My confidence waned on the ride home. Sinclair has been so mysterious about this scent-marking business, and I don't like the way he keeps looking at me—as if I'm some prey to be devoured.

There's still so much I don't understand, like how carrying his child makes me smell more like a wolf, or how someone can leave a scent mark that must be sensed and smelled, rather than seen. Not for the first time, I'm jealous of shifters' heightened abilities. The more time passes, the more enchanted I am by the idea of transforming, of letting out one's inner animal and being truly wild and free. I don't know why I like the idea so much—I don't have an inner animal to release.

"You look nervous," Sinclair observed, resting a possessive hand on my knee as the car sped along. His touch only made me more antsy.

"You can fix that," I suggested. "It doesn't have to be a surprise."

"True, but it's much more fun this way," he smirked.

"Fun for you, maybe," I muttered mutinously. "Besides, if you want your scent to be strongest tomorrow, shouldn't we wait?"

"And deprive myself of the opportunity to do it a second time?" He arched a brow. "Why on earth would I do that?"

I didn't know what to make of it. If he were anyone else, I'd think he was flirting, but that's not possible. Wolves and humans don't mix. Maybe he simply enjoys teasing me, like a cat toying with a mouse. He certainly enjoys making me squirm. This realization made me feel indignant. I don't like the idea of being a plaything for a hungry predator. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Maybe I won't let you," I decided.

The hand on my knee tightened, but not enough to hurt. "What was rule number one, little human?"

"That I should be relaxed and happy during my pregnancy, so you shouldn't be making me nervous," I reasoned, knowing he expected me to confirm his authority as Alpha.

"I have a link to our pup; I know when you're stressed, and when you're just making mischief," Sinclair rumbled. "But if you want more justification for doing it often, it's to avoid scenes like what just happened. If people can't see your shoulder and also smell me on you powerfully, they might think I've marked you. We can give the mating ceremony excuse, but it's better to avoid the questions altogether."

A little while later, Sinclair stood before me in my room, looking so powerful and attractive I was almost too distracted to hear him speak. "Take off your clothes," he instructed.

"What, all of them?" I squeaked.

"You can keep your underwear on, but it's better if we're skin-to-skin," he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

I watched with wide eyes as he stripped to his boxer briefs, taking in his muscular body and feeling my jaw drop. I've never seen anyone so rugged and chiseled.

"Do I need to take them off for you?" he asked, arching a brow and stepping forward.

"What? No!" I yelped, reminding myself he'd already seen me in my bra and panties. Taking a deep breath, I carefully lifted my dress over my head, bracing myself for what was to come.

Standing beside Sinclair in a ball gown, done up in makeup, jewelry, and heels, it seemed hard to believe he'd been rubbing his mostly naked body all over me an hour ago. Scent marking, I'd learned, is a deeply intimate act, one that confuses me more than I care to admit.

Yesterday, when he marked me, he took it slow and explained the process, making sure I understood its importance. This second time, however, was different. There were no explanations, no soothing caresses. He had a mission, and slowly, sensuously covered me in his pheromones. If he noticed my body's response—my aching breasts and arousal—he gave no indication.

Now those feelings were gone, as we were finally at the campaign dinner I'd been preparing for for 48 hours. Sinclair quizzed me in the car, testing my knowledge of shifter society and nodding with approval at my answers. His silence told me how much tension he carried.

When we arrived at an incredible palace, I was speechless. "I've never seen such a beautiful estate."

"This is where our pup will be raised if my campaign is successful," he shared. "The King's Palace."

"Why is the current King stepping down?" I asked as we climbed the marble stairs, trying to distract myself from the flashing cameras and reporters.

"Alpha Dominic, over here!" "Alpha Dominic, who's your date?"

"It wasn't his choice," Sinclair shared. "He's getting old and no longer the strongest. The Alpha Council voted to force him to abdicate."

"Does he not have heirs?" I questioned, smiling and waving at the crowd.

"His eldest son is my biggest competition—and he would be a disaster," Sinclair intimated, ducking his head to whisper in my ear, "You're doing brilliantly—look at them, eating out of the palm of your hand."

I giggled, feeling a wave of appreciation. Normally I'd be beside myself with nerves, but next to Sinclair, the blatant stares didn't bother me. I felt confident by his side, bowled over by his raw power. I didn't realize how much he reined in on a daily basis. Now I felt it viscerally, a riptide of authority.

Before I knew it, we'd left the reporters and were crossing the ballroom to a pair of thrones. The crowd parted to let us pass, and I felt like royalty. No one had ever shown me so much respect or admiration.

I was still reveling in the attention when we stopped before the King and Queen. They were impressive. The king's hair was streaked with gray, but he still had an air of unquestionable strength. His Luna was lovely and dignified.

Sinclair nodded to each of them, while I curtsied. "Alpha Dominic," the King greeted Sinclair with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dare I say you've finally found a mate?"

"That's right," Sinclair announced loudly. "And the Goddess has blessed us with a pup."

"Well, you have excellent taste," the Luna smiled, no more genuinely than her husband. "Congratulations!"

The announcement prompted a rush of supporters, and before I knew it, Sinclair was separated from me by a few people. "You must tell us your name!" a group of women gushed.

"I'm Ella," I shared, unsure whether to use my own surname or his. "Soon to be Sinclair," I lied.

They squealed with excitement, and more people surrounded me until I was faced by an imposing man. He watched me sharply, almost with suspicion. "Tell me, Ella, where are you from? How is it we've never seen you before?"

"I come from the Shadow Pack, in the north," I explained, repeating the lie Sinclair and I agreed upon. "I was in town visiting my cousin when I met Sinclair, and the rest is history."

"Oh, what cousin?"

"Aileen Corentin," I bluffed, smiling widely.

"As in the wife of Dominic's beta?" He pressed. "And you only met him recently?"

"Yes—our families are deeply estranged," I explained. "I only recently learned I had a cousin here, and once I did, I reached out."

"Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully. "Still, you must have been here some time, if you're already breeding."

"Not long at all," I corrected him, "but you know how it is when you find 'the one' or maybe you don't. I didn't believe in love at first sight until I found Dominic." I beamed at him, trying to look head over heels in love.

It worked; he excused himself and slipped away, a thoughtful expression on his face.

I watched him go, hoping Sinclair would return. I felt that wasn't the last I'd see of that man, and I didn't want to be alone the next time he found me.