Page 162 of Howlin’ For You

I nod, letting the topic fall. She’s opened up a lot, and I don’t want to push it, so I refocus on the band.

It may not be dancing music, but I can’t pretend I’m going to pick anyone else. I’m in awe.

“Okay, shit, she’s pretty good,” Georgie admits, running her long nails through her hair.

“Definitely.”

“Wonder if she’s half-siren or something because usually werewolves aren’t that charismatic on stage. And definitely not with the full moon tonight.”

“Maybe.” I pause, listening for another moment. “Nick invited me to spend the full moon with you guys. If that’s okay with you, that is.”

Georgie’s eyes light up like I just put the most delicious plate of dessert in front of her. “Really? That’s huge!”

“It is?”

“We may be our strongest physically when we’re in our wolf form, but we’re at our most vulnerable emotionally. He’s allowing you to see every single piece of himself.” She wraps her arms around herself. “It’s sure as shit not something I’ve ever done with a partner.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I blink a few times, then refocus on the band.

I’m happy, because this shows that maybe Nick feels the same way I do. Maybe considering uprooting my entire life isn’t so crazy after all. Perhaps we’re absolutely on the same page.

But I can’t shake the fear. The fear that maybe he’ll eventually do what every single person in my life has done—love the person they think I can be. Not the person I am.

What if I don’t live up to Nick’s expectations?

“Is it really me and you?” Jane’s voice croons through the microphone. “Or am I just another fool?”

The song ends on a minor chord, echoing throughout the space and my chest. It rattles around uncertainly, just like all the weird little thoughts in my head.

“You’re hired.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

NICK

I’ve made dinner. I bought fresh flowers. I baked bread. I even set the table using my mother’s fine China.

I’m over-prepared.

Aggressively over-prepared. But this is my first moon with Isabella, and I refuse to have a single detail forgotten. I’m going to show her exactly how it feels to have the wind whip through your hair as the moonlight falls on you. I’m going to show her freedom. Beauty. Excitement. Safety. What our life can—and will—be.

And then I’ll tell her she’s my mate. I’ve put it off for far too long, and there’s no telling how long Georgie can keep it to herself. Isabella deserves to hear it directly from me.

She deserves to hear how much I want her. The funny, organized, witty, beautiful person who cares just a little too much about making sure everyone else is okay.

I’m nervous about telling her. It’s not fair to hold my older brother’s actions against her or to expect her to meet that standard. But I can’t help the fear that she’s going to leave. Abandon me. And opening up about her being my mate? That’s the most vulnerable thing I can do.

I fluff the yellow flowers in the middle of my dining table, fussing with the bouquet to the point that even I know I’m being ridiculous. But I can’t help it. I need to do something with this nervous energy.

Dinner is homemade pasta with red sauce, and a fresh salad directly from the market.

We’ll both need our energy for tonight.

I’m nervously drumming my fingers against the kitchen island. Drumming, drumming, drumming. Waiting.

I usually get a little restless right before the moon rises, but tonight, it’s heightened. I want Isabella here.

Her scent floats in the air, filling my space to bursting as I practically run to the front door. I throw it open and there she is, my mate, with arms full of pillows and a soft cream blanket.