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CHAPTER EIGHT

JAKE

I’m still fuming by the time we get back to the hotel. My skin feels roughly two sizes too small, and it’s taking every ounce of my self-control not to shift in the backseat of Elena’s Uber and burst through the window out into the street.

It’s a miracle I didn’t shift right there in the middle of the club.

I haven’t been this out of control since I was a teenager, and it scares me. All these years, I thought I’d found a way to appease my wolf — fighting in the cage rather than fighting on the streets.

But one little insult hurled at Elena, and suddenly it’s like I’m fifteen years old again with an uncontrollable rage burning in my gut. I lost control tonight just like I did the night of the basketball game, which proves just how bad Elena is for me.

And yet, despite the rage humming beneath my skin, my mind keeps circling back to what that ass-clown Derek let slip .

Elena never slept with him?

That can’t be right. I know from Raf’s updates that she dated the guy for nearly six months.

And what did he mean that she’s been saving herself? Elena can’t be a virgin. No way. She’s been sneaking around with boys since the ninth grade. Her best friend is Carmen , for crying out loud.

I don’t say a word to Elena as we take the elevator up to our room, and the stench of her anger fills the small space. I know she’s embarrassed about the fight and mad she had to leave the club early, but I’m not going to apologize for defending her.

That Derek guy is a fucking asshole, and he deserved a lot worse than he got.

I don’t care if he’s in the wedding or if Elena did date him. Derek Tyson is bad news. He’s a transfer from the Beaver Creek pack, and I’ve heard way too many stories about how those guys treat their females.

Maybe that’s why he’s Elena’s ex. He sure as shit must have done something stupid to lose her. If Elena were mine, I’d never let her go.

“You didn’t have to start a fight with him, you know,” Elena growls the second we reach our room. “You could have just walked away.”

A fresh wave of fury hits me straight in the gut, and I round on her so fast that she takes a step back.

“ Walked away ?” I glare at her, my voice shaking with the force of my rage. “After he insulted you like that?”

“He was just jealous.”

“You’re defending him?”

“No, I —”

Elena breaks off at the look on my face. How is it that this Derek fucker shows up out of the blue, insults her, and suddenly I’m the bad guy?

Oh, because Derek has money and went to a fancy school, while I’m the hotheaded piece of trash who never went to college.

I drag in a breath through my nose, willing myself to stay calm. “If you think that I was just going to walk away after he called you a —” A strangled noise slips out of my throat, and I rake a hand through my hair. “You don’t know me very well at all.”

“No,” she snaps. “I do know you. I just thought you’d gotten past this . . . this . . .” She gropes for what she’s trying to say, looking just as frustrated as I feel.

“This what?” I bite out. “Go on — say it!”

“This chip on your shoulder that makes you fly off the handle like a total psycho!”

My left eye twitches as I glare at her. Chip on my shoulder? Look who’s talking. Elena won’t ask Raf for a dime, even though he’s a fucking billionaire who wants nothing more than to take care of his family.

“You know what? I’m going to bed,” I growl, ripping my T-shirt over my head and tossing it onto the floor. “But thanks for being so goddamned honest. It’s good to know where I stand with you.”

Elena opens her mouth, but no words come out. It’s just as well. I’ve got nothing more to say to her tonight.

I storm over to the little closet by the bathroom and yank out the extra blanket. Elena turns away as I strip down to my boxer briefs and flop down on the tiny loveseat by the window.

“What are you doing?” Elena demands. She’s still averting her eyes, but her voice cracks with something like guilt.

“What does it look like?” I grumble.

“This is your room,” she says, her voice small and helpless. “I’ll . . . sleep on the couch.”

“Fine,” I hiss, launching myself off the sofa and ripping back the covers before climbing into bed.

Silence stretches between us, long and heavy. Guilt gnaws at my insides.

I might be angry, but not angry enough to make her sleep on the uncomfortable loveseat. She needs to be rested for the wedding, though I certainly don’t want to squeeze myself onto that horrible couch again, either.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” I say slowly, my voice ringing out in the dimly lit room.

“What?”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The bed’s plenty big . . . if you want to share.”

Elena’s throat bobs as she considers my offer. She looks startled but weirdly relieved. “Oh . . . okay.”

I roll onto my side, kneading my pillow. When Raf asked me to look out for Elena this weekend, I jumped at the chance. Part of me was hoping to get back in her good graces after all this time.

It was a stupid thought — not to mention reckless — and I’ve already shot it to hell. Elena fucking hates my guts.

I toss and turn as Elena digs in her suitcase, grabbing her toiletry bag, a lacy thong that she hides underneath, and two tiny scraps of silk.

Ho-ly shit .

“You’re not wearing that ,” I growl before I can stop myself, startling her so badly that she jumps.

Elena’s hair flies around as she turns with a glare. “Trying to tell me what to wear again?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

Okay, so the gentleman ship might have sailed already, but at least I’m making an effort.

“These are the only pajamas I brought,” she says in a tremulous voice. “I thought I’d be in a room alone .”

“You wear those skimpy pajamas when you sleep alone?”

It’s too dark to tell if she’s blushing, but I can scent her embarrassment.

“That’s none of your business.”

I grind my teeth and rub a hand down my face. She is not making this easy.

I take a deep breath. “If you wear that to bed, I’m not promising that I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself.” I crack a grin. “Now that I know you still like me.”

The cocky wolf in me can’t resist tacking on that last bit, and I know immediately that I’ve riled her.

“Who said I like you?” Elena squeaks. I notice she doesn’t touch my use of the word “still” with a ten-foot pole.

A slow smirk spreads across my mouth. “ You did when you let me put my hands all over you at the club.”

Elena scoffs. “ Somebody’s full of himself. It was just a dance.”

Come the fuck on. Is she really going to pretend she wasn’t just as turned on as I was?

“Sweetheart, I may not be a professional like you, but even I know that there’s no such thing as ‘just a dance.’ ”

She makes an irritated noise in her throat, but she’s still too flustered to speak.

“Let me ask you this,” I say, sitting up in bed. “Would you let Derek dance with you like that?”

“That’s not a fair question,” she says, not meeting my eyes. Her voice is quiet and a little timid. “Derek and I are over.”

“And you and I never even got started.”

The words come out rougher than I intended and hang between us like a promise. I wish I could see her expression better, but she won’t look at me. Her throat bobs as she continues to rummage in her suitcase, but I don’t think she’s really looking for anything.

“You can grab one of my T-shirts,” I say. “They’ll all be huge on you, but I promise they’re clean.”

Elena gives a jerky half nod and digs a white tee out of my bag. She scurries into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and I lie back on the pillows and try not to think about her sliding off that slinky gold dress without me.

I have every intention of acting as though I’m already asleep to make the sharing-a-bed thing less awkward, but when she finally emerges, I can’t help sneaking a peek.

My world explodes into a million pieces.

Elena is drowning in my T-shirt, and yet she looks somehow perfect. The light from the bathroom illuminates her curves beneath the thin material and gleams off her legs, which are bare from her mid-thighs.

Despite her earlier efforts with the hair straightener, Elena’s curls are rebelling. Her dark locks are twisting at the ends, curling over my shirt.

Fuck. Me.

I never should have suggested that she wear my clothes. It’s so much worse than seeing her in that skimpy sleep set— and by worse, I mean a million fucking times better.

A second later, Elena flips off the light, thrusting the room into near total darkness. I see her shadowy form moving toward the bed, and I feel the mattress shift as she pulls back the covers.

I’m aware of every little move she makes as she slips into bed beside me. I hear her fluffing two pillows for her head and know she’s about to reach for a third, which she’ll fall asleep hugging.

It’s creepy as fuck that I know how many pillows my little sleeping beauty needs, but I practically lived at the Garcia house when I was younger.

As she snuggles in, I catch a devastating whiff of her coconut shampoo. Her scent mixes with my own, and my wolf growls in satisfaction that our mate is wearing my clothes.

Shit.

Mate.

The word pings around in my head like a pinball —so fast I can’t quite grasp it.

Mate. Mate .

I try it on for size, feeling my chest swell with emotion as my guts twist in fear. It’s not a word any shifter takes lightly, and the implication makes me shiver.

The mating bond is stronger than marriage — stronger than the bond of the pack. And yet the second it slides into my mind, I know it’s true.

Elena is my fated mate.

I’ve heard countless stories from my pack brothers about what it was like when they found their mate — heard them chuckle at the possessiveness that overtook them the first time they laid eyes on her .

I always thought it sounded like a sort of temporary insanity. It’s not something I ever wanted to experience for myself. And yet, I think I have.

I know I have.