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.

allowing some of the frost

seat on the farthest end of the 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 distance, especially

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

walking out the door and not looking back and telling him no… would be a lie. Made a mistake? As in me? Am I the mistake? Tears begin to burn behind my eyes and I clamp them shut, fighting like hell to keep them back. Then I take a couple of shuddering breaths, all the while knowing that if he looks at me right now, he’ll see how much pain I’m in. So

1/3

Hundred Forty–Five

look because I’m solli wodong for cursul think I lied to you.

don’t leave,” he finishes in

tears escaping

his throat thifting. “I really, really wanted you.” [Breath

you’re not mine.”

then turbulent upon sight

you

from my eyes and he flinches as if I’ve struck him. His hand reaches for the terrachad, touch again. Warm

he says, sliding his hand down my arm then wrapping around both of my

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

closer, pushing his outer thigh against my You te…” he trails off, shaking head. “You’re not the mistake,‘ he

wearing your ring doesn’t change anything. There is still someone nothing 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

under me. “You’re not the

to it. A wombat

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

the yacht. Be appear almost angry and p onto

heaves and his eyes darken, the irises swirling in color like the suddenly yanks me into his arms. Closing them around me, he settles hair and he releases a hot shuddering breath into my skin. “No,” he rasps out, his voice strangely deeper than before, almost patied. His muscles seem swollen, the heat of them burning through the fabric of our clothes and imprinting on my skin. “No,” he says

feel him tremble.

That I can be his mistress, that I will stay here and accape whutne he’s willing to give me, but I know better than that. I’ve been

say that. Instead, I run my fingers through his hair le I’ve

kissing me there. I need to stop him, but I cant yet.

a day,” he mumbles into my throat.

How?