I laughed under my breath, tears pricking at my eyes.
“But I saw you. It never mattered to me you couldn’t shift. Of course, things weren’t that simple for us. I was eleven years older than you. Noticing a fourteen-year-old…well, I was lucky your father didn’t take me out back and shoot me. I told myself to look elsewhere.
“I noticed you again at seventeen. Fresh out of high school, your whole life laid out in front of you. And you chose to stay. I remember wondering why. Such a huge world out there, and you chose the pack. I don’t know if you recall, but our eyes met that day.”
“I remember,” I whispered. “You smiled at me even though Conrad was barking your name.”
“From then on, I noticed you everywhere. But seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, they all felt too young. Thing is, you’re not a teenager anymore.”
“No, I’m not.”
“If you hadn’t gone to that witch, we would have ended up here. I know it without a doubt. You were all I ever saw. You’re all I ever want to see. Now until forever.”
I wiped a tear from my eye. If he kept this up, I’d be bawling by the time we met with the pack.
“You’re already my mate. We’ll finalize it with the pack tonight. But I want something more. I want everything. The whole package. I want the world to know you as my wife.”
“Mathis…” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Juniper Reed sounds so horrible!”
He burst out laughing. “Is that your only reservation? Because you can keep your own name. So long as I get to keep you.”
I sank to my knees in front of him and cupped his cheeks. “You know it’s a yes, you silly man.”
With a pleased growl, Mathis wound his arms around me and pulled me flat him. “Damn straight it’s a yes.”
His mouth found mine as he lowered me down onto the floor.
“Mathis!” I squealed. “We have to meet with the pack! We can’t be late for our own mating ceremony.”
“I have a different ceremony in mind,” he chuckled, his lips finding their way to my throat. “Besides, I’m the alpha. They can bloody well wait.”
His mouth trailed lower until my entire world lit up.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter if the pack ever thought me good enough. Mathis did. And that was all I needed.
Thank you so much for reading this book. I hope you enjoyed it.
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If you missed Rumor and Knox’s story, keep reading for a sneak peek of Death by Mistletoe available everywhere!
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Howling Under The Mistletoe
A Howls Romance: Howlsday Book 1
Another day, another brutally murdered corpse.
Must be Wednesday.
Sighing, I dragged my hand through my hair and stared down at the broken shell of what had once been my fellow pack mate. Seeing her in this state should have crushed me. Sure, I felt something…mostly regret this had happened. But after so many deaths in such a short time period, those emotions hardly affected me anymore.
How sad was that?
I pulled out my phone and swiped a finger across the screen. A quick click and a few taps later, and her image was zipping across the network to my father’s phone with the caption victim number six. That’s right. Six dead werewolves in under a month.
See why I was numb?
Granted, I hadn’t known all the victims. In the North Basin region alone, there were four werewolf packs. Of the six casualties, two were ours. The one at my feet was Brittany Lewis—fifth-highest ranking wolf in our pack, out of a robust eighty-three members. I was the fourth-highest, right beneath my dear old mother, my father’s beta, and my father—the Grand Poobah, himself.
Still, Brittany had been fifth-highest. I could do the math, so I knew what that meant. Whoever had taken her out had gumption enough to take down a big bad werewolf. And she hadn’t gone easy from the looks of it. Overturned lamps, a shredded duvet—hell, the place was littered with tiny little goose feathers from a chewed up pillow tossed into the corner. I hadn’t quite figured out that one yet.
Not to mention, the battered corpse of a male from a different pack than mine.
I hadn’t forgotten him. But since he wasn’t from my pack, he wasn’t my concern. Or at least, he wasn’t my primary concern. Though, thinking about it, what the hell was Ditton Clark doing here? Intermingling wasn’t uncommon, but…they were both nude. Like full on au natural. I was seeing bits of Ditton I’d never hoped to lay eyes on. Including some insides.
Shuddering, I turned back to Brittany, then crouched next to her. I couldn’t touch her, so said the police, and according to my father, I had to obey that little decree. Something about playing by human rules, blah, blah, blah… Apparently, we were supposed to feel grateful they’d invited us to the murder scene.
Sure.
I was feeling real grateful right about now.
Her body was littered with claw marks, her skin stained crimson. Not to mention the massive chunk missing from her throat, complimentary a sharp set of fangs.
“Ms. Hayes?”
I glanced up at the sound of my name and studied the face of the cop hovering nearby. He’d introduced himself when I’d first entered, but, honestly, I’d long since forgotten it.
“I’m…ah…supposed to ask if there’s anything you need?”
Holding his gaze, I pointed down at Brittany. “These claw marks. Did you guys note them?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know. The coroner would have done that.”
The coroner. Right. Some middle-aged man who had waddled in here only to declare her dead. No shit, Sherlock. What had given it away?
“I’m going to smell her now,” I informed the officer. “Don’t freak out, all right?”
“You’re gonna…what?”
“Smell her.” I lifted a brow. “You know, like put my nose against her and sniff?”
My hand to God, he blanched. I bit back a grin. Sometimes, you had to stop and appreciate the little things. Like completely freaking out the poor, disadvantaged humans.
Without waiting, I dropped down onto all fours and positioned my head near Brittany’s. Damn. The woman reeked of Ditton. Like reeked. Every single inch of her. And not from fighting. This was softer than that. Lust, definitely.
I canted my head and stared at Ditton. Even in death, he reached out to her, their fingers touching.
What the hell had happened here?
I pushed back onto my haunches and studied the room. Fractured headboard, broken lamp, cracked walls…all indicative of an intense fight. Or a passionate night between the sheets. Some of us were far from gentle. And in the heat of the moment…what were walls and bedframes compared to a horny werewolf?
The past month, we’d approached these deaths as inner pack conflicts. Members gone rogue. Maybe it was something more than that. From the smell of the two of them, this had nothing to do with brawling and everything to do with fucking. A Romeo and Juliet situation?