam over the halved scone.
“You have a pet pig?” I ask.
Truffles’s ears flick. “I’m not a pet. I’m his familiar.”
I pick up a scone and take a bite. “And that is?” I don’t give a damn, not really, but if I’m talking, I can’t focus on the anger simmering in my gut. Anger I’ve got no bloody right to feel because Arlo isn’t mine to keep.
“Most witches have familiars to help channel their magic.” Arlo holds out the scone and Truffles inhales it from his palm, snorting happily as she chews.
“And yours is a pig?”
Arlo smiles and rubs Truffles’s ears. “Like Freya herself, yeah. Many witches prefer boars for their association with Freya.”
I grunt my understanding and take a big bite of the scone. The silence that falls between us weighs on me. All that fills the quiet are memories of his forced laugh when I snapped at him last night, and how I stayed awake into the night berating myself for pushing him away.
No one with a lick of sense will believe we’re betrothed if we don’t act like it.
“Are you well?” Arlo asks, his voice unusually cautious. As if he worries I’ll snap at him again.
“Fine,” I answer. Anger still gnaws at me.
“Sorry if I was overbearing last night. I didn’t mean to imply you can’t look after yourself.”
“Sorry I was short with you,” I reply.
“It’s fine. Truffles will tell you I’m a bit of a mother hen.” Arlo laughs softly and takes my hand, giving my fingers a quick squeeze. They twitch, trying to curl around him and keep him there longer, but I just barely manage to resist.
His concern caught me off guard. My brothers were worried for me, but over time they stopped asking where I went or why I was gone for so long. At first, their concern had angered me, but when they stopped asking altogether, that had hurt.
We barely know each other, yet Arlo worries after me like we’ve known each other a lifetime. He’s kind and caring… It’s dangerous. This arrangement of ours isn’t real. Arlo has no business caring about me, not when we’ll just part ways when all this is over.
I can’t afford to get attached. I’ve loved and lost before. It’s not something I’ll ever let happen again.
