When I wake, my body aches exquisitely. My hand flies to my neck, where Sinclair’s mark is seared into my skin. Being claimed was the most intense experience of my life, and it feels as though Sinclair and I are no longer separate people, but two halves of a whole. His large body is wrapped around me as he dozes, and I’m amazed to realize I can sense his inner wolf’s pride and satisfaction, even in his sleep.

I can’t explain the bond. In some ways, it’s like my bond with the baby, except instead of hazy flashes of emotion, I constantly sense Sinclair’s feelings—a deep empathy that’s both confusing and overwhelming. Our hearts beat in perfect sync, and I know we can communicate telepathically, though we haven’t tested it yet. So far, we’ve only made love. In fact, my new mate woke me three times during the night, and my poor sex is so swollen and sensitive that I’m afraid Sinclair will wake and lavish more attention on my exhausted body.

I try to sneak out of bed, but his powerful arms tighten around me, and a low rumble sounds in my ear. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“Just to the bathroom,” I lie, immediately realizing my mistake. If I can sense his feelings, he can certainly sense mine.

“Tsk, tsk,” he clucks, rolling me onto my back and looming over me. His voice is stern, but his eyes hold only love, amusement, and desire. As soon as I see these emotions, I feel them too, blended with my own yet distinct.

“Lying to your new mate already, trouble?” Sinclair teases, caressing my cheek. “And trying to sneak away from me?”

“I thought you’d try to be intimate if I woke you,” I explain, slightly sulky.

“Be intimate?” Sinclair repeats, a devilish glint in his emerald eyes. “You mean you thought I’d try to rut your sweet pussy again?” I blush and shiver, certain I’ll never get used to his language. It scandalizes and excites me simultaneously, and I know that’s why he does it. If only I could hide my reaction—but that’s impossible now. “Well, was I wrong?” I demand indignantly. “I’m too sore for more of your wolf’s affection, Dominic.”

Sinclair’s brow furrows, and he sits up. “Baby, why didn’t you say so?” He moves between my legs, and a gentle rumble greets my attempt to clench them shut. “Come on, let me see, sweetheart.”

I distrust the sly wolf’s intentions. When I try to sense his emotions through our bond to decipher whether this is a trick or genuine concern, I can’t. “How are you doing that?” I ask, intrigued by the possibility of shielding my feelings from my mate.

“You can learn to withhold some things, but it takes practice,” Sinclair answers huskily, easily prying my thighs apart. “Though I’m not sure I want to teach you how,” he adds wryly.

I clamp my hand over my genitals, my suspicions rising. “And why are you hiding your feelings from me now?” I ask, convinced this is a scheme.

A rush of worry assails me, and I relax slightly. “It’s an old habit,” Sinclair admits reluctantly. “It’s not in my nature to let others feel my anxiety, especially not my mate.” He tenderly pulls my hand away to examine my abused flesh, purring and crooning sympathetically at its redness and swelling. “Poor little wolf.”

He murmurs, carefully spreading my labia to examine them more closely. “I’ve been too rough with you, haven’t I?”

“No!” my wolf exclaims, and Sinclair’s smirk confirms my telepathic communication. I roll my eyes at the silly canine, who loves his dominance too much to go easy on us. I sassily add, “This is what happens when you try to shove a battering ram into a keyhole.”

Sinclair chuckles, his hot breath fluttering over my exposed skin. Poor, mistreated mate, his voice sounds in my head, cursed with an Alpha too well endowed for your little body to take. Amusement is heavy in his voice, and he arches a brow. Though I didn’t hear you complaining when you were coming all over me last night.

I giggle. He’s right, and we both know it. I love how small and delicate I feel beside Sinclair, even if those values are misplaced by the human society that raised me, and I’ve certainly enjoyed myself with him. My thoughts are interrupted when Sinclair moves his mouth dangerously close. “Here, angel, let me kiss it better.”

Alarms blare in my brain, but it’s too late. Sinclair’s tongue expertly explores the length of my vulva, lapping up the wetness and flicking over the clitoris. “Dominic, no—ohhh,” I exclaim, sighing as heat consumes me. A moment ago, I thought my clitoris might fall off, but the pain is edged with a pleasure I don’t understand. I realize the worry he’d shared is gone, replaced by cunning and triumph. With his mouth occupied, my mate uses our mind link. His dark laughter fills my head, followed by the words, I wasn’t lying about sharing my worries, but perhaps I left out the fact that you can also learn to project things that aren’t there, or only reveal some feelings while keeping others hidden.

I pant, my fingers tangled in his hair, confused, needy whimpers escaping my lips. Still, his words penetrate the haze of lust and disorientation, and I feel relief. I’m glad I’ll still be able to surprise and trick my mate, just as he’s done to me.

Another rumbling laugh echoes in my thoughts. You’ve got a long way to go before you’ll be able to pull one over on me, mate. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not excited to see you try.

“You just want an excuse to spank me again,” I answer, failing to sound offended.

Sinclair pauses, looking up at me, his eyes glinting with lethal hunger. “Damned straight.”

When Sinclair is finished, I leap out of bed and grab my robe, putting as much distance between myself and the bed as possible. Sinclair blinks, realizing I’m no longer sprawled over him, then narrows his eyes. “I don’t recall giving you permission to leave my arms, little one.”

“You stay away from me,” I order, pointing at him, trying to sound firm. “My body is off-limits until it’s recovered, is that clear?”

Sinclair smirks. I’ve challenged him. He rises and prowls toward me. “Is that so?”

“Dominic, I’m serious,” I say earnestly. “I’m exhausted. I haven’t gotten out of bed all day, and I need a nap. Think of the baby.”

Sinclair searches my face, then softens. He reaches for me, and I hesitantly go to him. “I’m sorry, my love,” he purrs, snuggling me close. “My wolf just finds it difficult not to get carried away with you. Have a lie down, and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

My stomach growls, and I detect a pulse of guilt from Sinclair. He feels he’s been neglecting me, and as pleased as I am that my body is safe, I can’t stand this. I send every bit of denial back at him. “Dominic, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. You saved my life, you took care of me through the worst day of my life—the worst emotional and physical pain I’ve ever known. You forgave me even when we thought I’d killed our baby.” My voice breaks as I recall that pain. “You’ve done the opposite of neglecting me. I love you so much, and I’ve been in heaven the last twenty-four hours, I just need a break.”

Sinclair cuddles me closer. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says tenderly. “But there’s one thing we need to get straight. I love our pup more than life itself, but if I had to choose to save one of you over the other, it wouldn’t even be a question. We can make another baby, but I can’t make another you.”

My heart swells, and some of the guilt fades. I’d been afraid of losing Sinclair for trying to save my own life, especially after we’d started our relationship deeply opposed over my consideration of an abortion. Something cracks open inside me, and I cry out all the pain and fear—the trauma and the joy. Sinclair purrs and rocks me, and I realize he’s crying too. The last few days have been a gauntlet for us both, and we desperately need this catharsis.

Unfortunately, our healing is cut short when Hugo walks in a little while later, a grim expression on his face. “We’ve got a problem.”