Roni tensed, sure she’d misheard him. “What?”
“I think you’re my mate.” No, he knew it.
She practically scrambled from his lap. “We’d have sensed it.”
“Really? How?” He kept his voice calm and even. He understood why she was scared. He’d had a similar reaction when Trick had suggested it to him—it was the fear that came with “hoping” and knowing how much it would hurt to be wrong. “We’re both guarded. How would we have easily sensed it?”
Roni knew he had a valid point. It was no secret that she had a protective wall built around her. Marcus seemed so open and straightforward, but he wasn’t. He didn’t let people get close to the real him. He hid himself, his feelings, his secrets, and his anger behind the smooth-talker mask. In that sense, he was as much of a loner as Roni was. But the possibility that he might be her mate . . . Roni didn’t have that kind of luck.
“We haven’t imprinted, Roni. Despite how intense this is, despite how much we care about each other—and don’t dare say you don’t care for me—we haven’t imprinted. You don’t think that’s strange?”
“Maybe you just don’t care as much as you think you do.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. What’s between us isn’t normal, Roni.” Marcus had enough experience to know that. His hunger for her, his wolf’s responses to her, the crushing drive to possess and to keep her that had been there from the very beginning . . . It just wasn’t normal. “You’re comfortable with me. You let me in when you let very few people close. Doesn’t that tell you anything?” Slowly, he stood, but she backed away. “Don’t hold yourself back from me. It won’t work anyway. I know how that complex mind of yours works. And I know that it isn’t just me you’re holding yourself back from—it’s the idea of being happy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know what it’s like to carry the guilt that someone killed for you, to feel like you owe a person more than you know how to repay. That kind of guilt . . . it weighs you down, tempts you to keep people away because being happy doesn’t seem right.” He approached her slowly and cautiously, like he would a wild animal. “But don’t you want to be happy, Roni?”
He was right: being saddled by guilt did have a way of making a person feel like it wasn’t fair for them to be happy. But she’d never been a martyr. “Yes, I want to be happy, but—”
“Then let yourself be happy with me.” Stopping in front of her, Marcus slid his hands into her hair. “Drop that shield. Let’s see if I’m right.” He knew he was asking a lot: Roni kept a part of herself locked away, where no one could hurt her. He was asking her to expose herself completely, and that wasn’t easy for someone who had known a lot of hurt and rejection. He knew that better than anyone.
“And what if you’re wrong, huh?”
She tried to shove him back, but Marcus stood firm. She looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her, and it made his wolf want to nuzzle her.
“What if I drop it, and then you realize I’m not her? That she’s still somewhere waiting for you? Where does that leave me?”
“The same place you are now.” She shook her head. “Yes. Whether you’re my mate or not won’t make any difference to how I feel or what I want.” He scrunched her hair in his hands, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. “But we have to know.”
Roni shook her head again, not even sure what it was she was protesting. Being his mate? Him wanting her, no matter what? Letting herself hope? She couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, and felt totally off balance.
“All the signs are there: the possessiveness, the protectiveness, the jealousy, the intensity, the attraction between our wolves.” That gave him an idea. “Listen to your wolf, sweetheart.” His Roni wasn’t good with complex emotions; she applied reason and logic to everything, tried to measure her feelings and break them down like math problems. But her wolf’s elemental nature would be far from technical. Their wolves felt deeply, intensely, fiercely. “What does she want right now?”
Considering how close she and her wolf were, it wasn’t hard to push aside her jumbled human concerns and concentrate on her wolf. There was no confusion there, no muddled emotions. For the wolf, it was all very straightforward and uncomplicated. “To brand you.”
Thank God. “Why?”
“She sees you as hers.”
“Hers to mark, or hers to claim and keep?” There was a big difference.
“Hers to claim and keep.”
“Why does she want to claim me, Roni? Because she’s possessive, or is it more than that?”
After a long pause she said, “She thinks you belong to her, that you’re hers to claim. She thinks . . .” She paused again, swallowing hard.
“What, sweetheart, what does she think?”
To Roni’s surprise . . . “She thinks you’re her mate.”
He released a heavy breath. “And what about you?” He tapped her temple as he said, “I’m not talking about up here.” He placed his hand on her stomach. “I’m talking about in here. What does your gut tell you?”
She swallowed hard again. “That you’re mine. My mate.”
Groaning, Marcus brought his mouth down hard on hers. He poured every ounce of his hunger into the kiss, every bit of his need, and every bit of the vicious urge to brand her irrevocably as his. A claiming between mates was always rough and fierce—even violent. Now he understood why: the mating urge was driven by the need to take, to own, to keep this one thing that would always mean more to him than anything else. He needed to bind her to him, to be sure he couldn’t lose her.