Page 44 of Wedding for My Werewolf

She grabbed a dust cloth and started wiping surfaces that didn’t need cleaning. The kitchen counter gleamed, but she scrubbed it anyway. Her hands needed something to do, something to keep her from wondering if Rick was still lurking somewhere in town. Or thinking about last night, when Eric’s touch had set her skin on fire.

The cabin felt different in daylight. Smaller. More intimate. Her gaze caught on the couch where they’d… She quickly turned away, heat rising in her cheeks.

She moved to the window, peering through the curtains at the empty yard. The forest beyond looked peaceful, but she knew better than to trust appearances. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, wrestling with the unfamiliar feeling of having someone to rely on.

Sighing, she went over to the bookcases next to the fireplace, searching through the titles until she found one of her favorite fantasies. She curled up in the big armchair with the book, not quite ready to face the couch, and was busy fighting the goblinsunder the castle when someone knocked on the door, sharp and demanding.

Her heart hammering against her ribs, she crept to the window, keeping close to the wall as she peeked through a gap in the curtains. An elegant woman stood on the porch, her tailored suit a sharp contrast to the snowy forest beyond. Black hair streaked with silver was pulled into a severe bun that emphasized her high cheekbones—cheekbones that looked uncomfortably familiar.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door handle. Eric had told her not to let anyone in, but she had an uneasy suspicion about the woman outside. She opened the door a crack, leaving the chain in place.

“Can I help you?” Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

“I’m Marjorie—Eric’s mother.” The woman’s eyes swept over Robin with the icy precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. “We need to talk.”

Her stomach churned. She remembered Eric’s tense expression when he’d mentioned his mother’s reaction to their relationship. The way his jaw had tightened when he spoke of her disapproval. This was the woman who’d tried to push him toward proper werewolf mates, who’d been conspicuously absent from the Pack gathering.

The silence stretched between them like a rubber band ready to snap. Her palms grew damp against the doorframe as Marjorie’s gaze pinned her in place. She felt exposed, vulnerable—a mouse caught in a hawk’s sights.

No.She wasn’t a mouse, no matter what Lila had said. She drew herself up straighter, meeting Marjorie’s stare.

“Very well.”

She unlatched the chain, proud that her hands didn’t tremble, and Marjorie swept into the cabin. The older woman’s presence immediately dominated the space, but perhaps that wasn’t surprising considering Eric’s powerful aura.

“I’ll be direct.” Marjorie turned, her golden eyes—so like Eric’s—fixed on Robin’s face. “My son should be leading the Pack. It’s his birthright, his destiny.”

In one sense Marjorie was probably right—she’d seen how naturally leadership came to him. But she’d also witnessed his struggle against the expectations of the Pack. She opened her mouth to say just that, but Marjorie cut her off.

“The Pack will never accept a human mate,” Marjorie said sharply. “Especially not one who brings danger to our door. Did you think we wouldn’t know that there’s a bounty hunter after you?”

She blinked rapidly, fighting back the sting of tears. Everything she’d feared about her presence in Eric’s life, laid bare by his mother’s cutting words.

“He could have been a strong leader, if he hadn’t broken away from the Pack.” Marjorie’s voice grew cold. “But he was too weak to see what had to be done.”

“Don’t,” she said fiercely. “Don’t call him weak. He’s not. Don’t you realize how much strength it takes to go your own way? To resist the expectations that everyone else has placed on him?”

For the first time Marjorie’s arrogance wavered, a flash of something like pain crossing her features.

“It’s too late, isn’t it? I thought it was an act but I can scent the bond between you. It’s already there, whether either of you meant it to be or not.”

She couldn’t deny it—didn’t want to deny it.

“So what if it is? Don’t you want him to be happy?”

The older woman reared back.

“He’s my son. Of course I want him to be happy. That’s why I want him to be Alpha.”

“But what if that doesn’t make him happy? He told me how everyone expected him to follow in his father’s footsteps. But that’s not what he wants.”

“You don’t understand our ways—” Marjorie started.

“Maybe not. But I know he loves being sheriff. He protects this town, all of its people—not just the Pack. That’s who he is.”

Color rose in Marjorie’s cheeks. “The Pack needs?—”

“The Pack needs to let him choose. He doesn’t want to be bound by traditions that don’t fit who he’s become. Who he chose to become.”

---