Page 10 of I Don’t Believe In Fated Mates!

Has nobody ever taken care of her? The thought makes me angry, and sad for her. And determined. I will be the man who takes care of her. She will want for nothing.

I lead her into the kitchen, which has always felt far too large for me. In my mind's eye, I can see it filling with children and laughter, but I won't mention that to her. Yet.

The space is built for a family, not a lone wolf. Heavy timber beams stretch across the ceiling, and the wide flagstone floor still carries the faint scent of pine and smoke from winters past. The counters are thick slabs of wood, polished smooth from years of use, and the cabinets are deep enough to hold a small army's worth of supplies.

The sun is setting now. At the far end, a wall of tall windows opens onto the forest, where the trees rise like sentinels. The last light of the day spills across the floor, softening the rough edges of the room, and pools around the small kitchen table that sits near the glass. The table looks almost ridiculous here—too small, too human-scaled in a space built for a pack. It's where I usually eat alone, with only the whisper of the woods for company.

I gesture toward the table. "Sit. I'll boil the water for us."

She hesitates, eyes flicking toward the windows, then back to me. "You also drink tea?" she asks, like I've just told her I knit sweaters for fun.

"Sometimes," I say with a shrug, moving to the stove. "Helps keep the wolf calm."

The kettle hisses softly as I fill it and set it to heat. I can feel her gaze on my back, tracking my every movement, and for once, I don't mind the weight of another person's eyes in this house.

When I turn around, she's sitting at the small table, her hands wrapped around the empty mug I've set before her. She looks fragile and fierce all at once—like she's ready to bolt, but too stubborn to run.

The kettle starts to sing. I pour the water into two chunky ceramic mugs, and then drop in two chamomile teabags that were made right here on pack property. The scent of it drifts through the air—sweet, earthy, grounding.

"Chamomile," I say, setting the mug in front of her. "It helps calm nerves."

"I'm not nervous," she says defiantly, chin lifting, though her fingers tremble against the mug.

She's fighting this, as if she has the slightest chance of winning. I bark out a laugh. "Right. And I'm not standing here fighting the urge to kiss you."

She rolls her eyes at that, and takes a sip of tea, and another. I settle into the seat across from her and do the same. An uneasy silence falls between us as the sun is swallowed by the horizon.

"Can you read my mind?" she blurts, the words tumbling out like she's been holding them behind her teeth for miles.

"Why do you ask?" I lift an eyebrow, unable to keep the hint of a smile from tugging at my mouth. "What exactly would I find in there?"

Her cheeks go pink. "Oh, stop looking at me like that!" she says, trying for playful, but her laugh wobbles. She twists her fingers together. "It's just…there's so much I don't know about shifters. I heard you all have some kind of telepathy."

"We do," I nod. "When a pack member is in mortal danger, they sound out a mental distress call. Then there's the council bond. Shifter councils commit to spending so much time together that they form their own mental link, which is stronger than the pack bond. And they're strengthened by a Telemage—rare ability, extremely valuable. We don't even have a Telemage, we pay for one to visit and regularly enhance the council bond. In an emergency…say an Alpha goes rogue…the council can combine their mental powers and force him into submission."

She nods, her expression serious.

"And mates?" she prompts.

I nod. "Yes. Mates have their own bond. Not word-for-word mind reading, but…over time you feel everything the other feels. You sync. Instinctively."

She swallows, her throat working. "But would you and I—I mean, would a human and a shifter have that? Is it possible?"

"Lane," I murmur, "aren't you already feeling it?"

She bites her lip, looking away. Then, without answering me, she gets up and starts walking towards the door. I leap to my feet and move to block her, towering over her, and she tilts her head back to glare at me.

"Why pretend that you don't want me as much as I want you?" I ask, amused. "I mean, I like it. I think it's cute that you think you can resist me. I'm just wondering how long you can keep it up." My mouth curls up in amused grin. "Isn't it exhausting?"

She shoves me. "Why, you arrogant, furry, obnoxious-"

"Okay," I interrupt her. "You don't want me? Prove it."

She flashes me a baffled look. "How?"

"Kiss me once, and then walk away."

Her eyes gleam defiantly. "Challenge accepted."