Page 12 of Bullied Pretend Mate (Silverville Firefighter Wolves #3)

I’m waist-deep in Engine One when Xeran finds me again.

“Can you come out of there?” he calls.

Soren shoots me a glance from his side of the engine, a look that says you’re in deep shit even though I haven’t done anything wrong. In fact, since Maeve got back to town and we’ve been following our date and sleepover schedule, I haven’t been late a single time.

It’s just like when we were kids. Maeve keeps me in line. Telling me which homework is going to be due, and making me study for tests. I think about every time she took me out to “hunt,” only to quiz me with chemistry questions the whole time, until I started looking forward to the sessions.

“That’s called operant conditioning,” she said when I finally figured it out and confronted her about it. “And that reminds me—you need to study for the psych exam next week, too.”

Now, Xeran’s gaze is heavy on my back as I grab a rag and wipe the oil from my fingers. “Be right there, boss,” I say.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Soren shoots me another look, and I run through everything this week, trying to figure out if there’s anything Xeran could possibly be pissed off about. The only thing that comes to mind is Maeve.

But as far as he knows, that’s legit. And as much as my parents might not approve of me mating with her, it’s not like Xeran’s going to give me a lecture about my social standing.

Unless he’s found out about our agreement.

One that flies in the face of the sanctity of the mating process. Something like that would definitely get a guy like Xeran up in arms.

When I’m relatively grease-free and off the tall stool, Xeran gestures for me to walk with him. I send one last glance back toward Soren, who shrugs, apparently unable to help me.

Together, Xeran and I walk out the back of the firehouse and along the path that follows Fogue Creek behind the house.

Although we’re wearing the same outfit—a navy-blue FRFD shirt tucked into black work pants—Xeran has the deference of the supreme on his side, so other shifters move to the side as we walk, making room for him on the path and nodding to him as we go.

“So, what’s up?” I finally blurt, because while Xeran could probably go the rest of his life without talking, being quiet is not that easy for me.

“Have you given any thought to the leadership position?” he asks, turning his head to me and raising an eyebrow.

Once again, I’ve given it so little thought that it’s surprising to me when he brings it up. With everything going on—Maeve and the mating marks, the weddings, her whole deal with the lawyer and inheritance—I completely forgot what he said about leading up a unit at the firehouse.

“We have enough guys now—and enough of them trained—that we’re going to need to split into two units,” Xeran adds. “I’ve already been looking to allocate some funds to a second engine.”

The thought runs through my mind, but I don’t bring it up. If the fires have stopped, what’s the point in continuing to grow the firehouse?

Obviously, we still get small calls. Normal fires, a little flame in a trash can, are easy to put out. So it’s not like we should dissolve the firefighting group altogether—as Declan did—but I don’t see the need for all these guys.

Xeran does.

Maybe that’s what makes him a leader.

Only further proof that I’m not cut out to be in charge of my own unit. Even the thought of it makes my blood feel thick, like my blood pressure is skyrocketing.

“Felix?” Xeran prods, and I realize I’ve taken far too long to answer him.

“Yeah, uh, I have given it some thought,” I say as we push up the little hill and into town, shops rising up around us as we walk through downtown. “And I think I’m not the right person for the role. I think maybe Lachlan or Soren would be better for it? Or Kalen. I mean, he’s your brother—”

“ Felix .”

I come to a stop outside the barber’s shop. Glancing in through the glass, I see a line of guys in the chairs, a few of them with shaving cream around their jaws.

When Xeran starts to talk, I look back at him, wishing I could do anything but be here right now.

I’m not good at confronting this kind of stuff. Talking about my potential. I’d much rather skate by, let people think of me as the comic relief, and never have to worry about being a disappointment.

“I’m asking you because I think you’re the best man for the job,” Xeran says, crossing his arms. “And I was really hoping you were going to go along with it voluntarily.”

“What are you—”

He reaches out, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “You’re the new head of our Unit Two, man. I know you’re worried about it, but there’s a leader in you that I’m going to pull out.”

The words hover in my head. To tell him that he’s making a mistake. To convince him that I’m not cut out for this kind of thing.

But I don’t know how to get those words out of my mouth, so instead, I just grin, clap him on the shoulder, and say, “Alright, boss, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

***

Maeve looks, as she always does, stunning.

She’s wearing a tight black long-sleeved shirt with a deep V-neck that shows off her cleavage and is tucked into a pair of tight jean shorts. Her curls are loose over her shoulders, and she holds a sparkling black clutch under one arm.

“Too dressy?” she asks, wincing as she steps out of her rental, turning and locking the door behind her. Her scent hits me full force—smooth jasmine—and I want to scoop her up, take her back inside, and forget the party altogether.

But Xeran insisted I come to the party. And Maeve thought since it’s an event for the whole pack, someone from the lawyer’s office might be there.

“Before I call him to tell him about it,” she says as we walk down the street together toward the park. “I was thinking it would feel more organic for someone to just see us out together, you know?”

“Maybe they’ll see us at one of the weddings.”

“One can only hope,” Maeve says as we cross the road and enter the chaos of the monthly Pack in the Park, a new event series Phina put together to create a stronger sense of community, with all the recent changes.

A live band is on the stage, playing just loud enough that the music carries through the park but not to the point of drowning out conversation.

One side of the courtyard has a line of booths with outreach programs and organizations that help with various things—one booth is for the rebuilding effort, one for placing orphaned shifters into new homes, and another hands out water to anyone who walks by.

The other side of the courtyard has food trucks and stands selling wares and goods. We head for that side, and after Maeve gets a cherry lemonade and some sort of meat on a stick, we peruse the stands.

“I love homemade jewelry,” she says, stopping and handing her drink and meat stick to me. “Let me look.”

I stand back, holding her things and watching her as she laughs and jokes with the person running the booth. A moment later, she comes back to me with a pair of earrings—little disco balls with cowboy hats on top.

“I have the perfect outfit for this,” she says, tucking her clutch under her arm as she immediately puts the earrings on. “It’s going up in a post next week—I can name-drop this small seller. She’s not going to know what hit her.”

“Is that a good thing?” I laugh, eyebrows raising.

“Felix,” Maeve says, pausing with the earring halfway to her ear, her eyes finding mine, “you know that I have, like, 400,000 followers, right?”

The number hits me in the chest. Of course, she does—Maeve deserves to have that many people following her. And it doesn’t surprise me that there are more than three hundred thousand other people who see her spark, her value. Like I do.

We continue making our way through the party, trying our hand at some of the games. The sun sets, and someone hands out sparklers. The shifter pups run around with them, laughing and trying to spell their names with the light.

I’m just about to ask Maeve if she wants to leave when someone calls my name from across the grass.

“Felix!”

It’s Kalen, walking fast, his arm raised. It’s weird seeing him outside of the firehouse or the pack hall. Lately, it feels like he’s been working nonstop.

“Hey, man,” I say, reaching out and bumping my fist against his. Without thinking, I snake my arm around Maeve, drawing her close to my side. “You remember Maeve, from school?”

Kalen, a Sorel with perfect manners, nods and holds out his hand, shaking Maeve’s and smiling at her. “I sure do. We snagged a table over there before the next performance starts. Why don’t you guys come sit with us?”

“Oh,” Maeve says, and I think I can feel the heat of her blush through our layers of clothing. I like that she’s blushing. I like knowing my touch affects her like this. “That’s—”

“Sure,” I say before she can finish. “We’ll head over.”

When Kalen leaves, Maeve turns to me, eyebrow raised. “What are you doing?”

“You want people to see us?” I ask, reaching out and taking the cherry from the top of her lemonade. “And Xeran has to affirm our mating bond, so isn’t this a good chance for him to see us organically ?”

Maeve fiddles with the sleeve of her shirt, and I tighten my arm around her. “Don’t worry,” I say. “We’ve got this down—I’m kind of known for being touchy with girls. Just try acting like you like me.”

She lets out a breath and mutters something under her breath that sounds like, “That’s exactly the problem.”