Page 36 of Brock’s Mate

Nick gazed at him for a moment, a small smile starting on his face. Then he said, “Okay.”

That was unexpected. “Okay? You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

Nick shrugged. “She’s your mate. You make the call.”

Brock stared at him. “She’s not my mate. I just feel like—she was thrown in my path, like… by fate. I can’t not help her.”

“But she’s not your mate.”

She couldn’t be. Not one of the broken ones. Not one he might lose. “This is not like you and Brittany,” he said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Please, no.

Nick shook his head, not even trying to hide the grin now. “You just keep telling yourself that. From where I’m sitting, she might as well be stuck by the side of the road wearing a Kraken costume.”

Brock’s mouth said, “And you all wonder why I don’t bring women home with me. Just stop.”

But his mind kept echoing, She’s your mate… mate… mate…

And if she was, what the hell was he going to do with that?

Chapter 14

Desi’s shower was pure luxury. After the blood and the mud and the cage, it was amazing to be free, with hot water warming her skin, and a fluffy towel and clean clothes waiting.

Well… free-ish.

Her instincts were still warring inside her—the new one that kept insisting she could trust Brock, and the old one that told her not to trust anyone and to run like hell.

Logic said that since she was definitely a werewolf, and Brock could teach her enough to keep these Councils and the farmers with pitchforks and hunting rifles off her trail, then she should take advantage of that.

She could always run later.

She finished her shower and dressed, wondering what it would be like if she could be a wolf whenever she wanted.

And what it would be like to hear another personality inside her head.

And if it would make things different, for her. If these shifters were a secret, maybe she could find a group to live with and stay off the grid. Stop moving around, trying to outrun her past.

As long as they weren’t going to force her to be someone’s mate.

That weird little voice inside her said, Brock is strong. A good hunter. He might be a worthy mate.

Help. Someone please tell her that being a werewolf chick wasn’t going to suddenly make her turn into the wolfy version of a 1950s Stepford wife.

Because no.

Forget the shifter community. Lone wolves were a thing, right?

Still rubbing her hair dry with a towel, she walked into the bedroom and stopped dead. The closet door was open, and a boy of about twelve or thirteen was moving stuff off a shelf into a cardboard box.

Desi grabbed her knife out of the mess of half-unpacked stuff on her bed. “Who the fuck are you?” she demanded.

He whirled around. She registered messy black hair and a metal band t-shirt, but the thing that stopped her cold was his eyes. They were bright green—too bright to be human—and the pupils were vertical slits, like cats’ eyes.

Holy hell. Was this some other kind of shifter person? “What are you doing here?” she said.

He bent over and put the box on the floor. When he stood up again, his eyes were still bright green, but they were normal human eyes.

“Oh. Hey,” he said, not noticeably disconcerted by her weapon. “I’m DB. Brock’s a friend of mine. I stay here sometimes.” He nudged the box with his toe. “This is my stuff. I was just going to move it to the basement so it wouldn’t be in the way.”