Page 50
“When the wolf side meets someone who is pleasing to them in some way, they naturally want to be near them. They’ll get comfortable, lustful, and happy in their presence.
That eventually leads them to bond with that person.
It’s usually another shifter, but as we’ve seen, it can be a human, too.
Rick is bonded to you. That much is very obvious. ”
His words sunk in, and I thought back to when I first met Rick.
He’d introduced himself and immediately started flirting, like he’d seen me from across the room and decided he wanted me.
Sort of strange in hindsight, but in the moment, I’d been flattered and shocked that this tuxedoed man was smitten with a lowly beat reporter.
“Does that mean I’m bonded to him, too?” I asked.
Nate shook his head as the band switched over to an interesting and somewhat bizarre rock version of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.”
“It doesn’t have to be mutual,” Nate explained.
“It usually is. It’s rare for it not to be.
Males and females react differently to bonding.
A female who bonds to a male is jealous and protective of their male.
They can actually get quite aggressive toward other women if they show interest or flirt with their male. ”
“So they become catty? Great.” I rolled my eyes. “Love that the stereotype is real.”
Nate chuckled and took another sip of beer.
“Sort of, I guess. Maybe you’d call it ‘wolfy’ instead.
” He grinned. “Even though they are territorial of their men, most bonded females are accepting and loving toward any children their male might have with other women. Their wolf side sees something of their chosen male in the child. It means they make really good stepmothers.”
“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about the wicked stepmother trope. I guess it’s the same for the males, then?”
Nate made a pained expression. “Not really. You’ve seen how combative and territorial a bonded male is.
They tend to be the polar opposite when it comes to children their chosen female may have had in previous relationships.
They weren’t sired by them, so it’s almost impossible for the male to form a fatherly bond with the child.
They can get over that, but it’s a challenge.
I bet lots of shifters have daddy issues because of that.
“The other issue with males is how high their sex drive gets when they’ve bonded to a woman. They have an overwhelming urge to hunt for their woman, keep them fed, and keep them satisfied in bed. The urge to breed is almost impossible to hold back.”
That sounded exactly like Rick. He’d been insatiable our first few weeks together, and even after that, he’d wanted sex at least three or four times a week.
Had I not been living with Mom and Gael, he probably would have tried every day.
The few times we’d had sex without a condom, he’d begged for it.
Maybe that had been his urge to impregnate me.
I shuddered at the thought.
“That’s why I was worried about you staying at your apartment,” Nate said.
“A bonded male shifter is nothing to overlook. When the bonding isn’t mutual, the male becomes a little deranged.
Imagine a stalker. Obsessed, angry, sexually frustrated, and violent, but with the skills and strength of a wolf. That’s what Rick is right now.”
It felt as though a cold finger had slid down my spine. I shivered, despite myself.
Nate must have seen it because he cursed and put his bottle down. “Shit, I’m sorry. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He leaned forward and put an arm around my shoulders.
“It’s fine.” I took a long swig of my beer to calm my nerves, but the heat of his arm worked much better. “I needed to know. I can’t understand this world I’m in if I don’t learn everything.”
“That makes sense,” he said. “And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about bonding.
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it’s an amazing and fulfilling commitment.
A relationship full of adoration and respect, especially when the bonding is mutual.
” He gave me a sly smile. “And apparently the sex is fucking mind-blowing.”
My cheeks burned. “Apparently? You’ve never bonded with anyone?”
“Nope,” he said, swirling the last of the beer in his bottle. “Never will, either.”
My smile slipped, replaced by a frown. “Wait, why? Don’t you want that?”
Without looking up at me, he said, “I’m a lone wolf.
No pack, no place to put down roots. I wouldn’t make a female shifter or even a human woman live that life.
Bouncing around from city to city, country to country, cutting her off from her pack or family…
it wouldn’t be right. Plus, if she were human, I’d have to explain why I’m a nomad without letting slip about shifters.
Not easy. And for a female shifter, traveling around without the support of a pack would probably cause her to turn feral, which is a fate almost worse than death. ”
He’d mentioned multiple times now that being without a pack was an almost guaranteed way to become feral, yet he was sane—possibly more sane than anyone I’d ever met.
“What makes you special?” I asked. “Why don’t you go feral without a pack?”
He ran his tongue along his lower lip and stared at his empty bottle. The band, urged on by suggestions from the crowd, launched into a rendition of “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Finally, he looked up and shrugged. “I suppose it’s because, from the first memory I have, I’ve always been alone. I grew up in the human world without a pack. I guess I can’t miss or crave a connection I never had to begin with.”
“Well, we have that in common,” I said. “I’ve never been in a pack, either.”
“Yeah, but you have a family.”
“I do. That’s true. But I’ve never had a pack, so I might not go feral, either.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Are you thinking of running away with me?”
When he looked into my eyes, I forced myself not to look away. Instead, I grinned back at him.
“You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”
His gray eyes glittered in the string lights that lit the pavilion. “I didn’t say anything you didn’t imply.”
The thought of sitting on the back of his motorcycle, the wind whipping around us as we cruised down the highway was exhilarating.
Seeing the world, never sleeping in the same town, had a simple yet inexplicably romantic feel to it.
Though, in all honesty, I wouldn’t want to live that way forever.
I wanted roots. Stability. A life somewhere and a place to call my own.
“Get us another round?” I asked, sliding my empty bottle toward him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grabbing our empties as he stood.
I swallowed, unsure where things were going, unsure where I even wanted them to go. It didn’t matter. We were safe here, and I was going to enjoy that. Who knew when I’d get to experience anything like this again?
Nate returned, handing me a fresh bottle, and our fingers grazed.
Rather than flinching away, I allowed myself to enjoy the touch.
The warmth of his skin sent a blaze of heat through me, and my stomach dipped as I remembered those precious moments on the jogging trail.
The feel of his tongue inside my mouth, his hard cock hitting just the right place as I ground my hips against him.
The band started playing a more upbeat song. “You wanna dance?” Nate asked.
“Um…” I blinked in surprise. Images of us writhing together on the dance floor swarmed my mind. “Sure,” I said, standing and taking his hand.
Multiple couples paired up on the dance floor.
After a beat of awkwardness, I forgot about the outside world.
I rarely allowed myself to live in the moment—always too worried about the future, about making rent, finding childcare for Gael, helping Mom around the house, and studying.
Taking a breath, I pushed my worries to the back of my mind and let loose.
Soon, Nate and I were laughing and dancing together.
It was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
The songs ranged from slow to fast. The heat of Nate’s body against mine made my head spin.
Every few minutes, he slid his hand down my lower back or across my side or stomach.
Each time his fingers trailed along my body, the memory of it stayed, like highways drawn across my skin.
Eventually, sweaty and out of breath, I pulled him away from the dance floor to sit again.
He was smiling openly and looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in the short time I knew him.
Nate was always so controlled and composed.
It made me think that staying as far away from the feral beast most shifters thought he would become was an integral part of his persona.
Tonight, however, I was seeing that facade crack.
As we settled at the table with another drink, I asked, “What was your childhood like?”
“Like shit,” he said with a laugh. “Foster care is not fun. Whatever you imagine? It’s as bad or worse.”
I wanted to dig more into that, find out why he’d ever been in the system to begin with, but he spoke before I could.
“Do you like Canada or Mexico better? I’ve been to both. Kinda wonder what your opinion is.”
“Canada is better,” I said without hesitation.
“My answer might be different if I was born somewhere else. I think I told you Zamora isn’t a nice place.
Lots of violence and gangs. Toronto has its own dangers, but nothing like back there.
Sure, the country is gorgeous, but there’s no comparison.
The only thing I miss about Mexico is my extended family.
My grandmother, cousins, aunts, uncles.”
“Makes sense,” he said.
“My turn,” I said. “What’s with the motorcycle? Is it like a symbol of freedom or something?”
He frowned at me. “ What ? You think there’s symbolism in a bike?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” I shrugged and took another sip of my beer.
“Nah, nothing like that. I just like it. Small, fast, good gas mileage. Doesn’t take up a lot of room, either.
I will admit there is something freeing about it.
Driving eighty in a car is totally different than on a bike.
In a car, there’s always this sense of protection and safety, even if you’re going crazy fast. On a bike, you always have the thought at the back of your mind that you’re one mistake away from disaster.
One wrong turn, some loose gravel on the road, or an asshole on their phone while they’re driving?
Any one of those can be the end. It takes skill, which I have, but accidents happen.
That should make it terrifying, but really, it’s what makes it invigorating. ”
“So, there is symbolism in it,” I said with a knowing smile.
Nate leaned forward, resting on his elbows, and looked into my eyes. “You know, you’re pretty fucking cute when you’re being a smartass.”
I swallowed and licked my lips. “Yeah? Well, you’re pretty hot when you’re being an asshole,” I said, shocked at my own boldness.
“I think you need some more dancing,” he said. “Come on.”
He took my hand and yanked me back into the crowd.
The night went on like that. I learned more about his past—not much, only small glimpses of past work he’d done, places he’d traveled to, and a fun story about hunting a feral in a Colombian jungle two years ago.
No matter how much I probed, he always turned the conversation back to me.
I didn’t get the sense that he was hiding things, simply that he was more interested in me than talking about himself.
By the end of the evening, I felt closer to Nate than I had to any other man in my life.
We were moving to the beat of “Shut Up and Dance” by Walk The Moon. I’d never felt so good in my life. The four beers were obviously helping me relax, but it was more than that. My headache and nausea were distant memories, and I had a distinct feeling it was because I was with Nate.
A sneaky voice at the back of my head urged me to do more than dance.
When the song reached its crescendo, growing more intense as the band added some of their own off-the-cuff instrumentals, Nate spun me out on the dance floor, then pulled me back in until I was pressed against his chest. I looked up at him, finding the same hunger in his eyes that I felt in my own heart.
With my chest against his, I could feel our hearts hammering together, like each was trying to tear out of their host to be with the other.
I’d never seen lips that looked as soft as his.
Nate leaned in, his mouth brushing mine.
I ran my hands up his back and deepened the kiss.
This breathless, mind-blowing kiss somehow surpassed the frenzied, heated make-out session we’d had that morning.
His hands wound into my hair, holding me close as our breaths mixed together.
The song ended, and the crowd cheered and clapped, snapping me out of the moment. I pulled away, gasping for breath, but not backing away. Suddenly self-conscious about being in a crowd of strangers, I glanced around to see if anyone was staring at us.
Nate put a finger under my chin, pulling my eyes back to his.
“Do you want to go back to the cabin?” he asked.
I understood the underlying meaning in his words. He wasn’t talking about going back to watch TV or sleep. He was asking me if I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
Chills ran up my arms as a swarm of butterflies erupted in my stomach.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Take me back.”
Nate’s eyes gleamed, and he smiled at me. Not a cocky smile, but one of relieved happiness. He stepped back, took my hand, and led me back to the cabin.
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