The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter One Hundred–Forty–Five

FELIX

Standing next to the door waiting for Rainier to knock, I notice his step slow near the landing. I could feel him coming up the stairs when he first entered the bar. The man had heavy feet. But now, he heated. Why? Was helding his ring again? PITI! Not on my watch

buddy.

1 rip the door open and our eyes meet. From what I can tell, he was simply standing there lost in thought, but one glance at his left hand and I see the ring is still missing. A beast of irritation begins to garl at my insides, angry that he is still trying to dupe me.

“Give him a chance… Bartlett said. Hal A chance to what? Continue to pretend? To act like he’s the Honker Hero, the savior of fallen hoes?

“It’s not lunchtime,” I say with as much indifference as my traitorous heart will allow,

He climbs the last few stairs swiftly, throwing me an amused look as he steps past me into the apartment. Uninvited, might I add! I catch whiff of his vanilla bourbon scent as he playfully shoulder checks me and 1 nearly swoon. But then I remind myself that someone else has been enjoying his scent far longer than I. Someone else owns it. Owns him! All of him! His deep voice, his quiet smile, the mechanical flex of his muscles every time he moves, his… man ports! There is a woman out there and her fucken name is Mrs. Rainier Riotte, and that

woman is not me.

It’s the realization that someone else has his name that burns into my chest so painfully that I’m forced to lean on the door for a minute

when I close it. Dawn it I wanted so badly for him to be mine. But… he’s not.

He’s not

“Felix,” his concerned voice sounds at my back. Turn around sweetheart

I shake my head, fighting the outrage of emotions scattering through me. I take a few deep breaths and feel him step a bit closer, so I shave off the door and side–step him as I walk toward the couch. Glancing up as I take a seat, I catch the look on his face as his arms fall to his sides and his fists clench. He looks lost. Like an abandoned child that doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly alone. The hurt that I see etched on his features burns into my throat and my fortress begins to crumble. It’s only there for a moment, but that’s all it takes for a ball of guilt to settle into my stomach and make me feel like I just kicked a puppy.

“Bartlett’s nice,” I supply, in an attempt to break the ice.

He’s still staring toward the other side of the room as if lost in thought “Yeah, he is,” he agrees absently, finally turning my way. His normally confident walk seems unsteady as he edges toward the couch. The closer he gets, the more uncomfortable he begins to look. As if he’s rethinking his decision to come here, or considering turning back T–um,” he begins, not meeting my eyes. “Ercan I sit down?”

The insecurity in his voice when he asks that, curls around my heart like a band–aid. Staunching a little of the bleeding pain I’m feeling and making me want to wrap myself around his legs. Because the truth is, if he were to turn around and leave right now – no explanation, no nothing – I would be devastated.

say softly, allowing some of the frost

couch, leaving a world of space between us, I’m suddenly aching for his touch. But I shouldn’t be surprised he chose to keep his

ground in front of him, clamping his hands together between his knees. “You’re planning to go, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice suddenly raspy. “I made a mistake and now… you’re just going to leave.” He shakes his head,

shut, fighting like hell to keep them

1/3

One Hundred Forty–Five

his voice sounds closer now, but I don’t look because I’m solli wodong for cursul think I lied to you. That I used you. But I

don’t leave,” he

open, a few silent tears escaping

flexes, a muscle in his throat thifting. “I really, really wanted you.” [Breath and girls like me – we’re a fantasy.

you’re not mine.”

then turbulent upon sight

to burse you and

His hand reaches for the terrachad, touch again. Warm fingers caress my cheeks, wiping the tears away bedde dritting down to my lips to gently

says, sliding his hand down my arm then wrapping around

my chin, studying him as he watches our hands. “I’m not wrong, I’m a mistake. You said so poormat”

thigh against my You te…” he trails off, shaking head. “You’re not the

to me. A woman who was probably out of her mind wondering where you not a thief, and I’m not a mistress. You don’t have to feel

not the mistake,

it. A wombat

pest mums simp. fine. You don’t have to

appear almost angry and p onto his lap. His face burrows into the side of

and he releases a hot shuddering breath into my skin. “No,” he rasps out, his voice strangely deeper than before, almost patied.

feel him tremble.

tell him that it’s okay. That I can be his mistress, that I will stay here and accape whutne he’s willing to give

his hair le

neck, and soon, he is kissing me there. I need to stop him, but

a day,” he mumbles into my throat.

How? What?