"Well, I guess that settles that," I mused, staring at the image dominating my smartphone's narrow screen. Granted, it was sent by the woman I'd saved as "Satan's Mistress" in my contacts, and it sat directly below the photo of Lydia and Sinclair in bed together, but there was no mistaking the positive pregnancy test.

I'd taken enough home tests to understand the two pink lines filling the small results window—a sight I'd wished for a thousand times but never seen.

I tried to keep the pain and disappointment out of my voice, so Sinclair wouldn't know how upset I was, though I didn't know why I bothered. He seemed to read me like a book, even at the best of times.

Whether he sensed it or not, I was devastated. Lydia was pregnant; her scheme had worked. While this solved some of our problems, I hated the thought of her being rewarded for her duplicity, and I despised the idea of Sinclair starting a family with anyone else—even if it was in my baby's best interest.

"Not yet it doesn't," Sinclair replied, his large body still wrapped around me in bed. "Not until I know the test is real, and even then—it might not be my pup. I wouldn't put anything past Lydia at this point."

"So you have to go see her?" I asked, fighting the strange but increasingly familiar urge to growl.

"Yes," he confirmed, sounding no more excited than I was. He shifted, balancing his weight on his elbows. "I'll go by her hotel on my lunch break."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I questioned, sliding my hands over his muscular chest. "What if she tries to drug you again, or pull some other trick?"

"She succeeded last time because she bribed a waitress to put something in my drink," he reminded me, recounting the details his guards had uncovered after investigating the bar staff. "I didn't know she was nearby; otherwise, I would have been more careful. I'm not going to let my guard down with her."

"Fine," I huffed, "but if she lays a hand on you, I'm going to rip her head off," I remarked, already fantasizing about it.

"Oh, I see," Sinclair answered, a teasing note in his voice. "So you can rip people's heads off, but I can't?"

"Yes," I replied primly, "because in my case, it's just a fantasy; in yours, it's an actual possibility."

Sinclair chuckled, nuzzling my neck and pausing to nibble the spot where it met my shoulder. "I bet you could rip off some heads if you really wanted to," he stated, sounding pleased by the idea. "You should have seen yourself trying to go after the driver who hit me."

"Well, I guess we'll never know, because you didn't let me avenge you," I grumbled sullenly.

"Poor, mistreated Ella," Sinclair crooned, shifting to dip his tongue into the hollow of my clavicle. "Not allowed out of bed, not allowed to slaughter your enemies. What did you ever do to deserve such abuse?"

"You tell me; you're the one holding the keys to my jail cell," I challenged, arching my chest to encourage him further. Unfortunately—or fortunately, I suppose—he had enough restraint to resist.

"I promise I'll take you anywhere you want to go as soon as the doctor clears you, sweetheart," Sinclair promised, lifting his head.

"Whatever happened to that driver, anyway?" I asked, realizing my medical condition and Lydia's scheming had almost made me forget our would-be murderer.

"We can talk about that later," Sinclair announced. "I have a few other updates for you, but there isn't time now."

I slid my knees up to tangle our legs. I knew he was getting ready to scent mark me, meaning he was also getting ready to leave for the day. However, being on bed rest had made me clingy, since I only saw Sinclair when he was home.

When he felt my legs wrap around his, Sinclair chuckled darkly, using one hand to stroke my leg. "You trying to stop me from leaving, trouble?" he asked, massaging my calf muscles.

"Of course not," I lied, adopting an innocent expression. "I just like feeling close to you."

"Mmm, I like being close to you, too," Sinclair professed warmly, kissing my pulse point. "Now be a good girl and let me scent mark you."

Wanting to stall him, to keep him in bed with me forever, I inquired, "Dominic, if I'm on bed rest, then why do you need to scent mark me? I'm not going to be seeing anyone."

His eyes flashed emerald, and I knew his wolf had risen to my challenge. "We don't know that for sure. What if some other wolf comes sniffing around the manor?"

"How would they get past all your guards?" I asked suspiciously, narrowing my eyes.

"Mmm, you can never trust wolves," he declared, his fangs extending in a predatory grin.

"Says the hungry wolf in my bed," I laughed, trying not to squirm as he dragged his fangs over my earlobe.

"What's wrong, little human? Are you worried I might gobble you up?" Sinclair teased, his voice a low rumble.

"I'm just wondering why I need to smell like you just to lie in bed all day," I answered nonchalantly.

"Because you always need to smell like me," Sinclair insisted, raking his dark gaze over my body. "You're mine, whether you're in public or private."

I quivered when he claimed me, and though my inner feminist wanted to be outraged, I couldn't deny how delicious it felt—especially from Sinclair. "Why is it I feel like I'm talking to your wolf right now, rather than you?" I joked, knowing it was true. From the moment I challenged him about scent marking, his inner animal had risen, pushing the logical man I adored into the background.

"Baby, my wolf and I are one in the same," Sinclair reasoned, pulling off my nightdress and rubbing against me.

"Maybe, but it's very obvious when he's in control. You start acting like a treasure-obsessed dragon who's mistaken me for some sparkly trinket."

Sinclair grumbled in protest, pausing to look down at me with a foreboding expression. "How dare you, you're so much more than some trinket or trophy, Ella."

"You know what I mean," I laughed, rolling my eyes.

"I do," he conceded, his eyes glittering. "But the real question is why you're delaying something you need just as badly as I do."

He was right. I was trying to delay the scent marking because I knew he'd leave afterward, but I did need him to mark me. I needed to feel his claim, the proof that I belonged to Dominic Sinclair.

The bigger the baby grew, the sharper my senses became. I could smell Sinclair now, as only a shifter could. It wasn't like humans, whose aromas were combinations of body odors, soaps, and colognes. Wolf scents were deeper—powerful essences exuding from the pores, bearing strange and mysterious magics. Sinclair's was balsam, warm spiced honey, and a heady masculine musk.

I could feel when his scent faded after a long time apart, and it made me feel incomplete—like I was missing a piece of myself. A primal part of me also wanted to ensure he didn't go to his mate—the she-wolf carrying his child—without claiming me first.

Jealousy burned. I wanted to destroy her, to smother him with my scent before he went to her, to stake my claim so Lydia knew he was mine.

Suddenly, I found myself doing just that. As soon as the thought occurred, I rubbed my body all over his, aggressively wriggling against him, determined to cover every inch of his skin with my essence. This was much harder for me than for Sinclair.

He was so large he could easily wrap himself around me. I, on the other hand, had to ensure I hadn't missed a spot. I didn't understand what had come over me; it was like I'd been possessed by a wild spirit—then again, much of pregnancy felt this way. I had no control over my body these days.

Sinclair was purring and chuckling, pleased and amused by my wolfish behavior. I paused, shooting him a suspicious glare. "Are you laughing at me?"

Sinclair grinned. "I like seeing you like this. So possessive—so much ferocity in such a tiny package." His hands stroked my sides, exploring my body in a sensual dance. "It's adorable, and incredibly sexy."

I flushed. A dangerous heat pooled in my belly. If we kept this up, we'd start kissing, and if we started kissing… well, I wasn't sure how much longer either of us could hold back. This thought cooled my overheated blood—we'd agreed to be friends, not to overcomplicate things.

I slumped back onto the bed, throwing my arm over my eyes. "You should go," I sighed, trying to be strong. "This is getting out of hand."

There was silence, but when Sinclair spoke, I knew he'd reigned in his desires. "I'm sorry, Ella." His weight lifted from the bed, and I felt his soft lips graze mine. "I'll call you as soon as I've seen Lydia. And if you can promise to try and be less irresistible, I'll promise not to tell you how much you turn me on. Deal?"

I laughed, moving my arm to see his smile. "Deal."