Page 27 of Can't Get No Satyrfaction

“I know.”

“That means that when we claim a mate, it’s for life.” His tortured gaze met hers. “Humans do not do that.”

“Some of them do,” she said carefully, but he was already shaking his head.

“It’s not the same. You—my mate would be everything to me.”

Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. Was that why he was holding back? Because he was worried that she would leave him? His eyes dropped to her neck, and she ran her finger over the spot where he’d nipped at her skin, the pieces suddenly coming together.

“Is this how you claim a mate?”

“It’s the traditional place for a claiming bite.”

His eyes were still fixed on that same spot.

“But you didn’t give me one?”

It wasn’t really a question but he shook his head anyway.

“No. I wouldn’t do that without your permission. I mean, without my mate’s permission,” he amended rapidly but she knew exactly who he meant.

Was she ready for that? Her heart whispered yes, but her mind wasn’t quite as sure. As strong as the connection was between them, they really hadn’t known each other very long.

“Does not being mated mean you can’t… enjoy each other?” she whispered.

He growled and started to reach for her, then slammed back his chair as he hurried to stand.

“I need to check on the poachers. Stay in the cabin. Please,” he added when she frowned.

“Okay”

The word was barely out of her mouth before he’d disappeared through the door, his hooves surprisingly quiet on the wooden floor.

“Be careful,” she called after him, then sighed and looked over at Bront, sprawled on the floor in front of the fire.

“Is he fighting me? Or himself?”

All three heads just gave her a soulful look, and she smiled and returned to the couch, picking up her book again. But even as she read, she found herself listening for his return.

CHAPTER 14

Thorn managed to throw a warning glance at Bront before he rushed out of the cabin, not that he really thought it was necessary. He was quite sure the hound would do whatever was necessary to protect Sylvie. That was all that mattered. Not the way her eyes followed him. Not how her scent lingered on his skin. Not the memory of her lips yielding beneath his.

All three sets of eyes turned adoringly to Sylvie.Traitor.

But how could he blame the dog when he was just as captivated, just as enthralled? He needed distance. Space to think clearly. To remember why humans couldn’t be trusted. Why he couldn’t let himself?—

“Be careful,” she called after him.

He paused at the threshold, struck by the genuine concern in her voice. No one had worried about him in years. He couldn’t handle it now. Couldn’t handle the warmth spreading through his chest.

Without responding, he stepped outside and shut the door firmly behind him.

Determined to follow through on his promise to take care of the poachers, he moved like a shadow through the underbrush, each step precise and silent despite his size. The forest spoke to him in whispers—broken twigs, crushed leaves, the faint impression of boot prints in damp earth. Three sets of tracks.

The trees reached out with their awareness, showing him glimpses of the poachers’ path. They’d moved with purpose, knowing exactly where they were going. The thought made his blood boil. These weren’t random trespassers—they’d scouted his forest before.

A harsh chemical scent cut through the rich loam and moss. Gun oil. His nostrils flared as he tracked it, pushing away thoughts of soft auburn hair and questioning blue eyes. Focus. The forest needed him alert.

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