own, Fenrir. Biologically. Don’t you want to be a father?”
It had honestly never occurred to him. He thought about it, trying to visualize what it might be like. It was…bizarre, like picturing himself as a squirrel.
“No,” he said at last, slowly, feeling his way from word to word. “I want to be there for the little ones. All the little ones. Caring for them, helping them, helping their parents. Wouldn’t be able to do that if I had to look after my own as well. Pack needs more than just mothers and fathers.”
She searched his face, her own rather dubious. “Are you sure? You aren’t just saying that?”
“Am sure.” Something else occurred to him, and his stomach sank. “Oh. Did you want children? Not of your blood, I mean. But to care for, to adopt?”
“No,” she said, sounding very certain. “Even before I knew that I couldn’t be a mom, it never interested me. It always annoyed me when people insisted I would change my mind when I was older. Guess I value my independence too much.”
“Can understand that. I like babies. But also like being able to give them back.”
She giggled. “Yeah, exactly. Well. Seems we’re on the same page on that issue, at least. That’s a relief.”
His heart thudded again—but for an entirely different reason this time. On a sudden burst of hope, he leaned across the table, taking her hands.
“It is?” He searched her face. “If there was something that stood between us, that might prevent us from mating…that would upset you?”
She didn’t draw away. Her dark eyes met his.
“Yes,” she whispered. “It would.”
Her hands were so small, his own covered them completely. But it was she who held him trapped; her eyes, her heat, the breathtaking touch of her skin.
He wasn’t sure which of them moved first. Maybe they both did, at the same time, in unspoken agreement.
They’d kissed before. But not like this. That time, he’d been kissing her, desperate and demanding. But now…
Now it was a partnership, a dance. Her lips moved over his, exploring him, tasting him. He gave and took and she matched him so perfectly that he could not have said where he ended and she began.
Need pounded through his blood. He was on fire, more intensely, perfectly alive than he had ever been in his life. Desire coiled tight within him, nearly unbearable.
Yes. His animal surged forward, renewed, fighting the numbing grip of the serum. Yes!
He broke off the kiss with a gasp, wrenching himself away. “No!”
Darcy drew back immediately, releasing him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” he interrupted, groping for her hand again. He closed his eyes, focusing on the shape of her fingers, the touch of his skin against hers. “Not you. My hellhound. Nearly lost control. Better now.”
She interlaced her fingers through his. “You sure?”
“Yes.” He opened his eyes again, offering her as much of a smile as he could muster. “But should stop. My animal is driven by the desire to mate. Best…best not to provoke it.”
“Yeah.” She bit her lip. “Fenrir, I have to be honest with you. I’m not ready to mate. I may never be ready to mate, given what a big change it involves. But I do like you. So much that it scares me, sometimes. I think we need to take this slowly. For both our sakes.”
Under the table, he put a hand in his pocket. He gripped the small, secret case there, thinking of the syringes hidden inside.
Four left.
“Can take our time,” he lied. “Can take all the time you need.”
Chapter 26
The last syringe lay on the table between them, serum glimmering.
“Ready?” Wystan said.
“Yes.” Fenrir managed to get out, the words already slurring into growls. “Will try.”
He’d taken a sweater from Darcy’s cabin while she was busy working in Buck’s office. He clenched his hands in the soft wool, trying to ignore the claws itching to burst from his fingertips, concentrating.
Darcy.
He had a hoard of precious memories now, gathered over the past week. Tiny, stolen moments that he’d taken and treasured without her knowledge, just like the sweater in his hands.
Her face, flushed and laughing, chasing Joe with a snowball in retaliation.
The little frown that she got when she was following a lead, chasing her quarry through a trail of data.
The brush of her hip against his leg as they worked together, side by side in companionable silence; her washing plates, him drying, neither of them needing to say anything.
Sunset, caught in her eyes.
The taste of her lips.
Darcy.
He tried to