“I’m sorry, what?”
“Your ass. I bit it, months ago!” I moaned as he pried my hands and the pillow off my face and made me look at him. “And ever since then, I’ve felt this weird protectiveness . . . and possessiveness toward you. And I’ve been calmer, with the exception of the whole possible werewolf intruder thing. I’ve been happy, content. I’ve been mated.”
“But, but, but—”
“Exactly!” I exclaimed, gesturing at his matrimonially marked ass.
“But if that were true, if all it took was a bite, werewolves would find themselves accidentally mated to random people all the time.”
“It’s not about the bite, it’s about the intention,” I said. “The werewolf magic sort of does the rest.” I thought back to the day I bit him. I’d been angry because he thought I was Mo. I wanted to show him that I was the woman, the animal, he was looking for. And I was staking my claim, marking my territory. Permanently. My stupid instincts made my decision for me. I could have spared myself all that angst over Clay versus Nick. “Oh, this is bad . . .”
“Why is it so bad?” he asked. “It just means we arrived at our destination a little early. I think it’s kind of cool.”
“We can never tell Samson, do you understand? If he knows I accidentally claimed your glutes, I will never live it down.”
“Maggie, it will be OK. This is a good thing. You chose me. And I love you for it.”
“I’m serious. We can’t tell Samson or Cooper or Mo. Or my mom.”
His tone was exasperated as he kissed my forehead. “Maggie.”
“Shutting up.”
He nuzzled my throat and traced the curves of my collarbone with his fingertips. “So, I love you.”
“Uh . . . thanks?”
“Do you have anything you might want to express to me in return?”
“You are . . . awesome?” I suggested. He leveled me with eyes that contained no amusement whatsoever. “I’m sorry! I’ve never said it before. OK, if feeling like your heart’s been ripped through your chest, jammed back, and scrambled around means you’re in love, it’s possible that one day I could be in love with you. “
He quirked his lips. “Well, that was . . . descriptive, while still remaining vague.”
“I will say that I don’t want to be without you. The idea of you leaving makes me want to throw up. When you’re not around, I feel empty and nauseated.”
“Aha!” he crowed. “So you admit it! I have a profound effect on your stomach . . . Speaking of which, I’ve been thinking.”
“That was a terrible segue.”
He ignored me pointedly. “I was thinking, what if you went and found some werewolf who didn’t gross you out entirely and you mated with him? You could have as many babies with him as you wanted. As long you came home to me every day, I think I could live with that.”
I kissed him long and hard. “Just the fact that you’re willing even to consider that means I couldn’t possibly go through with it. First of all, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to the random werewolf I picked. He wouldn’t be able to have babies with the female of his choice.”
“You could pick a gay werewolf who wouldn’t want a female—”
“You came up with this scenario pretty quickly,” I muttered.
“I’m a creative thinker.”
“Oh, my God,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. I laughed and shook my head. “OK, second, it wouldn’t work anyway, because I chose you, I marked you. Remember? No substitutions, no take-backs. My body won’t accept, uh, contributions from anyone else. You’re my mate, for better, for worse. Human or werewolf. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“Good,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “ ’Cause I’m going to ask you to marry me, sometime soon. I know this is sort of a good moment, what with the successful deflowering and biting and all. But I didn’t want to do it when you were expecting it. And I didn’t know whether you wanted an engagement ring or not. I didn’t see any of the women in the pack wearing them.”
I smiled and was amazed at how easily I accepted the idea after a lifetime of sneering at happy married couples Then again, engagement is sort of a bump in the road, compared with lifelong bonding through a bite on the ass.
“Rings slip off too easily when we change,” I told him. “Most of us have our bands tattooed on our fingers. But if that’s too much for you, some of the women accept necklaces as a sign of betrothal. The chain has to be sturdy and long enough to wrap around our necks in either form.”
He grinned. “Is that what you want?”