Page 27 of Her Second-Hand Mate

“Er, he does. Why?”

“Just asking, no reason,” Margaret smiled. “Please, go on.”

“Then I go to bed and he takes our pup to school before going to work. He owns the hardware store in town,” she explained.“I wake up around 1 pm, do some things around the house, pick up Ben, then my mate comes home around six and sometimes he brings takeout, sometimes I cook dinner, depending on what we agreed on in the morning. Then, after Ben's bedtime, we hang out a bit and go to bed. That’s it.”

Margaret leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees, her hands animated while she talked, “Shifters used to live in more isolated, more rudimentary, hidden packs. Some of them were half-feral once upon a time. A good mate was strong, protective, possessive, fertile, a good hunter, and a good provider. He provided shelter. He was steadfast. There were no presents outside of mating customs. No one took their mate out for a date,” she huffed a little laugh at the ludicrous idea. I kept thinking about Eden for some reason. “Tasks were split along gender lines even more than they are now. Wolves traveled less and interacted with humans less. We live in historic times for our kind, and that is why I have so many clients.”

“What changed?” I asked, breathless from thinking about everything that she was saying.

“Well,” she took a sip of her tea, Marley’s latest find. “Females now want to like their mate, as well as love him. And whereas the idea of not liking your mate or being unhappy with him is by no means a new concept, it is the first time that females have the freedom to voice it. The old school attitude is that it doesn’t matter how your mate treats you, the bond overrides it all and takes precedence over everything. I know many packs still think like that,” she said, and she seemed hurt by it. “I don’tthink that’s true. It’s possible to want your mate, even to love your mate because the bond is forcing you to, but still not to like him.”

It felt like the room was spinning. What she was saying was akin to heresy in the eyes of my family.

I was scared to think about whether I liked my mate.

Since my heat will be starting next week, and then we’ll slowly step into August after that, not mailing this letter today would push me into promise-breaking territory, so I better stop here.

If I’m correct in my assumptions, you’re already readingThe Age of Innocenceand I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on it. Charlotte loved it. I still haven’t started it, but I plan to start soon. It’s bittersweet, because it’s the last book of the course. Anyways! I have to go!

I can’t wait for your next letter.

Love,

Penelope

I sighed and sat back in my chair. Why did writing to Nana always feel like lying? I made very sure never to write a direct lie, yet the very optimistic, hopeful tone that I made sure to use made me feel deceitful.

My upcoming heat was probably wreaking havoc in my mind as well. I already felt more needy, and I wanted to be around Dominic all the time. I could see it affecting him as well. Hisgaze was threatening to ignite me every time we were in a room together. His wolf was running around the property, marking his territory. The other day I found him in my walk-in closet, rubbing his scent all over my clothes.

When I realized my canines had extended at the thought, another line from Whitman came to mind:

Urge and urge and urge,

Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,

Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.

6

Being in heat was sweet, torturous bliss. It meant four days of feeling all the nerve endings that lived under your skin. It meant burning up, but wanting to burn even more. It meant feeling your heartbeat between your legs. It meant feeling restless every moment of the day unless your mate was inside you.

I was still me, but without any of the normal restrictions I put on my thoughts and words. I freely reached for my mate for the first time ever, and I did so often.

“Do you still need more, sweet Penelope?” Dominic rasped as he made love to me for who knows which time during the third day, “Your mouth still tastes of the peach I fed you earlier. It’s my favorite fruit now.”

He’d said the same of the cantaloupe. And the raspberries, which he had placed on my nipples before devouring them. My insides clenched around him at the memory and he groaned, “I can’t get enough of you. Always thinking of you, always wanting to be near you.”

“Dominic,” I breathed, half out of my mind with absolutely helpless need, “Dominic, why do you hurt me?”

He stopped moving and I gasped as I was flooded with his uncertainty and fear. The tide was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Am I hurting you? Are you upset with me?”

I closed my eyes, trying to tamp down the need to grind my hips. This was a moment for conversation. I deduced that my heat lowered my inhibitions enough to finally ask my mate a darn question.

“I – no. I don’t know. Sometimes, you hurt me so badly. I just want to be a good mate to you.”

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