Page 31 of Riding A Cock-Horse
“What is the lass talking about now?” Phineas demands.
“She's my mate,” Nestor claims with conviction.
“She can't be,” Phineas denies. “Belle's not a niseag.”
Nestor just shrugs.
“I can smell it—sheismy mate. We were meant to be.”
Arthur's dad runs a hand over his neck and looks over at him.
“Son, your lass has got a lot of competition.”
“There's no competition!” Belle interjects. “Can’t we all just… I don’t know,share?!”
I cock my head at the idea.
In the shifter world, you have one mate, depending on your species. Sharing really isn't our thing. Not to mention the rarity of finding another of your kind that you connect with. Still, in our case where there's a scarcity, it would make sense to share. In fact, some animals around the world do this because of the few females available.
I frown, thinking of Nestor's words.
He says that Belle is his mate—that he can smell it on her.While I've always scented something different about her—unique, even—it wasn't that she wasmy mate. I remember Belle saying something about the other Tershes smelling this, too.
Is there something special about her that only Tertiaries scent her as a mate?
The idea sits sideways with me because it reinforces that Primaries are nothing and Tershes are something superior—that Belle, perhaps, is superior, and I am not. Of course, I know she’s something rare, but my heart aches with the truth that we were never meant to be together.
I can see this by the look on Phineas’ face.
Arthur’s father knows that to be the mate of the Loch Ness Monster is something prestigious—something singular—certainly not meant for his son.
And unquestionably not meant for me.
“Perform the ceremony!” Nestor booms to Alastair.
“What ceremony?” I demand.
“The one for our mating bond,” the insane man clarifies.
I throw my hands up in the air, even more exasperated than before.
“You can't just claim me as your mate! You act like you peed on me or something!”
“He peed on you?” Harry calls from the back. “What kind of kinky fuckery are you into?”
“Not that!” I interject. “I mean, even I have some hard lines, and I draw them there. I don’t do any type of excrement, but I am into getting tied up.”
Nestor quirks a brow.
“You want me to tie you up to have sex?” he drawls slowly, like it's a novel idea that has never crossed his mind.
“Yes, er, I mean, no,” I answer. “I mean,yes, I like to be tied up for sex, butyou're nottying me up to have sex because we'renothaving sex… because I'm not your mate.”
I don't think the man hears a single word that I'm saying.
In fact, I'm very, very convinced that he's just envisioning tying me up and screwing me.
I would be lying if I didn't admit the thought crossed my mind for a split second—just the barest hint of an image before it was dashed away with the reminder that I'm not bonded to this guy.Who, for clarification, is a total and complete stranger, not to mention the Loch Ness Monster.Huffing a sigh, I walk over and take Nestor's hand, prepared to let him down gently. He squeezes it, and before I can say anything, looks deeply into my eyes and whispers words in a language I’ve never heard. I assume it's Gaelic. Unfortunately, I have no clue what the handsome psycho is saying.
