“What a sweet thing to say.”
Only her worry seeping through their bond regarding the impending talk with her dad put a blight on his mood. Just a temporary one, though, because in the wake of that came a tentative caress against their bond. A brush of contentment and well-being that couldn’t be faked. He doubted she knew she was doing it, reaching out to him as a mate, and that both scared and elated him.
The last thing he wanted was for her to feel trapped.
“Would you like to come to my room to make your call?” he asked, trying to keep the boyish hope from his voice. “I’d like to make you dinner instead of going to the cafeteria.”
She brightened. “You can cook?”
“I’m a pretty damned good cook, if I do say so,” he said proudly. “My mom made sure I knew how when I was growing up, and I found it to be very therapeutic.”
“That’s cool,” she replied with enthusiasm. “I can’t cook to save my life, except for the prepackaged stuff I have to keep with me when I’m staying in the field, performing my studies.”
“MREs. God, I remember those days from the SEALs.”
“Meals ready to eat, the bane of my existence.” She smiled. “We have something in common.”
“Oh, yes.” He grimaced. “I had to endure those for far too long. Every single one I choked down made me long for my mother’s kitchen.”
“You’re lucky. My dad is a fair cook, but not a ton better than me. We ate out a lot.”
“Nothing wrong with that, but it’s good to enjoy a home-cooked meal once in a while. I’m going to spoil you.”
“Well, Mr. Hunter, I’m going to let you.” She sounded light, happy. It was a good look on her, too.
“Great! What’s your favorite food?”
“Um, anything someone else cooks?” She snickered. “We already established I’m grateful for whatever isn’t freeze-dried.”
“Seriously, there must be some hard limits. Stuff you don’t like.”
“Hmm. I’ll eat almost anything, but if I had to say, I’m not big on pasta.”
He gave a mock gasp. “What? That’s just wrong!”
She laughed. “I know I’m weird, but I don’t care for slimy food. Don’t like calamari or escargot, either.”
“Okay. Squid pasta it is.” He loved the sound of her voice when she giggled. “Nah, how about chicken quesadillas? I grill my chicken and everything, don’t use that precooked meat in the package.”
“That sounds fabulous.”
When they got to his quarters, he let them in and gestured to the phone as he led her into his living room. “Feel free to use my phone. I’ll be in the kitchen to give you some privacy.”
“Thank you.”
Walking to the fridge, he opened the freezer door and got out a package of boneless chicken breasts, trying not to eavesdrop. Okay, trying not to appear as though he was eavesdropping. She punched in the number and waited for it to ring, and as she started talking softly, he felt guilty. She had no idea that while a normal human man would’ve had to strain to make out her words, Ryon had no such problem.
“Hey, Dad! Yes, I’m fine, I’ve just been— No, no, everything’s okay.” A pause. “No, there’s absolutely no need for you to fly out here!”
He smiled at the hint of desperation flowing through their bond. His mate definitely didn’t want her father rushing to the rescue. Taking care of her was Ryon’s job anyway—even if she didn’t know it yet.
“Just a few scrapes and bruises, nothing serious.” Pause. “Yes, it was awful. I’ve seen death, but never anything like that. Nobody here knows for sure what killed that poor woman, but it was probably a grizzly.”
An outright lie. Immediately, remorse flowed to him through their bond. She hated lying to her dad, but what was she supposed to say? Yeah, she was torn to shreds by a wolf-tiger-bear-lizard-human monster and it’s still on the loose.
Right.
“So, other than the poor hiker, why were you trying to reach me? Has something happened?”
This time, Daria’s pause was longer, and after a few seconds of listening to her dad, her gasp of shock and the emotion behind it hit Ryon hard. Whatever her dad had to relate, it was upsetting her. His wolf rumbled in displeasure, not liking his mate to be unhappy for any reason.
Daria broke in with one-word questions—When? How? Why? To his frustration there wasn’t much he could glean except something had happened to someone she knew, and she wasn’t saying enough to tell him who or what.
At last, she wrapped up the conversation. “All right, Dad, you take care, too. Call me if you hear anything else. Love you more.”
When she hung up, he pulled the now-thawed chicken breasts from the microwave and began to rinse them. She came into the kitchen as he was putting the last one on a plate. “Everything okay?” he asked, reaching for a couple of shakers of seasoning.
“Just some news from home,” she said evasively. “Mostly he was checking on me, worried about the body and making sure I hadn’t run into the killer or something.”
“You easily could have,” he said. That was one horrible possibility that made him break into a cold sweat. “Promise me you won’t go back out there until we catch this thing.”
“I may be an independent woman, but I’m not a stupid one. There’s a difference.” Her tone was light, but she meant what she said—she wasn’t about to be dumb and go off again by herself.
“So, you’ll stay at the compound with us for a while?”
“This seems really important to you. Why?”
He shrugged, trying not to get too heavy. “I saved your bacon. I care about you, that’s all.”
“Thank you again for doing whatever it is you did to save my life,” she said sincerely. But there was a light of curiosity in her eyes. “I’ll stay, provided you tell me exactly how you did it and why I’m already healed.”
Crap. Staring at her, he set the shakers on the counter. He couldn’t tell her all of the truth. Not yet. But he did owe her the simple version. “Remember that I told you shifters heal fast?”
“It’s not the sort of thing I’d forget.”
“Right. Well, sometimes we can . . . pass along that healing ability. Through our bite.”
She nodded. “I thought so. Is that what this is about?” She held up her good wrist that sported the two faded puncture wounds.
“Yes. I bit you,” he said quietly, unsure how she would react. “If I hadn’t, you would’ve died.” And so would he have, eventually.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “I understand, and I’m glad you acted quickly. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here about to enjoy a fantastic dinner with a handsome man.”
His face heated. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take a compliment. He’d just never had one offered so honestly, so matter-of-fact, from a woman. “Thank you. I think it was a selfish act on my part, because I couldn’t allow a gorgeous lady like yourself to be taken from the world so soon.”
Taken from me. He was glad she hadn’t gone through her first shift. When she did, she’d be able to hear his thoughts. That was a gift reserved for mates. The other Pack members could only hear Ryon if he pushed his thoughts at them, and then they could reply. But mated shifters could mind-speak freely.
The silence threatened to grow awkward as they stared at each other. “Do you like red wine?”
“I do,” she said, appearing eager at the prospect of a glass.
“Then how about I open us a bottle of Malbec? We can lounge on the patio while I grill the chicken.”