Page 73 of His Runaway Mate

“Dry hair.”

I smile at her in the mirror, where she is pouting at me.

“It’s not rocket science, sweetheart,” I tell her. “I want to look after you. This is less than the bare minimum.”

“Have you dried another woman’s hair before?”

She is in an absolute mood.

“Baby,” I murmur in her ear. “If you don’t settle down, I’m going to spank you.”

“Why?” she gasps. “That’s so unfair!”

“Because I can tell you’re in a mood that isn’t responding to being taken care of kindly, so you’re not leaving me with much of a choice. Settle down, and behave yourself.”

It is at this point that she bites me.

And that is how I end up sitting on the edge of the bath, with my mate thrown over my knee, her gown pushed up and out of the way, my palm slapping her curvy ass over and over until it glows a pretty red.

“That is enough of that,” I growl down at her, sounding sterner than I really feel. She needs to be anchored. I know she feels bad for snapping at her friend, and likely for her attitude with me. She needs to know I can keep her under control even when she’s being an unpleasant little brat.

She starts to cry when she is barely more than warm, and I know it is not because she is in pain. It’s because she is trying to metabolize deep shame that she’s been living with for far longer than I have known her.

“You must hate me,” she whimpers as I pick her up and cuddle her on my lap, rubbing her hot cheeks with slow, circular motions to calm her while she accuses me of the most ridiculous thing in the world. How could I hate her? There is not a thing she could do that would make me dislike her.

“I love you very much,” I tell her, murmuring the words against her forehead even as she tries to remain stiff against me—and fails. I feel her melting against my body as the fight goes out of her.

“I love you too,” she says so softly it is almost entirely under her breath. “I love you and I’m so scared of disappointing you when you work out that I am just like him. I come from trash, and I’ll always be trash, and you’re so rich you don’t even understand what it’s like to be one of us.”

“I see you in ways you cannot see yourself,” I tell her. “I see your strength. I see your power. I see your beauty. I see your potential. I see how you took experiences that could have destroyed you and turned them into something that gave so many other young wolves a place to be. You have done more than you allow yourself to take credit for. One day, I hope you see yourself for all I see you to be. And until you do, I’m going to love you anyway.”

With those words, I pick her up and carry her to bed. She is exhausted, and asleep within minutes of putting her under the covers.

* * *

I turn my attention to the aftermath of that little fracas. The fear on the girl’s face when she was being bailed up concerns me. I want to ensure that she is not too shaken. This period of adjustment is proving difficult for many of us.

I step out of the bedroom, past the guard. I can hear voices not far away. One of them I recognize as Fescue. The other is the girl, Laura. It seems my man has taken it upon himself to tend to her needs.

“She’s really crashing out, huh?” Laura says.

“Indeed,” Fescue replies.

“You think it’s because she ate human flesh?”

“There’s no evidence she did that,” Fescue says. “And repeating it is incredibly ill-advised. I would suggest you not let that combination of words pass your lips again, lest punishment ensue.”

“Punishment?”

She sounds a little too intrigued for my liking. Nicky did so much for these wolves, but she did not provide pack discipline. Her means of keeping control was keeping them busy, giving them things to do that proved their worth over and over. It worked, but it won’t let them function inside our pack, and that is what we are trying to fix now.

Apparently Fescue has already come to the same conclusion. I hear a sharp slap, followed by an outraged gasp.

“You hit me! You’re not allowed to hit me! I can’t believe you did that!” Laura’s voice is high and outraged.

“Little lady, most of the pack is entitled to do that to you, and more. So, again, mind your words and manners.”

“Can’t believe you did that,” she says. “That’s fucked up. I should hit you back.”