Chapter 1

In three years of marriage, my mate had never brought me flowers. Even on the night of the winter moon, when every wolf in our pack seemed to have a gift for someone, Morris Matthews came home from the pack clinic, ate the dinner I’d kept warm, and went to bed.

“You married the pack physician,” my friends told me. “He’s respected. He comes home every night. You know he’d never stray. What more do you want?”

For a while, I managed to believe them.

Then, on my birthday, I walked past the best restaurant in town and saw Morris through the window. He was sitting across from Cassandra Summers, his first love, who’d just come back from overseas.

There were flowers at her elbow and three wrapped gifts on the table. Cassandra started to untie one of the ribbons. Morris leaned forward, smiling before she’d even opened the box. In three years, I’d never once seen him look that happy to give me anything.

That night, I went through the files on his laptop and found a link to a blog he’d kept under a name I didn’t recognize.

There were thousands of entries. A photo of Cassandra on the night of her first shift. A whole paragraph about the way she took her coffee. In one post, he’d written down something she’d said at dinner because he was afraid he’d forget the exact words by morning.

The last entry was dated the day she left the country.

I’d spent three years telling myself Morris simply didn’t know how to show love. For Cassandra, he’d found a thousand ways.

I closed the laptop and called Gordon James, my business partner. His latest proposal for an overseas office had been sitting in my inbox for a week.

“I’ve made up my mind,” I said. “I’ll help you open up the overseas market. I’m coming with you.”

……

Morris usually came home at seven. At eleven, I heard his key in the lock.

An hour had passed since I called Gordon. I’d spent most of it at the kitchen table, trying to forget a photo Morris had posted of Cassandra asleep in his shirt.

He stopped when he saw me. “You’re still up?”

I didn’t answer. He hung his coat by the door and came over to put an arm around my waist.

“Something went wrong with the data from one of our trials,” he said. “I couldn’t leave the lab.”

His arm felt stiff around me. I knew my mate’s scent well enough to pick him out in a crowd. Tonight there was perfume on his collar, too. It wasn’t mine.

“I’ll come home early tomorrow,” he went on. “I’ll cook. We can celebrate your birthday then, okay?”

“So you remembered.”

I slipped out of his arms.

Last year, I’d booked a table and sent him the reservation twice. The server replaced the bread basket without asking if I was still waiting for someone. By the time Morris answered his phone, I’d been there three hours.

“Why are you still waiting for me?” he’d asked. “Was there something special about today?”

I’d apologized for calling him at work. I remembered that more clearly than I remembered what I’d ordered.

This year, he remembered. He’d spent the evening watching Cassandra unwrap presents. For me, he’d offered to come home early tomorrow.

“Regina, what’s wrong with you?” His brow drew tight. “I said I’d make it up to you. What more do you want?”

For three years, I’d worked around his clinic hours and his research schedule. When he stayed late, I put his dinner away without calling. Once I went to the lab because I missed him. He met me at the door and asked me to text before I came by again.

I was about to ask how long he’d been planning Cassandra’s dinner when his phone rang.

He glanced down. The crease between his brows eased before he even answered.

“Morris?” It was Cassandra. Her voice carried in the quiet kitchen. “I think I have a fever. I feel so weak.”

He was halfway to the door before she finished.

“Get dressed if you can,” he told her, pulling his coat from the hook. “I’ll take you to the hospital. I’m on my way.”

He ended the call, picked up his wallet from the hall table, and checked for his keys.

“Morris.”

He stopped with his hand on the door.

“Cassandra just got back. I’m the only person in the pack she feels comfortable calling.” He looked over his shoulder. “Don’t make this into something it isn’t, Regina.”

Then he left.

The lock clicked. His arm had left a trace of that perfume on my sleeve.

Three months earlier, I’d woken before dawn with a pain low in my abdomen. I tried to sit up and couldn’t. By the time I got hold of Morris’s hand, he was already dressed.

“Take me to the hospital,” I said. When he looked at the clock, I asked him again. I remember saying please.

He pulled his hand away and checked the time.

“I’m traveling with my research supervisor today. You know how important this project is.”

He picked up his bag. I remember thinking he might put it down again if he saw me try to stand. I didn’t make it far enough to find out.

“I’ll call my mom for you,” he said. “Just lie down and wait.”

It was acute appendicitis. Morris left before anyone got me to the hospital.

Tonight, all Cassandra had to say was that she felt weak.