Page 74 of Damien’s Mate

I do not know, came slowly back. Our mission must be fulfilled. But… he his hurting, and it is also our duty to fix that.

It was? Why? she asked.

Her lion sounded troubled. I do not know, she said again. It is confusing.

It was very confusing. She’d never had to decide before what she thought, or what she believed, or what was right. It had always been laid out for her—one path with no forks, leading to one place.

But what if that place didn’t exist? And if it did, what if she didn’t want to go there?

I have to go there, she said. A little voice in the back of her head answered, But do you?

Being in this room wasn’t helping. Everything in it reminded her of Damien. Everything in it smelled like him. And laughter. And happiness.

She was still hurt and angry that he’d told Remy about her mission, even though she knew he’d been trying to take care of her. He was a good person, even if he claimed he wasn’t. It was why he’d been such an unsuccessful bad guy.

She looked at the picture stuck in the frame of the mirror, that Jaeda had taken of the two of them the day they went to Penile. Damien was laughing, his arm around her, holding up the sad remains of the deflated penis while she pretended to recoil in horror.

All he wanted was a home. A family. Someone who he could give his love to, and his loyalty.

But he also needed someone who wanted his heart, who would treasure it.

He should have been a shifter. He should have been a lion, her lioness said.

She couldn’t stay in this suite anymore. She’d told herself thousands of times that warriors didn’t give in to pain—didn’t even acknowledge it—but knowing she’d hurt Damien was what gave her that suffocating feeling in the middle of her chest.

She went downstairs to find him, but there was no one around. The house was quiet. She went to the back door, and on her way through the kitchen she saw a small cardboard box in the top of the garbage bin.

It looked like the one Damien had been carrying when he walked into the bedroom.

Curious, she pulled it out and looked inside.

On top was a folded piece of paper, and underneath it, a wood carving about the size of her two fists stacked on top of each other.

It was a man and a lioness. The man was strong, untamed, with hair whipping in an unseen breeze. He wore nothing but a pair of pants cut off at the knee, the muscles of his back clearly defined. His face was Damien’s.

The lioness was on her hind legs, her paws on his shoulders, her head bent so her forehead touched the man’s.

There was wildness and beauty in every line of the carving, and something else.

Love.

Damien had made this, she realized. All those hours he’d spent up in Squatch’s cabin while she trained, he’d been making this for her. He’d put his heart inside it.

She had to dash tears out of her eyes before she could read the note.

Hey, Lioness,

You know I’m not good at talking about how I feel. But I needed to—

There was something crossed out there, and then it went on:

Hell. This is gonna suck. Deep breath.

Okay. All my life, I looked forward to that big score. Enough money that would fix everything—make me into somebody important—somebody who got respect.

Somebody who deserved shit.

And then I could have a good woman who would take my sorry ass and somehow make it better. Make a family with me and show me how not to fuck it up.