Page 92 of Come for Me
I relish her flowery perfume.
Jemma looks at Dax and takes in his size as her eyes trail up to him. “Who do we have here?”
Dax’s hands are behind his back, his feet shoulder-width apart, as he politely smiles at Jemma.
“This is Dax. And, according to the Moon Goddess, he’s my mate.”
Jemma raises her eyebrows and blinks rapidly.
But I’m not fooled. Jemma probably cornered Caleb as soon as he returned without me and made him tell her everything he knew. Jemma’s been too quiet and kept her distance throughout all of this. She would’ve shown up at the castle herself if she didn’t already know about my whereabouts.That much, I’m certain.
Dax ignores my downplay and gives a toothy smile to Jemma as he regards her with a nod. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Well, come on in. I was just about to make some supper.” She ushers us in, and Dax follows me, ducking under the doorframe.
I fill Jemma in about pretty much everything regarding the Hunt, how Dax found me, marked me, the castle, and his beta, Sam.
Jemma moves my hair away, then walks over to Dax and gestures to have Dax expose his neck.
I stare as Dax allows Jemma to tell him what to do and does what she says without a thought.
Seems I’m not the only one who can bend powerful men to her will.
When Jemma notices he’s without a mark, she purses her lips and furrows her brows, then turns to me.
“’Laina, honey, why haven’t you marked him yet?”
The vexation in her question is received as a whine. Jemma always wanted me to find my mate, mark him, and have lots of pups for her to spoil and yell at for straying too far away from the yard.
“Yeah, ’Laina, why?” Dax echoes with a smug look.
I narrow my eyes at him, smiling.I’ll have to remember to thank him later for the hell Jemma is about to put me through.
“I’m just not ready yet.”
She huffs. “The Moon Goddess has sent him to you for a reason. Does he treat you right?”
If right is chasing me through the woods, putting a shock collar on me, and restraining me, then...
“Yes, but—”
“Then, honey, quite frankly, I don’t see the problem. Now, I raised you better than to go against the Moon Goddess. I swear, sometimes, you’re just as stubborn as your mother was.” She looks at Dax. “Is she this stubborn for you?”
“All the time,” Dax snorts as he takes another bite of her homemade bread. Leaning back in his chair, he smiles, with his leg resting on his other, enjoying the interrogation.
“She was always like this, you know. Couldn’t get this one to do anything she didn’t want to do. She could argue forever.”
“I do not!”
“See?” Jemma hits Dax’s shoulder with the back of her hand playfully.
I exhale my frustration as I let my head drop on the wooden back of the chair.
To my horror, Dax and Jemma get along with ease, never running out of things to talk about, but mostly, they chat about me.
They swap stories of how stubborn and argumentative I can be—like the time she’d tell me to hold on to her so I wouldn’t tumble down the stairs. Instead of listening, I’d stick up my nose, cross my arms, and one step later, I’m tumbling down the wooden steps, crying my heart out.
Jemma rants about her love for gardening and what plants she has growing, then brings up my paintings, and I still.
