“I understand why you don’t like me, Jessica,” I said, emphasizing her full name. “I kicked your ass.”
She bared her teeth in response.
“I hurt your pride, but if I’m to be a guest here, let’s get one thing straight. I did nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place.” I gave her a pointed look before continuing, “Except maybe spare your life.”
Jessica looked away. It told me all I needed to know. If I’d collapsed, bleeding out and vulnerable, she would’ve killed me.
“But you…” My attention shifted to John. “I have no idea what’s up your ass.”
He stopped pacing. “Jess is my mate.”
Understanding came faster than I could say, “fuck my life.” If I’d been male, John would’ve mauled me to death. Or tried. Female Werewolves were rare and cherished by their packs. For some reason, few survived the initial change. Some claimed the pain was too much, but that never sat right with me. Women had to have a higher pain tolerance. Hello childbirth!
I’d always figured the second X chromosome in women wouldn’t tolerate the lycanthropic viral DNA and imagined some epic genetic battle between the two where they both ended up self-destructing.
Regardless, few female Weres existed and I’d yet to meet one not mated or in a forced union . My eyes narrowed at John, my anger rising at the thought. “By choice?”
“Our wolves chose each other.” He didn’t sound bitter; his tone came across more confused, like he couldn’t fathom any other possibility. I could.
“True, but there are true mates and there are…” I trailed off, trying to stem the surfacing memories.
“Forced union s,” Jess spoke softly. Something in the way she spoke made me look up. Our eyes met and mutual understanding passed between us. “John is my true mate, Andy,” Jessica said. Her words came out soft and slow. I didn’t correct her on my name—not after that look. “All the couples here are. It’s not that kind of pack,” she explained.
I turned away from her knowing gaze. Though I’d only known him for less than an hour, Wick didn’t seem like the kind of alpha to support forced union s—too considerate. He’d given me privacy and space. But, Dylan hadn’t seemed like the forced-union -type at first, either. Nausea gnawed at my guts and I slammed a door on that memory before it could surface. Nothing boiled my piss faster than thoughts of Dylan.
A photograph on the wall caught my attention. Looking for a distraction, I walked up to it—a picture of Wick skydiving in a bright blue and yellow suit. He wore a look of sheer joy as he beamed into the camera. I smiled.
“So what in The Purge are you?” John crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not a Were or Wick’s pack magic would have healed you faster.”
“I’m a Shifter.”
John apparently didn’t get the hint from my flat tone. I’d finished answering his questions. “Don’t smell like one,” he said.
Shifters normally smelled human with a faint hint of the animal form they took. Not me, though. A Shifter once told me I smelled of the forest. He demanded to know what I was. When he lay beneath my claws with his life bleeding out of him, I told him I had three forms and no physical feras. He’d called me Carus before he died. If he hadn’t been a target, I’d have rushed him to a witch coven, paid the healing fee and demanded answers.
No amount of Google searches had clarified what Carus meant. All I could find, besides an aging porn star with an interactive website, was Carus meant beloved in Latin. What an odd thing to call the woman who killed you. When John grumbled, I shrugged at him.
“I don’t understand why we’re housing you and letting you heal. We should’ve been allowed to rip you to shreds,” John stated.
“Oh, John, why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
John paced, a scowl plastered on his face like clown make-up.
Jessica looked a little shocked. “John…” she started.
“It’s what Lucien will do to her anyway,” he snarled. His mouth opened into a mean toothy smile.
I flinched. Werewolf males were so dramatic, but he spoke the truth. I heard it in his words. “There are some questions he needs answered first, apparently,” I said.
John grunted. “What information of value could you possibly have?”
My feras howled inside my head. I did not like the implication I lacked gray matter, or significance. Being dumb enough to enter a relationship with Dylan had made me a bit sensitive on anything regarding my IQ. Some might say overly sensitive.