Page 57 of Protected By Her Mate

“What are you doing here?” he demands, then anxiously adds, “Did something happen to my mom again?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to the incident with her truck when she found Catherine Grant’s body. “No, your mother is fine. We got back late last night and she invited me to stay over.”

“In her bed?” he asks skeptically. “She doesn’t even let me sleep in her bed. Not unless I’m sick. Are you sick?”

I briefly consider lying, but I don’t think Charlie would approve and she trusts me to spend time alone with her child. I don’t want to breach that trust. “No, I’m not sick.”

“Then why?”

I sort through the possible explanations in my head, wanting to give him as close to the truth as possible without discussing the details of my night spent in Charlie’s bed. I’m stumped.

I decide redirection is my best bet, and ask, “What do you eat for breakfast?”

“Waffles with whipped cream and strawberries,” he says instantly, then asks, “Are you going to stay over in my mom’s bed every night?”

“No, I’m not.”

My wolf barks his disagreement so sharply my head rings.

“Why?” he asks, then, “Are you going to make waffles?”

How hard can they be? “Sure, I can do that.”

He grins and sinks onto the floor next to his Lego city, lifting a helicopter above the buildings and making whirring sounds. After a moment, he looks at me, and says, “I don’t mind if you sleep over again. It’s not so bad sharing her with a shifter.”

I can’t help the grin that stretches my lips as I leave him alone, heading into the kitchen. The grin falls away several minutes later as I’m contemplating a counter strewn with flour, sugar and half an egg. The other half is in the bowl where I’m trying to stir the waffle mix with one hand while juggling my phone, which has the recipe, with the other.

“What on earth are you doing?” Charlie’s sleepily amused voice comes from the kitchen entryway.

“Trying to make waffles.” I’d succeeded with the dino nuggets and fries, which has made me overconfident about my skills in the kitchen.

“That’s gonna be hard since I don’t have a waffle iron.”

What’s a waffle iron? “You don’t?” Was I scammed by a seven-year-old?

She shakes her head, then says, “Clean up in here and we’ll go out for waffles.” She pops her head into the living room, “You hear that, Luke? We’re going out for breakfast. Go get ready.”

As he races toward his bedroom, he shouts, “Is Lennox coming to the zoo with us?”

“Do you want him to?” she shoots back.

His voice comes from behind his half-closed bedroom door, “Yeah, I want him to come. I want to see what the wolves do when they see him.”

Charlie looks at me questioningly. “What happens when you come face-to-face with a real wolf?”

“Iama real wolf.”

“You know what I mean. Answer the question.”

“You’d make a good police interrogator.”

“You’re still not answering the question.”

I give her what she wants. “Non-shifter animals are often fearful or at least uncomfortable around shifters. Wolves are no different. Our scent confuses them and, unless backed into a corner, they’ll usually run off.”

“Huh,” she says, then frowns. “What would have happened if I’d owned a cat? Or a hamster?”

I give her a sharp-toothed grin, showing her my incisors, and she fake punches me in the stomach. I grip her wrist, pulling her closer, telling myself it’s just for now. Once the case is solved, we’ll walk away from each other. Or at least she’ll walk away from me. I’m too far gone to ever leave her vicinity.

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