Page 73 of The Wolf Lord's Mate

The ride passed quickly as the morning turned, and the gently rocking of the horse combined with the steady warmth of Nathaniel's arms allowed me to doze off on his chest. Lulled there for some time, I almost found myself not wanted the ride to end, for when it did, things would be quite different.

My proposed plan was not ideal to my particular interests, but I knew that it was the best option for both of us.

As much as I had wanted to be selfish, I knew how strong the bond was for Nathaniel, and that it would be impossible for him to focus on Walton while his Wolf was on edge.

It's possible that might have forced him to claim me, and still might if I was not careful.

Nathaniel was kind, sweet, and caring, but he was still a Wolf—a predator with animalistic instincts that went especially wild when anything regarding a mate were triggered.

It was the same with any beast—a feral cat can be a kind enough pet until its true nature comes to light; a wild, fearsome nature.

Still, I was not looking forward to playing the role of his mistress, especially in the eyes of the other staff.

It felt dirty, almost, that I was somehow receiving special treatment simply for sleeping with the Lord.

Which I had not even done, although we had shared some level of intimacy, that which I could still feel the memory of pulsing in my core.

The best outcome would be for Nathaniel to mention it casually if Walton asked, and then Walton would ignore me once he realized that I was not worth his attention.

Wishes were not always reality, however, that truth I knew well. What I was afraid of was a far different outcome, one that more closely followed the description of Walton that I had been given; a snake that might prey upon anyone remotely close to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel would have to show Walton that I was not special to him in the slightest, but the moment that thought crossed my mind, an ache bloomed in my chest.

The softest, gentlest sort of sorrow; not enough to bring me to my knees, but just enough to catch my breath in my throat. A slow spool of sadness at the very idea that I might mean nothing to Nathaniel which did not make sense.

It should not have made sense.

It did not matter to me what Nathaniel thought of me, even if we had been intimate and he had been kind. Even with the strength of the bond, surely I would still have some protection in regard to my emotions?

But what if it's not just the bond?

It was a traitorous whisper in my ear, one that poked and prodded at the deepest buried parts of myself; ones that had long yearned for a companion, a friend, a lover.

The very same parts that remembered the fluttering in my belly at touching Nathaniel for the very first time, the way I looked forward to seeing him when he snuck into the sewing room. Those feelings were increased and encouraged by the bond, but I did have a small fondness for him on my own.

Fondness was not love, but it was the start of something, the very same something that I had cut off and shut away the moment that I had learned of our mate bond.

The possibility of love was one thing, but certainty?

The knowledge that he did love me and would love me, and that he wanted me to love him back—that was somehow far too frightening.

A migraine was starting to pull at my temples from all of those twisting thoughts, and I squeezed my eyes shut to cut out the sun rays that slipped through the tree boughs overhead.

"Is something the matter, my love?" Nathaniel asked, his term of endearment immediately easing some of the ache in my chest. It happened so quickly it was almost jarring, that a simple bit of affection would be able to soothe me so easily.

"Nothing," I said, nuzzling in against his chest, "Nothing at all."

"You can tell me, you know? If something is bothering you," Nathaniel's voice was a rumble, and he pressed a soft kiss into my hair, "I will gladly listen and take on any burden that weighs on you."

"I'm fine." I said, and though Nathaniel hesitated, he did not pressure me into speaking further.

We were not far from home when Nathaniel steered the horse towards the main road, flicking the reins as we began to crest the tall hill where the manor sat at the top; grand and gleaming, it was the same as we had left it, a low wind rustling the trees and sunlight glinting against the polished windows.

There was a carriage at the front of the manor. Crafted of black walnut, it appeared to be completely smooth and seamless, so dark that the sides reflected the lowing sun of the late afternoon. It was emptied of any occupants, even the horse bridles sitting empty and limp at the front.

My stomach dropped.

Walton had arrived first.