“That makes sense,” he said. “And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about bonding. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it’s an amazing and fulfilling commitment. A relationship full of adoration and respect, especially when the bonding is mutual.” He gave me a sly smile. “And apparently the sex is fucking mind-blowing.”
My cheeks burned. “Apparently? You’ve never bonded with anyone?”
“Nope,” he said, swirling the last of the beer in his bottle. “Never will, either.”
My smile slipped, replaced by a frown. “Wait, why? Don’t you want that?”
Without looking up at me, he said, “I’m a lone wolf. No pack, no place to put down roots. I wouldn’t make a female shifter or even a human woman live that life. Bouncing around from city to city, country to country, cutting her off from her pack or family… it wouldn’t be right. Plus, if she were human, I’d have to explainwhyI’m a nomad without letting slip about shifters. Not easy. And for a female shifter, traveling around without the support of a pack would probably cause her to turn feral, which is a fate almost worse than death.”
He’d mentioned multiple times now that being without a pack was an almost guaranteed way to become feral, yet he was sane—possiblymoresane than anyone I’d ever met.
“What makes you special?” I asked. “Why don’t you go feral without a pack?”
He ran his tongue along his lower lip and stared at his empty bottle. The band, urged on by suggestions from the crowd, launched into a rendition of “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Finally, he looked up and shrugged. “I suppose it’s because, from the first memory I have, I’ve always been alone. I grew up in the human world without a pack. I guess I can’t miss or crave a connection I never had to begin with.”
“Well, we have that in common,” I said. “I’ve never been in a pack, either.”
“Yeah, but you have a family.”
“I do. That’s true. But I’ve never had a pack, so I might not go feral, either.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Are you thinking of running away with me?”
When he looked into my eyes, I forced myself not to look away. Instead, I grinned back at him.
“You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”
His gray eyes glittered in the string lights that lit the pavilion. “I didn’t say anything you didn’t imply.”
The thought of sitting on the back of his motorcycle, the wind whipping around us as we cruised down the highway was exhilarating. Seeing the world, never sleeping in the same town, had a simple yet inexplicably romantic feel to it. Though, in all honesty, I wouldn’t want to live that way forever. I wanted roots. Stability. A life somewhere and a place to call my own.
“Get us another round?” I asked, sliding my empty bottle toward him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grabbing our empties as he stood.
I swallowed, unsure where things were going, unsure where I evenwantedthem to go. It didn’t matter. We were safe here, and I was going to enjoy that. Who knew when I’d get to experience anything like this again?
Nate returned, handing me a fresh bottle, and our fingers grazed. Rather than flinching away, I allowed myself to enjoy the touch. The warmth of his skin sent a blaze of heat through me, and my stomach dipped as I remembered those precious moments on the jogging trail. The feel of his tongue inside my mouth, his hard cock hitting just the right place as I ground my hips against him.
The band started playing a more upbeat song. “You wanna dance?” Nate asked.
“Um…” I blinked in surprise. Images of us writhing together on the dance floor swarmed my mind. “Sure,” I said, standing and taking his hand.
Multiple couples paired up on the dance floor. After a beat of awkwardness, I forgot about the outside world. I rarely allowed myself to live in the moment—always too worried about the future, about making rent, finding childcare for Gael, helping Mom around the house, and studying. Taking a breath, I pushed my worries to the back of my mind and let loose.
Soon, Nate and I were laughing and dancing together. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time. The songs ranged from slow to fast. The heat of Nate’s body against mine made my head spin. Every few minutes, he slid his hand down my lower back or across my side or stomach. Each time his fingers trailed along my body, the memory of it stayed, like highways drawn across my skin.
Eventually, sweaty and out of breath, I pulled him away from the dance floor to sit again. He was smiling openly and looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in the short time I knew him. Nate was always so controlled and composed. It made me think that staying as far away from the feral beast most shifters thought he would become was an integral part of his persona. Tonight, however, I was seeing that façade crack.
As we settled at the table with another drink, I asked, “What was your childhood like?”
“Like shit,” he said with a laugh. “Foster care is not fun. Whatever you imagine? It’s as bad or worse.”
I wanted to dig more into that, find out why he’d ever been in the system to begin with, but he spoke before I could.
“Do you like Canada or Mexico better? I’ve been to both. Kinda wonder what your opinion is.”
