Page 63 of Brock’s Mate

Especially because Titan was not at all what he looked like. Here was this guy, huge and terrifying-looking—man and beast—with a wicked sense of humor and an absolute adoration of his mate, Mari. She was cute and roly-poly and turned out to be a freaking panda—Titan’s total opposite. But somehow they were perfect together, pulling pranks and making each other laugh one minute, and being absolute pathetic moosh-faces the next.

In fact, all the guys were clearly crazy about their mates. It was like nothing she’d seen in the human world—it seemed like maybe it was a shifter thing? Part of the bond? Even Brandon, who was tough as nails and grumpy as fuck, went all soft over Kitty.

The guys were always spoiling their mates—lavishing them with affection, bringing them little presents, and basically treating them like gold.

It gave her a little ache inside. Was this what she could have with Brock? How did they get from here to there?

And sometimes she’d see him watching the others with the same look on his face. Like he didn’t know either. If he caught her watching him, he’d give her a little lopsided smile, the one that always made her heart turn over.

The second night after she came, she and Brock were lying in bed when he asked her, “Before you were Turned, did you ever dream of a different life, someday? Like, a certain kind of job, or going to school, or a family?”

Usually Desi shied away from stuff like that. She’d lived one day at a time for so long, she’d gotten almost superstitious about not counting on a future.

But maybe now things were different. At least, different enough to admit to one little dream. She said slowly, “I always wanted to have a pottery studio.”

She waited for him to laugh, or say, “That’s nice” and move on.

But he asked, “What kinds of things did you want to make?”

Well, hell. Now she needed an answer. “Um. Pots?”

He did laugh at that. “I get that,” he said. “But I mean, did you want to make stuff for people to use, like dishes and stuff? Or art pieces? To you want to throw pots, on a wheel? Or use other techniques? Do you want to take classes? Or make up your own things by yourself?”

Despite herself, she found herself getting a little flutter of excitement when she thought about the possible answers to those questions.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’d love to experiment with glazes, and some of those aren’t really suitable for dishes people are going to eat off of. But then, I love the idea of making really simple and beautiful things people use in their everyday lives.”

“You could do both,” Brock said. “You know, Titan has a big studio attached to his cabin, up the hill. He’s a stone sculptor. He made all that stuff in front of his cabin.”

Damn. Chalk that up as another surprise.

“And Damien uses it for wood carving, too,” Brock went on. “I bet Titan would let you grab a corner for pottery. We’ll ask him tomorrow.”

Well, she might ask Mari. She still didn’t feel comfortable with Titan. “But I don’t have any clay,” she said. “And I’d need glazes, and a kiln—all that stuff is expensive.”

“It can’t be that expensive,” Brock said. “We could order it online, or there ought to be an art supply store in Louisville.”

“But—” she started to say.

Brock dropped a kiss on her shoulder blade. “I’ll get the stuff for you,” he said. “Just tell me what you want.”

He was trying to spoil her, she realized. Like the other guys spoiled their mates. He wanted to get her things that would make her happy.

And she was so used to making do, to not needing or wanting things because she couldn’t have them. She was used to only being able to have what she could pack in a suitcase and a backpack.

And what if things didn’t work out with Brock, and she had to leave? She couldn’t take all that stuff with her.

As usual, Brock seemed to be reading her mind.

“It’s just some clay and a few tools,” he said. “It’s not an engagement ring.”

But it was more than clay, and they both knew it.

She could feel how much he wanted to do this for her. To do anything for her. She felt a little ache in her heart, and she turned over and wrapped her arms around him.

“I would love that,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

She felt the emotion flow through him—pride that he’d found something to do for her, happiness that it was something she wanted.