The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf

11





Karma Is One Organized Wench





I GOT MY FIRST GLIMPSE of Nick’s spider-monkey powers about a week later, when I found him gallivanting through the freaking treetops without so much as a harness, clinging to the branches by the goodwill of gravity.

I thought I was imagining that flash of red jacket a good thirty feet off the ground from a distance, a sort of signal flare against the patches of white and green. Pops had told me that Nick and Samson were headed in this direction with a bunch of Nick’s hightech gear earlier in the day. While he didn’t seem thrilled to see Nick in the valley again, he seemed to approve of whatever Nick was planning to do . . . which he said I would have to see for myself.

I hadn’t been able to see much of Nick or Samson lately. I spent every spare minute patrolling the perimeters, since I couldn’t explain why my packmates would suddenly need to step up patrols. I did ask Clay to join me most of the time, mostly to see if he would try to come after me while we were alone. He was fun and easy to talk to, and he did not, in fact, try to kill me. I like that in a man. And since he didn’t try to murder me, I let him take me to that bomb-squad movie. A box of Sour Patch Kids and a few interesting pecks on the lips had the aunts scheduling a spring wedding for us.

Despite Nick hinting, nudging, and downright pleading, I’d yet to tell anyone about the “bagging” incident. I occasionally woke up from nightmares, clawing at the nonexistent bag over my face, but I hadn’t told anyone about that, either.

Instead, I was devoting a lot of energy to ensuring the pack’s safety. I checked the brakes on every vehicle in the valley. Hell, I checked the village’s cistern to make sure there was no tampering with the water supply. But nothing. Every once in a while, one of us would catch the scent of a strange wolf near the border of our territory but never close to any of the buildings. And I never caught another whiff of fabric softener outside the laundry room.

Every day that passed without incident put me more on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And now I was waiting for my favorite paranormal investigator to drop.

I thought that surely someone with multiple graduate degrees would know not to put that much distance between himself and terra firma. Particularly when the wind chill was somewhere near “guaranteed frostbite” and the branches were slick with snow and ice. But as I drew closer, I found him propped against an alarmingly thin pine branch, wiring a black plastic box against an even less stable-looking branch at least three stories up. My idiot cousin was napping in a little burrow he’d hollowed out in the snow at the tree’s base.

Nick had a black cannonball-shaped helmet on and weird metal cleats clamped over his boots. They seemed to be shoved into the bark of the tree, giving him a toehold. But the idea that a flimsy piece of metal was the only thing holding him up there was making my stomach pitch to my knees.

“Nicholas Thatcher, what in the hell do you think you’re doing up there?”

He chuckled. “I’m almost done, Mags. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“That doesn’t answer the question!” I yelled, finally waking Samson.

“What’s going on?” Samson mumbled.

“Some spotter you are,” I grumbled, kicking at Samson’s shins. Samson made a halfhearted attempt at an obscene gesture and seemed to be considering continuing his nap.

“Look out below!” Nick yelled, depositing his tool belt near my feet. He yanked his cleats out of the bark and turned, facing the tree trunk. He dropped suddenly, and I let out a scream, before realizing that he was just hopping down to the next branch. He carefully and methodically chose each movement, mapping a route toward the ground. In my head, his descent was on fast-forward, and every branch looked as if it was ready to snap. Frankly, I was ready to snap.

“Hi!” Nick’s cheeks were flushed pink with excitement and the cold wind. He looked so happy and sweet . . . and the moment his feet touched the ground, I smacked his shoulders until my hands hurt.

“What in the hell were you thinking, Nick Thatcher?” I growled as he dodged my fists of fury. “Are you trying to kill yourself ?”

“Suddenly, I’m glad I have the helmet on.” He grunted as he put his hand on my forehead and held me a safe swinging distance away. Samson snickered and scratched his belly, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “Maggie, stop!”

“Total overreaction, Midget,” Samson told me. “I watched him like a hawk the whole time.”

“You watched your eyelids the whole time,” I shot back as Nick rifled through the duffel bag at the base of the tree. “And you, I count on you to be the adult in this weird-ass buddy comedy, Nick! How could you trust your ‘not dying in a plummet from a tree’ to Samson? What were you even doing up there?”

“This,” Nick said, clicking a little black remote that looked like a garage-door opener. A little red light on the remote switched on . . . and I was left considerably unimpressed. Then Nick brought out a little portable TV and showed me a video feed that focused on my mother’s front door. He toggled a switch on the TV, and the screen showed the front of my office, then the school, the north perimeter, the east and south boundaries of the packlands.

“This one will show the western view of the valley,” he said, pointing up at what I now realized was a security camera. He pulled out a map of the valley, with orange circles marking where he’d placed the cameras. “They’re on full power right now, but I’m switching them over to thermal-sensor mode. They’ll only pick up a feed when a warm body passes. So we don’t end up with two hours’ worth of windy tree-branch footage.”

“Unless it was a tree branch that cut the brakes on your truck,” Samson said, tenting his fingers and arching his brow at the wavering tree limbs supervil-lain-style.

Nick chuckled. “I can’t cover the whole valley. And it might take a few weeks to work out all of the kinks, but I thought it could help, right?”

Suddenly, I felt really bad about hitting him.

“Someone owes someone an apology,” Samson sang under his breath.

“I do. I’m sorry,” I said. Nick beamed at me. “This is great.”

“I think I hear Mom calling me!” Samson announced, scrambling to his feet.

“Did that seem sort of abrupt to you?” Nick asked, staring after Samson as he ran toward home.

Without Samson there as a buffer, Nick suddenly seemed too close. What little emotional space I’d been able to put between us had sort of been shredded by the whole naked-assault-victim vulnerability thing. I stepped away and took the portable monitor. “So, show me how to work this.”

Nick was in full professor mode, taking fifteen minutes to explain how the little monitor could bounce among the various feeds and wirelessly upload clips to my office computer. I thought I was going to have to start fanning my face to keep from bursting into flames. Curse his sexy brains!

Using the toggle thing, he scanned past the signal coming from my mom’s front door and did a cartoonish double-take. “What the?”

Nick squinted at the screen, aghast at the image of what appeared to be a dozen or so of my male cousins, lined up in front of my house with their pants around their ankles and their bare asses aimed directly at the camera. There were enough full moons to orbit Jupiter.

“You really shouldn’t have shown Samson where the cameras are,” I muttered.

“How did he organize that so quickly?” Nick asked, nodding toward Samson’s naked rear at the end of the butt-cheek chorus line.

“Well, when properly motivated, Samson can do just about anything. We’re fortunate that his main interests are food and pranks.”

“I mean, I can see grabbing one or two guys, but so many? He could take over the world,” Nick marveled.

I snorted. “As long as the world’s governments could be cowed into submission by a bottomless army, yes.”

He shuddered. “Well, there’s an image that will never leave my head. Thanks for that.”

“I do what I can.”

* * *

FULL-BLOWN WINTER CLOSED in on the valley like a fist. The temperatures dive-bombed below freezing, putting us all in instinctual panic mode. And even though we spent the better part of the year preparing our houses, putting up food, winterizing our vehicles, I still ended up scrambling around, helping my aunt Doris patch a weak spot on her roof, helping Samson with last-minute runs to the bulk warehouse store in Burney for toilet paper and batteries. Clay and I took a day trip to a big pharmacy in Burney, where we could stock up on Billie’s meds. When the snow blew in and covered the valley in a fluffy white blanket and I finally had a chance to stop and breathe, I sort of collapsed and slept for two days.

Weeks passed, the holidays came and went, and even with the relative quiet, I was scared to relax into the season, to give myself downtime. I used pack morale as an excuse. Werewolves tend to get sort of restless when we’re boxed in. Little disagreements over a poker game or the last buffalo wing can turn into full-on duels to the death if you’re not careful. So, I spent a good portion of my day sending my family members on random errands, finding some weird chores that needed to be done, or sending them on extra patrols around the perimeter. I organized checkers tournaments, darning bees, Scrabble nights. I basically became the pack’s cruise director.

The pathways between Grundy and the valley were kept warm. Mom worried too much for Mo to drive the baby from Grundy, so she phased every few days so she could run over and visit Eva. Neither snow nor sleet nor an act of God would keep my mother from snuggling that fuzzy-headed baby.

Eva seemed to be on some sort of mission to work her evil/cute baby magic on me. Ever since she’d started toddling around on those chubby little legs, she’d been targeting me, the least enthusiastic baby person in the room. I think she enjoyed the challenge, which proved that we were related.

Eva would tug on my pants leg until I picked her up. And then she’d basically stare me down with those big blue-gray eyes of hers, daring me not to snuggle her. It was like facing down a tiny, diapered mastermind.

And of course, I caved. I snuggled her. I babbled. I read her Where the Wild Things Are until I was hoarse. I actually found myself watching my language. Shudder.

Every once in a while, I’d bury my face in the talcum-powder-scented fluff on her head and have a little “maybe I am ready for a baby” twinge. And then I would slap myself. Because my smart-ass karma combined with my genes might create some sort of evil superbaby. I just wasn’t ready. Imagine baby-proofing for that.

Being around Nick so much wasn’t exactly helping my hormone surges. He’d bought a snowmobile, so he could visit every other day. He’d stopped the interviews, but he still liked hanging out with Samson and Pops, whom he was determined to win over. I wasn’t sure what he was doing with his research, but Nick told me he was working on something that wouldn’t result in me kicking his ass, so I was happy.

Mom was already a fan, but he met some resistance from some very unfriendly uncles. But I think that was more traditional “we don’t want you sullying our little girl” hazing than anything else. Clay usually made some excuse to get out of their card games, but I think that was mostly because of the “I want your woman” vibe Nick was still giving off.

Nick stayed in Samson’s guest room most nights, which had me worried. Samson seemed to think of him as some sort of human chew toy. For instance, just the other night, I’d come home to find Samson in my mother’s living room, holding Nick upside-down in some half-nelson wrestling hold.

“Hey, Midget, Nick won’t tell me whether he has sisters. I figure, he’s pretty, he would have to have pretty sisters.”

“You’re a sick man, Samson,” Nick said, his face reddened by the sudden flow of blood to his head.

“But you laughed, so what does that make you?”

Nick deadpanned, “Humoring you.”

“Samson, put him down!” I cried.

“But he’s so light and portable,” he said, jiggling a bemused Nick.

“When you wonder why we don’t introduce humans to our pack’s secrets, this is why,” I told Nick.

Samson jostled Nick again to get his attention. “OK, Dr. Werewolf Whisperer, you told me you could get out this. Now, the rules are: One, no punching me in the junk. And two, see rule one. Let’s go.”

“This is not healthy.” I sighed, shaking my head. “Even for werewolves, this is messed up.”

Nick grinned at me, bent at his waist, and did some weird finger-strike thing against the back of Samson’s kneecaps. Samson yowled and dropped to his knees, bringing Nick’s head precariously close to the floor. Nick stopped short of cracking his skull by catching himself with his hands. He sprang to his feet and put Samson in a headlock.

I think Samson was more shocked than strong-armed.

“Never f*ck with a guy who worships at the altar of Vulcan martial arts,” Nick told my cousin as he administered a merciless noogie.

“Seriously, you Vulcan-nerve-pinched him?” I barely suppressed the grin that threatened to split my cheeks.

“Awesome!” Samson exclaimed, shaking Nick off like a troublesome Pomeranian. Nick was flung ass-over-teakettle onto the couch. “You’ll have to show me how to do that sometime,” Samson said before he wandered into the kitchen looking for food.

Nick hopped up from the couch. He was warm and slightly sweaty. I could feel the happy thrum of his heartbeat under his skin. I cleared my throat and stepped back from him before I did anything drastic. “You in one piece?”

“It’s kind of fun. I never had a big brother growing up. I always wanted to be hung upside-down by my ankles.”

“I worry about you,” I told him.

“Guess who’s been invited to guest-lecture at University of Alaska’s Anchorage campus?” he asked, grinning.

“Mo?” I suggested. “They have a great culinary department there.”

He frowned. “Me. They’ve asked me to lecture on shape-shifting creatures and their prevalence in northwestern American tribal culture.”

“In academic terms, I’m pretty sure that was supposed to get me all hot and bothered.”

He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, I want you to come with me. We can snowmobile as far as the highway and then drive in. We can go to a movie or some of the bookstores. There’s a restaurant I wanted to try. I just think it would be sort of cool to get you all to myself for a little while.” Then he added hastily, “As a friend. We can spend time together without things getting all naked and confusing.”

“When have we ever been able to spend time together without one of us getting naked or confused?” I asked.

“There’s always hope, Maggie.”

It sounded awesome. Seeing Nick in his element. Going somewhere where I wasn’t known, so I could relax a little. Soft hotel sheets and a certain bespectacled hottie . . . enjoyed separately, of course. And I was on the verge of saying “Yes, yes, take me now, yes,” when “I can’t” came out of my mouth instead.

“I’d like to, but I can’t leave right now. I know nothing has happened in a while, but I don’t think it’s OK for the alpha to go waltzing off on what will be seen as a sexy weekend with someone who is not her boyfriend, when there are maddeningly vague threats on the horizon.”

He groaned. “Why’d you have to say ‘sexy weekend’? I was going to be all noble and selfless and understanding until you said ‘sexy weekend.’ “

I snickered at him.

He sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right. You have to take care of your responsibilities. I respect that. I just got excited about it, that’s all.”

“And I want to go. I just wouldn’t feel right about it,” I said. “Maybe Samson would go with you.”

He nodded, sort of glum, and pushed my hair behind my ears. Samson yelled at him from the next room, threatening to kick his ass at Halo. “Big Brother is waiting for you,” I told him.

“You think I could get him to go after some kids from my high school?” Nick asked as he led me to video-game Valhalla. “I wasn’t bullied, really, but I’d just like to see the looks on some of the obnoxious jocks’ faces when a ten-foot-tall werewolf came barreling at them.”

“You’ve got some unresolved issues, don’t you, Nick?”

I tried not to mope in general, but the days leading up to Nick’s departure were a little gloomy. Even Clay noticed that something was a little off with me, suggesting that we sneak away to try to find the parts to salvage my old truck. I agreed and tried to force myself into a brighter frame of mind. No one likes a sulky alpha wolf. I’d chosen this job. I’d campaigned for it. I wasn’t going to get all whiny now that there were certain sacrifices involved, such as not getting to go on a road trip with my cute “platonic” friend.

It wasn’t even the distance or losing a few days with Nick. I just hated the idea that I was going to miss something important to him. I mean, friends cared about that sort of thing, right?

I think I’d scared him with my drive-time estimations, because he was leaving a few days before his lecture. The day before he was due to leave, I got a little anxious. What if he didn’t come back? What if he got into an accident on the long drive? What if he met someone in Anchorage who didn’t scoff at Doctor Who or occasionally leave him with bite wounds?

And so I was piling through the waist-deep snow on four paws.

“Hello?” I called as I came through the kitchen door. I shrugged into an oversized flannel shirt he kept hanging by the door.

“I’m still packing!” he called from his room. “There’s sodas and sandwich stuff in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“OK!” On my way past his kitchen table, my elbow caught on a stack of books and knocked them onto Nick’s open laptop. I chuckled at his screensaver, a picture of evil bearded Kirk and Spock, smirking at each other. I bumped the keyboard as I was gathering them up, and a Word document popped up on the screen.

It was a title page for something called “The Werewolves of Crescent Valley.” I arched an eyebrow and sat at the table with a thump. The document was more than a hundred pages long, and it wasn’t just notes. Nick was writing a freaking book about us! There were pages and pages about our origins, our social structure, how the pack broke tradition by installing me as alpha.

Hurt, hot and acidic, burned through my chest. He’d promised. He’d promised me that he understood, that he couldn’t tell anyone about us. And here he was writing a frigging book? Who had he shown this to? Did he plan to publish it? The whole damn thing was dedicated to me, by the way. “To Maggie, without whom this wouldn’t be possible.”

Unfortunately for Nick, I read that just as he came through the kitchen door. And he was met by a very large book thrown at his head. “What the hell is this?” I yelled.

“What the?”

He ducked and, with impressive speed, dodged several flying objects as he crossed the room and grabbed my arms.

“I trusted you!” I yelled, fighting my way out of his grasp and slapping his chest. “What the hell were you planning on doing with this?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Your book, you a*shole! The freaking book that meant more to you than keeping your word to me.”

“What—the only thing I’m writing now is a history of your pack.”

“Are we not having the same conversation?” I growled. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I’m writing that for your grandfather.”

“What?”

“I’m putting a book together for Pops. I was going to bind it myself, so no one would even see it. I was hoping it would, you know, soften Pops toward me. And if he hated me a little less, you might stop fighting me so hard on the ‘being crazy in love with you’ thing.”

“What?” I huffed out a breath.

Nick’s cheeks flushed. “I haven’t told anyone about you. I’ve barely been in contact with the outside world since I got up here. If you don’t believe me, you can check my e-mail accounts, my phone records, anything you want. Your family, they were exactly what I was hoping for, Maggie. Yeah, you’re the academic find of a lifetime. You could make my career, after I proved to the world that I wasn’t nuts. But your family, for the most part, has been kinder to me than the people who raised me. I can’t expose them. I can’t put them in harm’s way. You don’t do that to people who have been good to you.”

“Then why do this?”

“I don’t have a lot of measurable skills, as far as your grandfather’s concerned. I figured this would be the one thing I could do for him that no one else could. I wanted to show him that I’m serious about you. I wanted to show you how much I love you. And I do love you,” he said. “Even if you don’t know whether you love me yet. I don’t care whether you’re human or a werewolf or a yeti, I love you.”

The overwhelming rush of warmth and love through my chest nearly knocked me to my knees. That was it. I had this strange moment of crystal clarity in which I knew I loved him right back. Everything outside our circle of two was sort of blurry and inconsequential. I’d never be happy without him. I’d never want anyone else. My hands slipped up to his chest to steady myself as I spluttered, “W-well, that’s just—”

I grabbed his lapels and crushed my mouth to his. He hummed against my lips, slipping his hands into my hair and pulling me closer. I pushed him toward the bedroom door. He turned his head, seeing where I was heading, and raised his eyebrows.

I pushed the jacket back from his shoulders and untucked his shirt while he struggled with my buttons. I shrugged out of the shirt and tossed his belt over my shoulder, slipping my hand under his waistband. Nick lifted me and carried me to the bedroom, to his bed.

“Are you sure?” he asked, cupping his hand around my jaw as he settled his weight over me. I quirked my eyebrows, peering down at the grip I had on his manly bits. He laughed. “OK, then.”

I didn’t have time to be nervous. I didn’t know how this would feel, but it couldn’t be bad. Werewolves had very healthy attitudes toward sex. Hell, sex was one of the primary winter activities in the valley. Which was why we had so many babies every spring.

Babies.

I arched off of him long enough to dangle off the bed and grab for his nightstand. Nick nibbled along the curve of my spine, biting at my hip as I rooted around for the long string of condoms I found there. I turned back to him, giving him a speculative look. He smiled sheepishly. “I had high hopes.”

I laughed and helped him ease out of his pants. He guided my hands as we slipped on the condom. I expected him to, well, get right to it. But he pushed me back onto the mattress, kissing down my bottom, hitting all of the places I loved best, the valley between my breasts, the hollow of my belly button. His fingers were already deep inside me, stretching and teasing me, while his thumb worked little circles around my *. His lips closed around my nipple, flicking and teasing it with his tongue.

He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. “This might hurt a little,” he said, smiling up at me, concern reflecting back at me in those blue eyes. “It might be better if you were running things.”

He helped me position him near my entrance, and I sank down over him, hissing as I stretched. It was more pressure than pain, a strange alien sensation that disturbed more than it hurt. I stayed still for a second, waiting for my body to adjust around him. I tried not to overthink, but damn, it was a lot of stuff to process. The stretching and pulling sensations deep inside. The way his hands wrapped around my waist. Nick looking up at me, his expression so happy, so adoring, that I couldn’t help but smile at him. I moved just a little bit and gasped at the friction it produced.

“Slow,” he whispered, kissing my neck. “Go slow.”

My first couple of movements were awkward as I searched for the right angle. He lifted my hips and thrust up gently, helping me find a rhythm. His hand slid up my neck, rubbing his thumb along my jaw. I leaned into his touch, and he pulled me down to kiss him. He nibbled along the line of my chin, my throat. He pressed his teeth against my collarbone and nipped a little harder.

I rose on my knees and slid down just a little harder, huffing out a little moan. I rose a little higher and did it again. I paused to absorb the strange, hot lightning sensation that shot through my stomach. That was nice. I pushed up with my feet, riding so high that Nick almost slipped out of me. He groaned in protest until I slammed my hips down on his.

“You’re a natural.” He sighed, sitting up and wrapping his arms around me as I rode him. He slid his hand between us and stroked my *.

I giggled again until I felt my inner muscles tighten, clenching around him. I shrieked at the first pulse, clutching at his shoulders. Nick lay back, pulling me down and rolling over. He hitched my legs over his hips, pulling me up so my ass rested on his thighs. He gave one good, hard thrust, spreading me wide for him, and I yelled out. He was thrusting upward, hitting some wonderful place that made me want to squeeze my thighs together and lock him there. I tensed again, and the wave was longer, better. A rush of heat seemed to radiate up through my chest, making the blood roar in my ears. The pulses were coming quicker, more intense. Everything seemed to seize up at once, and I was screaming his name.

I must have yelled some other, dirtier stuff, because Nick answered with a yell of his own and was coming with me. He laid his head against my heart, panting against my skin and listening to its beat. I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him closer.

I tried to find some tiny bit of regret inside myself but couldn’t. I’d done it. I’d chosen Nick. There was no going back now. I stroked my fingers along his cheek. “This might hurt a little,” I whispered.

He blinked dreamily at me. “Hmm?”

I closed my eyes and prayed that I was making the right choice. I sank my teeth into his shoulder as gently as possible, just breaking the skin. He yelped but gritted his teeth and took it like a man. I licked the wound and nuzzled his jaw.

“You couldn’t have warned me?” he asked, frowning down at the thin trail of blood dripping down his chest.

“Sorry. You would have tensed up. It would have hurt more,” I told him, handing him a tissue. “But we’re mated now. There’s no escape for you.”

“Not looking for one,” he said, dabbing at the wound. “You OK?”

I nodded. Physically, I was great. Relaxed and dandy. But I was a little worried. While I’d refused any detailed descriptions during Mama’s birds-andthe-beasts talk, the one thing I did ask was how she was sure she and Dad were mated. She said she “just knew,” and when I gave her an irritated look, she added that she felt complete, whole, happy with her choice. But frankly, I’d felt that way for a while, so how could I tell if there was a difference?

“Is something supposed to happen?” he asked.

I propped myself up on my elbow. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should bite me again?”

I gently touched my fingertips to the edge of the wound on his neck, which was raw and red. “I think I got you pretty good the first time.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out,” he said, kissing me. “Personally, I am willing to do that over and over until we come to some conclusion.”

“There’s that confidence again.”

He climbed out of bed, muttering about finding his drawers, and I noticed the faint white scar on his butt.

“Oh, no,” I moaned.

Nick was back on the bed in a flash. “What? Are you hurt?”

“I claimed my mate with a bite to the ass!” I cried, pressing my face to the pillow.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your ass. I bit it, months ago!” I moaned as he pried my hands and the pillow off my face and made me look at him. “And ever since then, I’ve felt this weird protectiveness . . . and possessiveness toward you. And I’ve been calmer, with the exception of the whole possible werewolf intruder thing. I’ve been happy, content. I’ve been mated.”

“But, but, but—”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed, gesturing at his matrimonially marked ass.

“But if that were true, if all it took was a bite, werewolves would find themselves accidentally mated to random people all the time.”

“It’s not about the bite, it’s about the intention,” I said. “The werewolf magic sort of does the rest.” I thought back to the day I bit him. I’d been angry because he thought I was Mo. I wanted to show him that I was the woman, the animal, he was looking for. And I was staking my claim, marking my territory. Permanently. My stupid instincts made my decision for me. I could have spared myself all that angst over Clay versus Nick. “Oh, this is bad . . .”

“Why is it so bad?” he asked. “It just means we arrived at our destination a little early. I think it’s kind of cool.”

“We can never tell Samson, do you understand? If he knows I accidentally claimed your glutes, I will never live it down.”

“Maggie, it will be OK. This is a good thing. You chose me. And I love you for it.”

“I’m serious. We can’t tell Samson or Cooper or Mo. Or my mom.”

His tone was exasperated as he kissed my forehead. “Maggie.”

“Shutting up.”

He nuzzled my throat and traced the curves of my collarbone with his fingertips. “So, I love you.”

“Uh . . . thanks?”

“Do you have anything you might want to express to me in return?”

“You are . . . awesome?” I suggested. He leveled me with eyes that contained no amusement whatsoever. “I’m sorry! I’ve never said it before. OK, if feeling like your heart’s been ripped through your chest, jammed back, and scrambled around means you’re in love, it’s possible that one day I could be in love with you. “

He quirked his lips. “Well, that was . . . descriptive, while still remaining vague.”

“I will say that I don’t want to be without you. The idea of you leaving makes me want to throw up. When you’re not around, I feel empty and nauseated.”

“Aha!” he crowed. “So you admit it! I have a profound effect on your stomach . . . Speaking of which, I’ve been thinking.”

“That was a terrible segue.”

He ignored me pointedly. “I was thinking, what if you went and found some werewolf who didn’t gross you out entirely and you mated with him? You could have as many babies with him as you wanted. As long you came home to me every day, I think I could live with that.”

I kissed him long and hard. “Just the fact that you’re willing even to consider that means I couldn’t possibly go through with it. First of all, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to the random werewolf I picked. He wouldn’t be able to have babies with the female of his choice.”

“You could pick a gay werewolf who wouldn’t want a female—”

“You came up with this scenario pretty quickly,” I muttered.

“I’m a creative thinker.”

“Oh, my God,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. I laughed and shook my head. “OK, second, it wouldn’t work anyway, because I chose you, I marked you. Remember? No substitutions, no take-backs. My body won’t accept, uh, contributions from anyone else. You’re my mate, for better, for worse. Human or werewolf. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“Good,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “ ’Cause I’m going to ask you to marry me, sometime soon. I know this is sort of a good moment, what with the successful deflowering and biting and all. But I didn’t want to do it when you were expecting it. And I didn’t know whether you wanted an engagement ring or not. I didn’t see any of the women in the pack wearing them.”

I smiled and was amazed at how easily I accepted the idea after a lifetime of sneering at happy married couples Then again, engagement is sort of a bump in the road, compared with lifelong bonding through a bite on the ass.

“Rings slip off too easily when we change,” I told him. “Most of us have our bands tattooed on our fingers. But if that’s too much for you, some of the women accept necklaces as a sign of betrothal. The chain has to be sturdy and long enough to wrap around our necks in either form.”

He grinned. “Is that what you want?”

“I’m not much on needles.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “I like stones with some color to them. Don’t get me a door-knocker-sized diamond. Just a little stone.”

“What color?”

I grinned up at him, pushing the blond strands of hair out of his eyes. “Blue. I’m awfully partial to blue.”