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“I claimed her,” I repeat. My heart is punching against my ribs. “Elena is my mate.”

“Thefuckshe is!” Raf snarls, drawing his right shoulder back as though he’s preparing to deck me.

I lower my chin but hold his gaze. “She’s my fated mate,” I say. “I didn’t know until the wedding, but she . . .” I take a deep breath and let it out in a huff. I feel the need to explain. “She was always mine — even when we were young. I kept my distance all these years, but not anymore. I’m . . . I’m fuckingin lovewith her, man.”

Raf stiffens, and he gets this funny look in his eyes. He isn’t swinging at me yet, which I take as a good sign.

I hit my gloves together to release some of my pent-up energy and take a few pacing steps. I practiced this conversation at least a dozen times on the way over here, but every version I imagined ended with me beaten and bloody.

I don’t care. Raf can be angry if he wants to be, but Elena is my mate, and he’ll have to respect that.

There’s no stronger bond for our kind than that of a mated pair. Not friendship. Not pack bonds. Not even blood.

“I know,” he says softly, unraveling one of his cotton hand wraps and beginning to wrap his knuckles.

I swallow. “Youknow?”

Raf lifts an eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot. I see the way you look at her.” His mouth twists into something like a sneer, and for the first time, I think he might actually hitme. “I canscentthe way you feel when you two are together.”

And here I thought I’d always managed to keep the stink of my lust from leaching out.

A muscle works in Raf’s jaw, but his movements are controlled as he wraps his hands. “I thought maybe you just wanted to fuck her. I knew you wouldn’t, but it always bugged me. Then you showed up at the hospital after her accident, and . . .” A pained look comes over him. “I knew — knew you loved her, anyway.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Raf doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look murderous, either. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did.” Raf frowns at me in surprise. “Why do you think I always kept you in the loop about what she was up to? I was sort of hoping you’d take the hint and finally make your move.”

I sigh.Figures. Raf is a strategist. A CEO. An alpha. He’s calculating and subtle in a way that I’ve always found annoying as fuck. Ifthatwas his version of dropping a hint, I’m sure glad I didn’t wait for his approval to tell Elena how I feel.

“I kept trying to deny it,” I admit.

“Why?”

“Why?” I repeat, my voice rising with incredulity. I lift my hands at my sides and then drop them back down. “I was afraid of losing the only family I’ve ever had.”

Raf blinks at me, and a thousand tiny emotions flicker through his eyes before he tamps them down. Most people probably would have missed the subtle change in his expression, but I’ve known Raf since we were kids.

“You could never lose me,” he says, his voice thickwith emotion. “We’re brothers. I might want to kick you in the nuts now and again, but you’re stuck with me.”

My chest squeezes with relief and gratitude, and I have to swallow a few times before I’m able to speak. “I won’t hurt her,” I promise. “I could never hurt her.”

“You’d better not,” he says, finishing wrapping his hands. “Or I reallywillhave to kill you.”

ELENA

The steps leadingup to my apartment seem extra-dingy as I lead Jake up to my place. My heart is doing all kinds of crazy gymnastics in my chest. This moment feels significant.

When I first moved to Boston, I was crashing in a house with four other dancers. It was crowded and messy, but I was living my dream.

It wasn’t until I picked up a few part-time teaching jobs at local ballet studios that I was able to afford a place of my own. It’s a studio apartment roughly the size of a shoebox, but I’ve been proud to call it mine.

Until now.

Now my building seems run-down and shabby, and I’m nervous to show Jake the tiny apartment where the two of us will be living together.

Jake says he can get a job in private security anywhere, but my school is here. Apparently, shifters don’tdolong-distance relationships when it comes to their mates, which is just fine by me. I don’t think I could stand to be two-thousand miles away from Jake.

“It’s not much,” I warn him, fumbling in my purse for the key. The brass number nine fell off my door long before I moved in, and only the unvarnished outline of the digit signifies which apartment is mine.