The Wolf Marshal's Pack (U.S. Marshal Shifters 3)
She was being hunted by a homicidal werewolf, sure. But what did that matter? She had a heroic werewolf lying right there at her side, ready to protect her.
She had everything she’d had yesterday—and Colby Acton.
My mate.
The clear light of day hadn’t made the word or the feelings fade away.
She rolled over on her side so she could face him. In sleep, Colby’s face was more fully relaxed than she had seen it before, and she wondered how much of his energy when he was awake had been devoted to protecting her. She wanted to see more of him like this.
She wanted to see him like this awake, too, but she didn’t mind having the chance to study him while he was asleep.
His soft black hair was mussed by the pillow. The furrow between his brows, which she realized now had been nothing but him concentrating on her completely, had smoothed out.
He had tiny laugh-lines etched into his face instead, and that made sense. He was the kind of person made to spend a lot of time happy.
He was the kind of person who made a lot of other people happy too.
And she was his mate. Maybe it was because she’d spent so much time studying nature, but that felt completely right to her. It made more sense to her than dating ever had, really.
All this time, she had worried that there was something wrong with her that meant she would never have the romance she’d always secretly craved.
But there hadn’t been anything wrong with her at all. She just hadn’t met her mate.
Colby stirred and blinked. He was smiling instantly too, and at least for right now, that furrow of intense concern was staying away.
“Morning,” he said softly.
She took advantage of his continued peacefulness to kiss that little spot between his eyebrows while it was still smooth. “Morning.”
“You look happy.”
“I am happy,” she said honestly. “I was thinking about you, and how glad I am that we met.”
His mouth quirked. “It’s hard to say this as romantically as I want to, but: ditto.”
She giggled, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “So what’s the plan, Marshal? If you want to tell me that arresting Eli Hebbert involves us going right back to sleep, for the record, I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?”
He stroked her hair as he talked, and his touch was just firm enough—his fingers raking over her scalp in exactly the right way—that she felt like she was melting into the mattress.
“Mmmm,” she moaned.
Luckily, he stayed more on topic.
“I know a couple of older wolves in the area, or at least my dad knew them. I think they’ll talk to me. The kind of idiotic wolf superiority angle Eli’s practicing isn’t new—actually, it peaked a couple generations ago and has been fading out ever since. My dad’s friends will know more about it than I could, and they’ll know who’s operating in this area. Maybe they can lead us to Luke. Or maybe we can skip the middleman and they’ll just lead us straight to Eli.”
That sounded like a plan to her. She couldn’t deny that she was thrilled to have the opportunity to meet a few more werewolves in their natural habitat.
They had a quick breakfast before they got on the road. Since Aria had showered last night, she got the food ready while Colby freshened up. It felt like the clock was ticking away too quickly for them to spend much time having an elaborate breakfast this morning the way they’d had an elaborate dinner last night, so she settled for cereal and a rapidly assembled fruit salad.
She could try to rally her cooking skills later.
Luckily for them both, she could brew a mean pot of coffee. She had honed that to an art on her middle-of-nowhere camping trips, where she usually slept lightly and woke up at sunrise. She liked hers strong, black, and laced with enough sugar that a spoon could almost stand up straight in it.
Her mom called it “sludge.” Her dad called it “trucker’s coffee.”
Aria called it a very, very good morning.