want to talk about the rest yet." Or ever. To anyone. She was a stupid coward and had gotten herself into a situation in which she was helpless. When they got back from the mountains, she would find a job. With money in the bank and something constructive to do, she could get her bearings.
He tilted his head. "I can understand that. You've been uprooted from everything you know, dumped among strangers, and had all the rules you knew pulled out from under your feet. It's going to take some time to get used to. If you have questions about anything, just ask. If you don't want to talk to me, you can catch my father or...Sage? You liked Sage?"
"I liked Sage." Did she have any questions? Her irritation at herself transferred to him just fine, even though she could tell he didn't mean to treat her like a child. He wasn't trying to be patronizing, only trying to help. It wasn't his fault that his soothing tone put her teeth on edge-especially when she could tell he was still angry about something. Did she like Sage? As if he had to go out and find friends for her.
She was tired of being afraid and uncertain. He wanted questions. She'd been taught not to ask-werewolves keep secrets as if they were gold in a vault. Fine.
"What was it that Asil said that pushed you from irritated to enraged?"
"He threatened to try to take you from me," he told her.
She thought over the conversation, but didn't see it. "When?"
"It takes more than this attraction between us to seal us together as a mated pair. When he told me that you didn't smell of me, he was telling me he knew we haven't completed the mating-and that he considered you fair game."
She frowned at him.
"We haven't made love," he told her. "And there's a formal ceremony under the full moon that cements our bonds-a wedding. Without those, Asil can still make a play for you without retaliation."
Yet another thing she'd never heard before. If she had been ten years younger, she'd have stamped her foot. "Is there a book?" she demanded hotly. "Something I can look up all this stuff in?"
"You could write one," he suggested. If she hadn't been watching his mouth she'd never have seen the flash of humor. He thought she was funny.
"Maybe I will," she said darkly, and turned on her heel- except there was nowhere to go. His bedroom?
She shut herself in the bathroom and turned on the shower to hide any sounds she made, a second barrier because the door she'd locked behind her wasn't enough.
She stared at herself in the mirror, which was beginning to fog. The blurring reflection only enhanced the illusion that she was looking at a stranger-someone she despised for cowardice and uncertainty, who was good for nothing except waiting tables. But that was nothing new; she'd hated herself ever since she'd been turned into this...this monster.
A pathetic monster at that.
Her eyes looked bruised, her cheeks pale. She remembered her panicked retreat from Charles's brief show of temper, how she'd helplessly apologized for forcing her company upon him in this expedition. And she despised herself even more. She didn't used to be like this.
It wasn't Charles's fault.
So why was she so angry with him?
Viciously, she stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the steaming shower, feeling some relief as the pain from too-hot water sliced through the stupid tangle of emotion she was wallowing in.
And in that moment of clarity she understood why she'd been so upset by the end of the funeral-and why she was so upset with Charles in particular.
She hadn't realized how much she wanted to be human again. She knew it was impossible, knew nothing could undo the magic that had been forced upon her. But that didn't mean she didn't want it.
For three years she'd lived with monsters, had been one of them. Then Charles had come. He was so different from them; he'd given her hope.
But that wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault part of her had decided that she wasn't just leaving her pack, she was leaving the monsters behind.
He'd never lied to her. He'd told her he was his father's enforcer, and she hadn't doubted it. She'd seen him fight, seen him kill. Even so, somehow she'd managed to convince herself that Montana would be different. That she could be normal, could be human, every day except for the full moon-and even that