Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Quinley swallowed, knowing her life was about to change; exalted by the idea. “Yes.”
His mouth curved. “Good.”
Damn, he had a killer smile.
“Perfect,” Thalia piped up.
Quinley blinked. She’d forgotten the woman was there.
“I want to make it official on Monday,” Isaiah declared.
Harlan frowned. “That’s in two days’ time.”
Isaiah flicked a brow at her. “Do you need longer than that to pack your things?”
“No.” She’d rope her family in to help, if need be.
“Do you have an objection to going through with the mating so soon?”
“No, none. I see no reason to wait.” Quite the opposite, really.
Harlan sighed. “This is all happening very, very fast. Are you sure you both wouldn’t like to take a little time to think about it, or to at least schedule the mating for a time further in the future?”
“I’m sure,” said Isaiah.
“As I said, I see no reason to wait,” said Quinley.
Harlan puffed out a resigned breath. “All right. Monday it is.”
CHAPTER FIVE
After dropping Deke off at his apartment building, Isaiah drove straight to the cul-de-sac. Though they were only one week into December, the pride hadn’t wasted any time in pulling out the Christmas decorations. Wreaths with red velvet bows hung on doors. Ornaments such as giant baubles or pre-lit reindeers were strewn on lawns. String lights and LED icicles were clipped to doorframes, rooflines, shrubs, fences, porches, and window frames. Nutcrackers, slim trees, or frosted snowmen bordered front doors.
Isaiah didn’t own any such decorations—he’d always lived in an apartment until recently. So it had come as a bit of a surprise when he’d returned home a few days ago to find a wreath on his door, a pre-lit Christmas tree arch surrounding its frame, and garlands running along the rail of his porch and twined around the posts.
Before even entering the house, he had called his mother, knowing she’d be the culprit. She hadn’t answered the phone with a greeting. She’d straight off asked, “Do you really want to bring your chosen mate to a house that doesn’t look the slightest bit festive?”
Since the answer was in fact “no,” he hadn’t complained. He had, however, asked Andaya to at least not let herself into his house to decorate the interior.
Her response? “Too late.”
An example of how submissives could be a law unto themselves just the same as any dominant.
As he right then pulled into his driveway, Isaiah cast a brief look at the male riding shotgun. “I appreciate you giving up your Saturday morning to—”
“Don’t thank me, Isaiah,” said Tate. “There’s no need. You’re not just one of my cats, or even just one of my enforcers. You’re a friend. You need me, I’m there. Simple.”
Isaiah inclined his head in appreciation.
“I like her. Quinley. I can see why the site suggested her as a possible choice for you. You’re both compatible for sure.”
Isaiah gave a slow nod. “She’s calm. I need that. Havana, Aspen, and Bailey are a blast. But in a mate, I need someone a lot more low-key.”
“Black-foots typically are calm.” Tate’s mouth quirked. “Until they’re not. Try not to get on her bad side.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You two being compatible doesn’t guarantee an imprint bond, I know, but it gives the mating a better chance at working.” Tate paused. “Kudos to you for what you’re doing—and I’m not taking about entering an arranged mating.”
Isaiah felt his brow pinch. “Then what?”
“It’s not easy for us to dare reach for happiness when our state of mind is all fucked. You weren’t in a good place for a while, but you climbed out of that dark pit and you haven’t given up on the idea of still having something good. Not all shifters who’ve lost the chance of having their fated mate can say that.”
They’d get no judgement from Isaiah—it had been a struggle to patch up his wounds when healing felt much like saying, “Hey, it’s all good.” Nothing had felt “all good” back then. And maybe nothing ever would, but he wouldn’t know unless he dared reach for more. “Let’s hope it pays off.”
“My own hopes are high.”
Isaiah grabbed his phone from the cupholder. “You should get home to Havana. I need to get inside before my mother comes out here to drag me in. There’s no way my parents haven’t let themselves into the house to wait for me—she’ll want to hear exactly how the meet went.”
Tate opened the passenger door. “Then you’d better go tell her.” After exiting the car, the Alpha jogged to his own house.
Isaiah gave a nod to one of his other neighbors, who was jamming plastic candy canes along the border of his path, and then strode up to his house. He’d no sooner opened the front door than his mother materialized in front of him.
In terms of height, build, and facial features, he took after his father. But Isaiah had inherited his dark hair and gray eyes from his mother.