The Werewolf Meets His Match

He didn’t usually, but he also didn’t usually have a woman waiting for him. Actually, he never had a woman waiting for him. “Do you want me to?”

Her brows bent. “Of course. It is your house. And how else are we going to get to know each other? Besides, I’m making dinner.”

“Right. Seven then.” That would give him time to swing by Howler’s and check on Bridget. Make sure she wasn’t freaking out over this marriage thing.

“Seven. Good.”

“I’ll call if something comes up.”

Her mouth bunched to one side. “I was wondering…”

He waited.

“I could really use a run. This close to the full moon and all.” She shrugged. “You know how it is.”

He did know. The wildness had been scratching at his skin, especially with an available female in such close proximity, and there was no better way to release that wildness than a run. Well, there was a better way, but he wasn’t going there with Ivy. Yet. “A run sounds great. After dinner.”

She smiled, turning her already pretty face into something amazing. “Okay, good.”

“See you later then.” For a split second, he thought he should kiss her goodbye, but that’s what couples did when they were comfortable with each other and that wasn’t a word either one of them could apply to this relationship. If this could even be called a relationship. Arrangement might be all it ever was. He hoped that wasn’t the case, but it was a possibility, especially in this kind of situation. With a small shake of his head, he went back to the car and got in. He sat for a minute, not going anywhere.

There was a woman in his kitchen unpacking groceries, who was clearly planning on cooking him a meal. A woman who was not his sister.

A woman who would be his wife in three days.

His life had done a one-eighty and he was essentially powerless to stop it.

The strangest part was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. After all, this was what being next in line for alpha meant. Responsibility. Tradition. Sacrifice.

He went to put his keys in the ignition and realized he must have left them on the kitchen counter. He went back inside.

Ivy wasn’t in the kitchen, but he heard her voice coming from the living room. She sounded stressed. He peered around the corner. She was on the phone, pacing in front of the fireplace.

“Yes, I’m here. In his house. I know I was supposed to text, but that’s not how things went.”

He shouldn’t be eavesdropping. She was probably just checking in, letting someone know she had arrived. He started for the kitchen and his keys.

“Let me talk to Charlie.”

He stopped walking, the sound of another man’s name cutting through him. Of course there was another man. A woman like Ivy wouldn’t be unattached.

Ivy sighed. “You have to let me talk to him at some point. He must miss me. At least tell him I love him.”

Hank had never given it a thought, but it made so much sense. No wonder she’d tensed when he’d touched her. When he’d kissed her. And it explained why she seemed so torn about the whole thing.

Her father was forcing her to marry Hank for the sake of the pack, Ivy’s wants and needs and emotions be damned.

There was no way this would end well. Ivy would come to resent him, always seeing him as the man who’d cost her her happiness. It made Hank a little sad for both of them, and with that realization, he left.

He’d heard all he needed to hear.

Ivy hung up and sat on the couch, letting her head hang down as she dealt with the emotions running through her. She wanted to cry and scream and break things, but none of that was going to change anything. Besides, she needed to focus her energy on making this situation work so that she and Charlie would never have to go through this again.

There were two options. Marry Hank, satisfy her father’s demands, then take Charlie and run. And pray that her father didn’t care enough about either one of them to bother looking.

Or maybe she could get Hank to fall for her, to really love her. Then, after he learned the truth, he might take pity on them and let them stay.

At the very least, he might not make them go back to Tennessee. Back to Clemens Kincaid.

That’s all she really wanted for her and Charlie. Freedom from the tyranny of her father. But getting that freedom was going to come at Hank’s expense, no matter which route she chose.

She closed her eyes and inhaled, then blew out the breath slowly and opened her eyes again. She could at least give life with Hank a shot. He seemed like a decent man. Maybe he’d understand.

Maybe.

And if he didn’t, running was still an option.

Her mind made up, she stood, tucked her phone in her pocket and went back to the kitchen to lose herself in the chores of putting the rest of the groceries away and baking a cake.

The oven had just come up to temperature when Hank charged through the front door, nearly scaring the daylights out of her. She jumped, jerking the mixer out of the bowl and splattering chocolate cake batter over herself and half the kitchen. He’d barely been gone an hour. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He looked stern. Not that that was so unusual. “We need to talk.”

“Apparently.” She put the mixer down, leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. She couldn’t imagine what was wrong, but a small twitch of concern settled in her belly. “What’s got you all worked up?”

“You. This…arrangement.”