16

Ours .

This time, it was like Case heard the rumble of his wolf’s voice in his chest, not his head. It seemed to reverberate from somewhere deep inside him, like it was too primal to be a thought . It was like it was a feeling so deep it had to be tied up with blood and bone, inseparable from him on a cellular level. This must be what the mate bond felt like.

No matter how cautious he wanted to be, Case couldn’t argue with such a fundamental part of himself. He added to it:

And we’re hers .

That was the part he could control. He couldn’t guarantee that Lydia would want him around forever, but he could sure as hell offer forever.

His wolf’s satisfaction was savagely joyous.

Yes, it said, in that same warm growl that reverberated through him. We are hers.

“So, I was thinking,” Lydia said. Her breath was a gentle breeze across his chest.

“What about?”

Is your wolf doing cartwheels over this like mine?

“We may have just exhausted ourselves and had an incredible time doing it, but it’s still not that late. So that means two things. Number one: we might be able to have another incredible time before we go to sleep.”

Her voice turned husky and low on the last few words, and Case ... well, yeah. Case was pretty sure a second incredible time would not be a problem. He would be willing to try for it immediately, in fact.

“I am absolutely one hundred percent behind that idea.”

He could feel the corner of Lydia’s mouth turn up as she smiled without lifting her head. “I was hoping you would be.”

“What’s point number two?”

“Not as brilliant as my earlier work,” she said solemnly, “but I think it’s still a winner. We could order room service for dinner.”

“I’m good with that too. You know, I’ve never actually had it? If I’m not traveling in the RV, I’m usually somewhere a little plainer. Clean and quiet, sure, but more likely to have a vending machine in the hallway than a menu by the phone.”

“And I don’t usually go anywhere at all, so I’ve never had it either.”

It was funny. They were perfectly matched on the inside—he couldn’t think of any other way to describe the rightness that he felt with her—but they’d lived very different lives.

That was good too, of course: puzzle pieces had to have different shapes to fit together. She knew what it was like to have a home, with a sense of roots and responsibility and family; he knew what it was like to have a wanderer’s freedom, with its unique combination of openness and loneliness. They gave something to each other, something more than he thought either of them had initially counted on. Something they could never have found on their own.

This was even better, though. This wasn’t about her life adding to his, or his to hers. It was about their new life, the one they had just started sharing.

Neither of them had done this before, and they were only going to do it now because they were together and their shared road had brought them here.

Case liked that.

Lydia hauled the heavy, leather-bound room service menu off the bedside table, and they perused it together.

“These people really like rosemary,” Lydia said, darting her finger back and forth between rosemary-sprig lamb, salads garnished with fried rosemary, rosemary flatbread, chicken noodle soup with rosemary .... “I mean, I like it too, but wow.”

“Maybe the chef’s name is Rosemary too, for consistency’s sake.”

“In that case, do you think she’ll be offended if we order anything rosemary-free?”

Case pressed his lips together in mock thought. “We might not want to risk it. Not when it comes to the main course, anyway. We’ve still got everything from the bakery, so we can have a rosemary-free dessert.”

He ordered the rosemary-sprig lamb with the rosemary and garlic potatoes, and Lydia went for the tenderloin with a rosemary breadcrumb crust and rosemary-roasted root vegetables. (And, to ensure Chef Rosemary would forgive them for not picking the lemon rosemary olive oil cake for afterwards: a rosemary gin fizz to drink.)

Lydia curled her toes into the sheets and let out a satisfied sigh as Case hung up the phone. “We’re probably going to eat ourselves to death and leave two rosemary-infused corpses, but I think it’ll be worth it. As long as we do get in round two before we die.”

Case looked her up and down, from those curling toes all the way to her tousled dark hair spread out across the pillow. God, she was gorgeous. “If you want, I could get started on that right now.”

“I’m extremely tempted by that,” Lydia said, and from the way she languorously stretched, her toes curling again, Case could tell she meant it. “But the last thing I want is to have to stop what we’re doing to get up and open the door for our room service delivery.”

“Okay, that’s a good point. Maybe I should close my eyes in the meantime so I won’t be tempted.”

She let out a pleased little chuff of laughter. “As long as you don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t if we talk,” Case reasoned, shutting his eyes. It didn’t do as much good as he would have imagined, since he could still feel the velvety expanse of Lydia’s bare skin against his and still smell the mingled scents of sex and her coconut shampoo.

He knew at some point they would have to put on actual clothes to answer the door, but there was no way someone could prepare lamb and beef tenderloin that quickly. He had at least a few minutes of absolute safety that he could use to enjoy the feel and smell of her.

Speaking of which ....

“I feel like I have a better sense of smell now,” Case said. “Is that normal?”

“Oh yeah,” she said instantly. “All shifters have heightened senses, even when we’re in our human forms, but inner animals like wolves and dogs make the smell thing especially obvious. You can probably smell plenty of things that you can’t identify yet, so your brain isn’t even fully processing them. Danger, fear, home. It can be a big help, and it’s a big part of wolf life.”

He could see that. His wolf clearly thought of smell as its primary sense and took it in first, the way Case took in sight.

Lydia added, “There are other advantages too, even if they’re a little weird.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I’ve never been human, so I don’t know about this firsthand, but I’ve always gotten the impression that most people think that, say, walking by a full dumpster on a hot summer day isn’t exactly pleasant.”

Case shuddered. “In this human’s opinion: no, definitely not. Are you saying it’s going to be pleasant now ?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but your wolf tends to take the lead when smells like that are overwhelming. And when it comes to a bunch of strong scents all piled on top of each other like that, it usually reads it as ‘interesting,’ not ‘awful.’”

As hard as it was to imagine taking an inquisitive sniff at trash, Case could actually see the wolves’ point. Unless he was trying to make a joke, he wouldn’t actually violently recoil from a bunch of clashing patterns and loud colors and 3D Magic Eye posters layered on top of each other, shouting, “Oh God, my eyes!” It would be a lot, and he might not like having to look at it, but it would also be a hugely overwhelming amount of visual input that his brain would struggle to make sense of. And that kind of thing could be fascinating if you were in the right mood.

Of course, my vision doesn’t feel as connected to my gag reflex as my sense of smell is, he thought wryly. But maybe my wolf can overpower that too. Its instincts are part of mine now.

“I’m willing to count that as a plus,” Case said. He cleared his throat. “Um. You smell good, by the way.”

Really, really good. Before his transformation, he had mostly been able to pick up on the stronger artificial scents around her, like that shampoo, but afterwards, it was more about her: the light, feminine musk of her body, the clean smell of her sweat, the scent of sex in the air between them. Now the mate bond amplified his appreciation even more.

Lydia didn’t look like she found that confession as awkward as he had. She snuggled up against him even closer, burying her nose against his chest. “You smell good too,” she said, the words muffled. “Amazing, actually. My wolf won’t shut up about it, and I don’t blame it one bit.”

My wolf won’t shut up about you period, and I don’t blame it one bit either.

He ached to say that—it couldn’t possibly be as weird as talking about how good she smelled, and Lydia had been fine with that!—but that lifelong habit of keeping himself to himself was hard to break. He couldn’t make himself say something that might—

Might what? Ask her to want him? Assume that he was wanted already? Imply that he had a right to be here?

That shook him up a little. Case had always enjoyed his life on the road, despite its occasional drawbacks. He still liked it, even if he thought he could settle down in Mountainview as immovably as a rock if that was what was right for Lydia.

(He wasn’t sure that it was, but that was her decision to make, not his.)

Because I was never wanted anywhere, I never settled down —that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t how he’d felt at all.

But now he had to wonder if a whole life’s worth of it had left him with a confused sense of cause and effect.

Because I never settled down anywhere, I keep feeling like I’m not wanted.

Was that it? Was this all in his head? There had to be a difference between being considerately cautious and being too gun-shy to ask for anything at all.

Maybe he should risk telling her more about how he felt and what he wanted. If she didn’t want to have a life with him after the fight with Reeve was over, all she had to do was say so, right?

Well, it was a little bit of a relief that he couldn’t do it now. The moment had passed. Lydia had gotten her good long sniff of him, and now she was—with a frustrated sigh—levering herself out of bed to put some clothes on.

“I liked it better when they were coming off,” Case said, with exaggerated sadness, but he reached for his own clothes.

Unsurprisingly, Lydia dug into her overnight bag for a change so she wouldn’t have to shimmy back into the red dress. Case hoped it was on the comfortable side, as far as formalwear went, but that didn’t mean it was the kind of thing anyone wanted to lounge around in.

Lydia reached for another flannel shirt, but then she closed her hand into a fist and stepped back from the bag.

“The tank top is fine on its own, right?” she said, giving him an uncertain glance.

“Sure.”

It wasn’t even a flimsy, spaghetti-strapped camisole: it was sturdy, ribbed cotton, in a creamy color that looked especially gorgeous on her. Case didn’t know why she was insecure about it.

He ventured a guess he was already sure didn’t cover half of it: “Too warm for the flannel?”

Lydia gave him a sheepish smile and shook her head. “No, it’s not that. And I like my usual look, trust me. I just felt like I wanted something ... different. For tonight, with you.” She ran her hands over her bare arms, like she was still getting used to showing that much skin, even in such an innocent way.

Then he thought he understood. The tank top wasn’t as deliberately sexy as the red dress had been (even though Case certainly thought it had its own appeal). But it was vulnerable in its own way. Lydia’s usual clothes felt like armor to her, and this left her comparatively exposed. It was a softer, more open look than she would have usually had around the pack, where she always had to be strong.

“You had your wedding dress,” Case said quietly, “and now you’ve got your trousseau. Isn’t that what it’s called? What you wear to bed on your wedding night?”

Lydia’s smile turned less sheepish and more warm. “I’m not sure. I think the trousseau might be everything a bride brings with her, traditionally, like the sheets and stuff, not just the lingerie. And obviously this isn’t lingerie. But you’re right, it feels like that. I know it’s weird.”

“We’re werewolves,” he pointed out. “I know I’m new to the whole thing, but I think we can be weird and have it be par for the course.”

“That’s probably true.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, and he settled in beside her, tentatively putting his arm around her and loving it as she leaned against him. “Is there anything else you want to ask me about that, by the way? Aside from the smelling thing?”

He was sure he’d think of a thousand questions as they went on, but this wolf wasn’t at the forefront of his mind right now. She was.

Should he push all that to the side and rack his brain for anything wolf-related?

No , he decided. Not if she’s okay with me asking her about other stuff instead.

“I’m going to have a lot to ask you about that,” he said carefully, “but I have a lot I want to ask you about you, too.”

He waited for the warning sign of her going stiff and awkward, but to his relief, it didn’t come.

“You can do that too,” Lydia said. “But I should warn you that I don’t come with any interesting stories.”

“I’m interested in whatever you do come with.”

“Flatterer,” she said lightly.

“It’s the truth.” If she was being open, he could be too. She was baring her arms, so he’d bare his heart.

Okay, those are not the same concepts at all. But I’m going with it anyway.

He wasn’t sure where to start, so he picked a topic almost at random. “I don’t really know what you do for a living.”

She elbowed him gently. “Wow, sounds like you really rushed into this marriage, Case. You don’t even know your wife’s job?”

“Or your middle name. I know it was on the paperwork, but we were so rushed, I didn’t see.”

“Sofia,” she said promptly. “Lydia Sofia Vasquez. Sofia was my mom’s name—so was the Vasquez, actually. Ruth is my dad’s mom. His name was Lloyd. You? I didn’t check on the license either.”

“Parents or middle name?”

“Both.”

“Ray. Casey Ray Jackson.”

Lydia looked at him for a second, her lips pressed together so tightly that he knew she was trying to hold back a smile.

“I know,” Case said with a sigh. “It sounds like I should either be a country singer or a serial killer.”

She let herself dissolve into a little bit of laughter. “It does, and I don’t know why. They’re all ordinary names.”

“I think the country music part is because it’s Ray instead of Raymond, but—”

“But Casey Raymond Jackson doesn’t sound as good, somehow,” Lydia agreed, nodding. “And in your defense, if you say any man’s full name, he sounds like he should be a serial killer. Or a presidential assassin. But I like your name, Casey Ray. It rolls off the tongue.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “What about your parents?”

“Two moms. Jenny and Sarah. They live in Indianapolis.”

“I’d—” Lydia cut herself off. “I’d like to tell them they have a nice son.”

But that hadn’t been what she was going to say. Case was pretty sure she had come close to saying, I’d like to meet them , and she’d stopped herself. Because she thought better of it? Because they had the same fear of saying too much too quickly?

He did like to think about Lydia meeting his moms. They would like each other: Case’s parents had gone through their own share of tough times, and they’d always admired anyone as steady and focused as Lydia.

And they would like that he’d found someone, even if they obviously wouldn’t be wild about the fact that he’d gotten married without even telling them. He would have to do a lot of apologizing to make up for that one. Maybe Lydia would let him explain about how they’d been under the time pressure of an impending werewolf showdown.

They were both horror fans, too. They would probably be tickled pink that their son was now a werewolf, especially since he didn’t have the disadvantage of involuntary full-moon transformations and, well, killing people.

“They’d like you a lot,” Case said. He swallowed. “Maybe we could—”

There was a brisk, practiced knock at the door. “Room service!”

He bit back a sigh. Of course it would have to come at the most inconvenient time.

“I’ll get it,” he said, tugging on his shirt. “Lie back and let the rosemary come to you.”

He fetched their orders, and they wound up having their dinner in bed, curled up close to each other so they could occasionally take bites off each other’s plates. They both gave the edge to Lydia’s tenderloin when it came to the entrée, but Case’s rosemary and garlic potatoes were definitely the best side. Neither of them especially warmed to the rosemary gin fizz, but they happily split it anyway. He had it bad enough for her that he liked putting his lips to the rim of the same glass.

But the best part of their dinner had to be the dessert. Opening the bakery box was like raising the lid on a pirate’s treasure chest full of glittering gems.

“Oh,” Lydia said, her voice warm with appreciation. “I forgot exactly how much we got. Do you think we’ll even be able to eat all of this?”

“Probably not, but I’m willing to try. Of course, if you want to run away from a challenge, I’ll be happy to have your share.”

Lydia snatched up a pistachio macaron, grabbing it so firmly that her fingers sank into the delicate pastel green shell. “Don’t you dare .”

Case chose one of the tiny chocolate cupcakes and tilted it to her in a kind of toast. “Cheers.”

They slowly picked their way through the box, carefully respecting each other’s favorites, and unwinding their life stories for each other at the same time. He finally, to his relief, got an answer about what Lydia did for a living:

“It’s very boring,” she said sheepishly. “I do web design, mostly for small businesses. It pays okay and I can do it from home, but it’s not very exciting. It’s good to have something I can drop in and out of if I need to, though.”

Like if a massive asshole was threatening the future of her pack, for example. Case could see how it would be good to be your own boss in that kind of situation, especially since it would be hard to explain why you needed time off.

That meant his own job—or scattered assortment of jobs—would be a good fit too. His biggest construction commitments only tended to last a few weeks or months at most, and even then, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he had to leave in the middle of one. Site managers were used to dealing with occasional turnover, and in Case’s experience, they didn’t take it too personally. The non-construction jobs would be even easier to move around. And his writing, of course, happened almost entirely on his own schedule. He had publisher deadlines sometimes, but he’d never had any trouble meeting them.

He really could settle down here. His life would mesh well with Lydia’s, if that was really what she wanted. It had plenty of room for any duties he might have as her co-alpha.

He was starting to think he wanted that. Not just her—he knew he wanted her, with all his heart—but everything that came with her, too. He wanted a life with her.

And maybe this was vain of him, but he felt like he could add something to her life, too. Right now, as important as everything in Lydia’s life was, it felt like it was all the same flavor, like the elegant and delicious dinner that had still been ninety percent rosemary. It was all responsibility, all severity and sacrifice.

He thought that today, he had done something to change that. Now she had a sexy, decidedly impractical dress and a pink bakery box that, despite their best efforts, was still half full of delicate macarons, beautifully folded hamantaschen, tiny gingerbread cupcakes, and more. At the start of the day, she hadn’t worn any jewelry, but now she had two rings she seemed to like. He was more than willing to give her major, serious things too, like all the help he possibly could—but she might need the smaller, sillier things even more. She needed color and adventure. Linzer cookies, not just rosemary tenderloin.

He had to hope that once the confrontation with Reeve was through, they would have time for all of it.

“Now,” Lydia said, tilting her face up to him even as she reached for another cookie, “want to read some Shadows out loud to me until we tear each other’s clothes off again?”

Case looked at the crumbs on her ribbed white camisole and thought about skimming his palms up her belly, stripping off shirt and crumbs both.

He had to force himself to reach out for the book instead. “I might be able to get through a few sentences, but I’m not promising anything more than that.”

“I would never ask you to,” Lydia said, giving him a mischievous grin that made him revise his estimate down even further.

Maybe he’d only get through one sentence.