Page 43 of A Malicious Menagerie
My jaw drops. “And she knew what he was? When she married him?”
“When shematedhim. Well…” He stops to consider his words. “I guess technically he did marry her. Since she was human, she wanted a wedding, and he wanted her to be happy.”
“Werewolves don’t get married?”
“Not usually.” He pauses to take another bite of his quickly diminishing burger. “Unless their mate is human and they want the ceremony. The decision to commit is ceremony enough for a wolf.” Suddenly, he tilts his head in that lupine way of his before turning his amber gaze back to me. “Do you want a wedding?”
“I—what?” I blurt, sure I’m the color of one of the Mothman’s overripe strawberries by now. “I… well… I’m…” I force myself to take a noisy breath in through my nose and stop stuttering. “I mean, yeah, I guess I always thought somewhere in the back of my mind that I’d meet the right guy and get married. Wear a white dress and say my vows and eat cake and all that.” I make a dismissive gesture. “Not that any of that’s been on my radar for a few years now.”
“Hmm,” is all the response I get, and now I’m spiraling. He definitely wasn’t asking because he’s thinking about marrying me. Definitely not. I mean, we barely know each other. Have only shared two conversations that he’s been able to actively contribute to. I’m sure he only asked because he was curious and had a convenient human to poll. Yep, that’s definitely all it was, and I amwayoverthinking things.
“Why not?” Chase asks suddenly, startling me from my whirling thoughts.
“Why not what?”
“Why hasn’t getting married been on your radar?”
“Oh, umm.” I tuck some escaped hair behind my ear to cover my awkwardness. “Well, my mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was in high school, and I guess life kind of ground to a halt after that. There was no time or bandwidth to gossip about boys with friends between doctors’ appointments and chemo treatments. And the time after she died was kind of… hazy, if that makes sense. I thought things were starting to get back to some semblance of normal when I started college, and I even dated a little. But…” I shrug. “Then Nan got sick, and it started all over again.”
Chase is quiet for a moment, and I glance up to find him staring at me with a thoughtful expression. “What?” I ask defensively.
“Nothing. Just… I’m sorry that you had to go through all that. It sounds… lonely.” Something about his expression tells me that he knows a thing or two about loneliness. A kindred spirit, though not at all for the same reasons.
“It was,” I agree softly. “Thank you.”
The silence between us is solemn, though somehow easy. Companionable.
Which makes it all the more startling when Chase breaks it. “So, who’s the right guy?”
“What?” I ask, completely lost now. The man certainly likes to keep me on my toes.
“You said before that you always thought you’d meet the ‘right guy’ and marry him,” he replies, his overly cheerful tone telling me that he’s tryingto lighten the mood. “What would you want him to be like?”
Relieved to move on from heavier topics, I reply, “I don’t know. I guess what most women would want their husbands to be like. Kind. Loyal. Funny. Protective. Handsome, though not at the expense of the other things.”
Chase grins, light eyes sparkling like stars, and leans toward me until his firm pecs dusted with dark hair fill my vision. This close, I can see faint freckles scattered across his sturdy shoulders, and I wonder how much darker they would be after a few hours in the sun instead of this perpetual artificial light. “If you want to marry me so bad, Anna, all you have to do is ask,” he rumbles, voice husky.
And now Iknowhe’s teasing me. Trying to make me feel better after my vulnerable admission. I roll my eyes and lean away, putting some much-needed space between me and his naked muscles and growly voice and heady scent of pine and clove. “Humble is on my list, too,” I say pointedly.
“Overrated,” he scoffs, returning to his few remaining fries. I take a surreptitious, steadying breath when his attention leaves me.
“So what about you?” I ask, aiming for nonchalance. I pick up the twig I abandoned before and run my fingertips over the imperfections in the bark. “Do you have a she-wolf pining for you back in Fairbanks?”
He snorts as if the idea is preposterous. “Nope.”
“Not a relationship kind of guy?” I wager, my heart sinking at the thought.
Not that it matters if he’s that type of guy. Not that he’d even be entertaining the idea of a relationship inhere.God. Like he doesn’t have bigger concerns.
“Waiting for the right girl,” he replies, mirroring me.
“Well, I gave you my list,” I huff playfully. I bump his shoulder with mine and feel azingat that brief flare of his warmth even through the cotton sleeve of my polo shirt. “So let’s hear it.”
“My dream girl is… fierce,” he finally says after a moment of deliberation.
“Oh,” I say, feeling oddly put out. Because of all the words anyone would ever use to describe me, the very last one would befierce. “So definitely a she-wolf, then.”
He shoots me an inscrutable look. “Werewolves don’t corner the marketon ferocity, you know.”
