Page 35 of His Runaway Mate

But the answer is yes. Her pack need to be welcomed. She needs something else from me. Something I shied away from giving her entirely before now. I’ve spanked her ass, I’ve mated her. I’ve given her my seed and there’s no doubt I’ve claimed her.

But she doesn’t feel held. She doesn’t feel seen. She doesn’t feel like she’s mine, and I can see that written all over her face.

“Come with me,” I say, making my voice more gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to spend time with you.”

She comes reluctantly.

I take her up to my suite. The alpha suite is a beautiful place. It was architecturally designed by a very intelligent woman whose understanding of space and aesthetics are paramount. It is made in such a way that it blends into the environment. Wood walls give the place a cozy, midcentury charm. The bed is large and the spread is green, and so is the carpet. The hues are picked to mimic the space around us. Most of the furniture is low slung and understated.

She sits on the very large bed in my very large room with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the forest and the plains and the mountains, and she just looks small.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

The inquiry is a little silly given I have wrapped my arms around her, picked her up, and am holding her to my chest. She fights me at first, then weakens against me as I keep her where I want her to be.

“I am hugging you, little one. Haven’t you ever been hugged before?”

“Of course I’ve been hugged before,” she mutters against my chest.

“Recently?”

“Yes.”

“By who?”

“By my friends.”

“It’s not the same as being embraced by your mate, is it.”

“How would you know? Got a lot of mates, do you?” There’s a delightful hint of spite in her response. She really wants me to fight with her, pin her down, beat her ass, make this easy for her.

That’s not on my agenda tonight. Tonight, she talks to me.

“Tell me more about you,” I say, setting her back on the bed. “You’re something of a mystery. Your ID doesn’t check out past a certain point. Nicky Love isn’t a real name.”

“It’s as real as Rex Regent,” she snorts. “Maybe more.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In a small town,” she says. “I forget where. Doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t think anybody lives there now. It was one of those places that had a mine that ran dry and then everyone left and the people who didn’t sorta rotted with the houses.”

“Poetic,” I note.

“Accurate,” she says. “Ever seen an old lady with wood rot?”

She is, of course, fucking with me.

“Do you remember the name of the town?”

“I don’t remember the name of the state,” she says. “We packed up and traveled a lot when I was still small. I grew up in the bed of a truck, really. My dad would pick up odd jobs along the way.”

“How did you go to school?”

“I didn’t.”

“How did you learn to read and write?”

“Bold of you to make the assumption I can do either,” she says. She’s joking, but she’s also keeping me away from the truth of her life. I knew she’d have some hardship in her past. Every stray does. But I am starting to sense something more than simple poverty. I can almost scent something in the room, copper and iron.