and thank you. Your den is very nice.”
Her words were stiff.
They were probably forced out of her mouth just as his had
been. Jarvis decided it was a good thing the human female couldn’t smell
Katrin’s disgust when she followed Heather upstairs.
Jarvis was left alone on the back patio with a cold bottle
of beer while McAllister went to change out of the human uniform, or so the
male told him. The Cariboo had a very impressive den. The rolling hills and
thick patches of trees were not only an incredible view but made Jarvis ache
for a good, hard run. After a night in Katrin’s arms at the motel, then a
morning from hell—listening to McAllister inform the human cops he would take
care of the two of them—then being driven to this den, Jarvis had earned a run.
Not to mention Katrin’s public announcement that they were mated.
Jarvis hadn’t had a moment alone with Katrin since she’d
howled about being mated. During their ride out here she had sat silent in the
backseat, staring out the window, her emotions once again nestled behind her
thick wall of security.
According to their laws and traditions, fucking constituted
being mated. There were some who interpreted the ancient laws to mean a male and
female had to fuck in their fur and their flesh to truly be mated. But howling
about the mating out loud, with one or more witnesses present to smell the
truth of it, would bond them together for the rest of their lives. Werewolves
didn’t get divorced.
It dawned on him that Katrin hadn’t smelled of a lie when
she’d announced their mating, but she hadn’t smelled happy either. Jarvis
enjoyed Katrin. He had wanted her the moment he’d first seen her. She’d
intrigued him further during those nights she’d watched in the window as he
changed for his nightly run. Her fiery nature, her unique coloring, her
willingness to take on anyone who got in her way—everything about her appealed
to him.
Staring at his tranquil surroundings didn’t help soothe the
turmoil growing inside him. Jarvis wanted Katrin with him. He easily lay claim
on her. But mating—that was serious business. Very serious. Did he want her
running by his side for the rest of his life?
“Ready for another?” McAllister interrupted his thoughts
when he came out on to the terrace with two more beers.
Jarvis glanced down at his beer, realizing he’d barely taken
a drink. “I’m good,” he said, then chugged the cold brew. On second thought,
he’d earned at least a few beers.
When he looked away from the surroundings he wasn’t truly
able to appreciate, the frustration mounting inside him seemed to dissipate.
Maybe he did want Katrin by his side always.
McAllister, who now wore jeans and a t-shirt, put the
unopened bottle of beer on a small table between two patio chairs, and opened
the other bottle with his teeth. He spit the crumpled lid onto the table.
“Your female isn’t a Cariboo.”
Jarvis was still wound too tight. He forced himself to shift
gears, get mating with Katrin out of his head. Which proved almost impossible
to do. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.
“Toubec had me research her den shortly after she arrived at
his ranch. Apparently she killed a male while on a run on his land.”
“While on a run?” Jarvis shook his head, remembering that
night and talking to his littermate about it when he’d first left his den to
join the other werewolves. “Wait a minute. No one died. The male was hauled
off—injured but definitely not dead.”
“He died,” McAllister said flatly. “You know about it?”
“I saw it happen,” Jarvis growled.
“Interesting.” McAllister nodded once then took a long, slow
drink of his beer. “Anyway, after she killed the male, he wanted to know more
about her. There were a few other incidents too, all minor, but combined they
piqued Rock and Simone’s interest in Katrin Keller.”
“What other incidences? Trust me, Katrin is Cariboo. I’ve
known her over a
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