For him, she'd break every rule, allow him into her home, into her very soul. For him, she'd jump into the abyss and worry about the bruises later. Because sometimes, there were no choices.
"Hey." His voice was a husky murmur. "What's the matter, Angel?"
She shook her head, glad that he wasn't Psy, that he couldn't read her mind. "Love me, Zach." "Always."
But she knew he hadn't understood what she'd asked, hadn't promised what she needed. It didn't matter. He was hers, if only for now, and she would treasure every moment of that joy. The pain could wait until after he was gone.
Chapter 10
A month after he'd first met Annie, Zach sat on one of the car-sized boulders scattered around Yosemite and wondered what the hell he was doing wrong. He'd spent every night since the day of the picnic with her. She was fire in his arms, warm, beautiful, and loving . . . but she continued to withhold a part of herself.
Most men wouldn't have noticed. But he wasn't most men. Every time she waved off his offer to help her in some way, every time she pulled her independence around her like a shield, he noticed. It wounded the cat, co
nfused the man. "Mercy, I can hear you."
A tall redhead jumped down from a branch a few feet in front of him. "Only because I let you."
He snorted. "You were making enough noise for a herd of elephants." He threw the sentinel a spare bottle of water.
"I didn't want to bruise your masculine ego by sneaking up," Mercy said, perching on a boulder opposite him. "Not when you already looked so pathetic."
"Gee, so thoughtful of you."
"I can be a right peach." She drank some water. "Let me guess— you've mated with the little teacher?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, puhleese," Mercy drawled. "As if you'd bring anyone but your mate to the Pack Circle."
"She's fighting the bond," he found himself saying. "Why?"
"You're the female. You tell me."
"Hmm." Mercy capped the bottle and tapped it against her leg. "Did she say why?" He stared at her.
Mercy rolled her eyes. "You did tell her that she's your mate, didn't you?"
"She's a bit resistant to the idea of commitment." That resistance frustrated the hell out of him, but he was trying to be patient. Not only did he care about her happiness, he wanted her to trust him enough to make the choice—even though there was only one answer he'd accept. "I don't think she'd react well to the whole 'till death really does us part' bit."
"So you're making the choice for her?" She raised an eyebrow. "Arrogant."
Anger flared. "I want to give her time to become comfortable with me."
"Is it working?"
"I thought so, but the bond hasn't snapped into being." The mating bond was an instinctive thing, but the female usually had to accept it in some way for it to go from possibility to truth. "It's tearing me up, Mercy." The leopard was lost, hurt. What was wrong with him that Annie didn't want him?
"Talk to her, you idiot." Mercy shook her head. "Has it crossed your little male mind that maybe she's protecting herself in case you decide to indulge in some hot sex, then flick her off?"
He growled. "She knows I'd never do that. It's about the commitment—she's scared of trusting someone with her heart." He couldn't blame her, not after what he'd seen of her parents' marriage.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Mercy said, "but haven't you two been joined at the hip for the past month? Pack grapevine says you've all but moved into her place."
"Yeah,so?"
"Geez, Zach, I thought you were smart." Trapping the bottle between her knees, she raised her hands to redo her ponytail. "Sounds to me like she's already committed to you."
She'd given him a key to her apartment, to the place that was her bolt-hole. His heart slammed against his ribs. No, he thought, he couldn't have made that big a mistake. "But the bond—"
"Okay," Mercy interrupted. "Maybe you're right, and your Annie's going to freak about the mating, but let's say your amazing Psy mind-reading abilities are- wrong—"