“I didn’t mean for that to go down the way it did,” he says.
“Did you know?” I demand. “Is that why you wanted to order a pizza tonight, to get close to Dom? Was this your way of checking on the people in my life?”
He closes the distance between us with two big steps and peers down at me with a clenched jaw. “You think I would knowingly put you in that position?”
“I don’t know,” I admit with a shrug. “There is so much I don’t know about you, how am I to know what you would or wouldn’t do?”
“How could you—” Luca cuts himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “Of course I didn’t know.” He shoots an accusatory glare at me. “I had no idea you were friendly with Bianchi’s son.”
“We graduated together,” I explain hastily. “If I had known he was a shifter, I would have said something.”
Luca grunts something unintelligible.
“What do you want from me?” I shout. “A list of every person I have come into contact with over the past year? Five years? Since birth?”
He doesn’t respond.
“I can’t read your mind, Luca,” I add, calmer. “You need to meet me halfway. Tell me what I can do to help because I have no idea what I’m doing. Tell me what I need to know.”
I study his face for a reaction—any reaction. He doesn’t give me much, and that only infuriates me more.
“Talk to me,” I plead.
“I told you before that I would tell you whatever you want to know,” he says. “All you have to do is ask.”
“And I told you I don’t always know what questions I should be asking,” I remind him.
I wonder if Luca will ever be completely honest with me, or if I will have to continue dragging answers out of him until all of this makes sense. When his gaze drops to the ground without volunteering anything more, I decide it’s up to me.
And I know exactly where I want to start.
“Luca?” I wait for him to look up before I ask, “What were you and Dom talking about earlier?”
He stares at me, in no hurry to answer.
“You told me you would answer my questions,” I remind him.
He looks away with a small shake of his head.
“Luca?” I press.
“It doesn’t matter,” he grumbles.
“You nearly tore each other’s throats out back there,” I say. “The conversation had to do with me, and I want to know what it was about.”
He looks at me and shrugs. “Dom wants to claim you.”
“I heard that much, but I don’t know what that means.”
“He wants you to join their pack,” Luca explains quietly.
I recall Luca’s reaction. “And you don’t want me to do that?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Luca gapes. “You want to join the Bianchi pack?”
“That’s not what I said,” I argue defensively. “I’m trying to understand why you reacted the way you did.”
Luca stares at me, silently grinding his teeth. Finally, he grits, “If you accept Dom’s claim, you will not only be a part of the Bianchi pack, but you will be his. Only his. Forever.”
I blink. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“That’s how it works,” Luca continues. “To claim another shifter is to make them your permanent mate.”
“Mate as in . . .” I blanch.
“It means the same thing in both realms.”
“Ew.” My embarrassment over discovering that Dom sees me in that way turns to horror when I remember Luca’s response to Dom’s proposal. “What a minute. You said . . .”
“Yeah.” Luca grimaces. “That . . . didn’t come out right.”
His insinuation that he had already claimed me? Damn right, that didn’t come out right. Now I understand why those words, coming out of his mouth, felt so wrong.
How dare he?
Unless . . .
There is a significant part of my life that I don’t remember. Luca and I were romantically involved at one time. What if the dreams I have been having are not merely dreams, but memories working their way back?
“Luca?” My voice quivers. “Is there any truth to that?”
“To what?” He looks genuinely confused.
“Have you . . . Did we . . .” I clear my throat. “This really sucks because I don’t remember certain things, and I really want to remember, especially when I know that you do. It’s a real disadvantage not knowing if someone has, or has not, seen me naked, and I hate that I can’t remember—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sav, that’s not . . .” A fleeting grin crosses his face before he looks at the ground. I swear his cheeks tint a faint shade of pink, but it doesn’t last long before the suave and cocky bravado I have come to expect soars back. “As much as I wish I could say otherwise, I have never seen you naked. You’ve seen far more of me than I ever have of you.”
“So what did you mean when you said that to Dom?” I press.
He stares at me for a long, heavy moment before he says, “They were just words, Sav.”
He’s lying. Not about seeing me naked—my instincts tell me he is telling the truth about that. But what he said to Dom earlier was not “just words.” It meant something.
I think about Dom’s question. Do you intend to claim her?
Luca confirmed that nothing like that has happened between us, but does he intend to claim me at some point? Is that what his response to Dom implied? Could that be why he reacted so strongly to Dom’s proposal?
My heart skips a beat. With one look into Luca’s eyes, I know I am on the verge of uncovering something big. Something unexpected. Hidden behind the thin veil of indifference that masks his face is something I never thought I would see. Vulnerability.
I step closer to him, momentarily empowered. “Luca, why don’t you want me to accept Dom’s claim?”
“I told you why.”
“No, you didn’t,” I return. “All you said was that I would be in the Bianchi pack, and Dom’s mate.”
Luca smirks. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Why, Luca?” I press. “Tell me why you don’t want Dom to claim me.”
His lip curls up on one side into a snarl.
“You don’t even like to hear me say it. You hate the idea that much.” I inch closer, stepping into his space with a confidence that surprises me as much as it does him. “You can’t bear the thought of me being Dom’s mate.”
Anger flashes in his eyes briefly before they flutter shut. He inhales sharply as if to compose himself. I realize I’m poking a literal wolf, but I can’t stop now. Not when I’m so close to pulling something honest out of him.
“Luca . . .” I touch him—one finger on his forearm. “Tell me why.”
He snatches my wrist and guides my arm to my side with far more finesse than I expect considering the wildness I see in his eyes when his gaze meets mine. His answer is a whisper. “You know why.”
The girly butterflies-in-the-stomach soar. I think I know, and I really hope I’m right. But how can I be sure? If he likes me, why can’t he just say it? Am I reading him all wrong—again?