His friends had their own troubles, but even so, they were still glad for him.
His mate felt the same silent blessing. She licked his muzzle, gently, and led him home.
He had one bad moment, right at the end. As he stepped onto the porch of his cabin, cold doubt gripped him. He had never done this before, not all on his own. What if…?
But we are not alone, his animal whispered, gracefully fading back into his soul. Never alone.
He looked at Darcy, already standing in human form, waiting for him. And then it was easy, so easy, to stand up, and take her hand.
She pulled him down to her, tilting her face up to his. He knew the shape of her lips well by now, yet he still felt the same awestruck thrill when their mouths met. It was as though every kiss was their first. He could spend a lifetime exploring her.
And he would. He was hers, now, and she was his. They were mates.
Or nearly.
As his tongue stroked hers, Fenrir felt the bond between them brighten. He hadn’t thought it could get any stronger, yet with every touch, every caress, it burned hotter in his soul.
“Darcy,” he gasped, on fire with need. “My mate.”
Her hands clutched at him with equal passion. “Yes. I’m ready.”
She was ready; her soul as open as her slick, eager body. Fenrir lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. She slid down onto him as he thrust up, meeting him, claiming him.
“Fenrir!” she cried out, her body gripping him, her soul twining with his. “Mine, my mate!”
He felt her teeth sink into his shoulder, in a white-hot blaze of ecstasy. He bit her back, marking her as his own, just as she’d marked him.
Forever.
Something finally occurred to him, much later. He spooned around her, tracing the bite on her shoulder. Not the one on her left, the mate-mark that he’d made with his own teeth, but the scar on her right. A much smaller, fainter mark; already looking as though it had been made years ago, rather than just the previous day.
Fenrir kissed it. “You haven’t told me your pack name yet.”
Darcy stirred, stretching in sleepy languor. “Lupa didn’t give me one.”
“What?” He lifted his head in surprise, looking down at her. “But it’s part of being turned. Every hellhound needs a pack name.”
She folded her arms behind her head, a hint of a grin tugging at her beautiful lips. “I know. But Lupa didn’t have to give me a pack name. I already had one.”
And just like that, he knew.
“The Bitch,” he murmured, and leaned down to capture her mouth once more. “The Bitch.”
Epilogue
Three months later…
“Really?” Darcy said. “Again?”
Fenrir cast her a small, sheepish smile. “Would like to. But if you are bored…”
Darcy stretched onto her toes, hooking a hand into the collar of his shirt. With a deep chuckle, Fenrir bent down to meet her lips.
“I’m never bored with you,” she whispered against his mouth. She released him again, raising her voice. “All right then. Since you love it so much.”
Fenrir stole another kiss; brief, but promising more to come later. Then he straightened, face bright with anticipation as he looked up at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
“You are sure you don’t mind?” he asked as he held the door open for her. “Will be last visit, I promise.”
“You said that yesterday,” she teased him. “And the day before. And the day before that. Aren’t you tired of those paintings yet?”
His gaze lingered on her. “Never get tired of looking at beautiful things.”
The mate bond glowed in her heart. She caught her breath as warmth spread through her, tingling down every vein.
But she couldn’t let herself distracted. She interlaced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand in slight, subtle warning.
“Come on,” she said, tugging him in the direction of the special exhibition. “Just one more visit.”
It was the largest display of Monet paintings ever shown in America, combining the Met’s own collection with pieces borrowed from other art galleries all over the world. They wandered the galleries hand-in-hand, surrounded by shimmering colors.
Even though they’d seen the whole thing three times now, Fenrir still gazed at each painting with unfeigned wonder. Darcy never got tired of watching him.
It was hard to pretend boredom, but she did her best. She flicked through social media on her phone, covertly monitoring the surrounding crowd out of the corner of her eye.
There, her hellhound murmured. Prey.
Darcy had seen him too. It was hard to