The Wolf Lord's Mate

Chapter Thirteen

"Your Lordship?" There was the slightest tremble in Marcus's voice.

"Marcus," Nathaniel's jaw was clenched tightly, "Don't you have something else to be doing other than bothering my seamstress?"

"He's not bothering me." I said, but Nathaniel didn't spare me a second glance.

"Mira was going to help me fix the garden gate," Marcus explained, "A set of small fingers is always better for the finicky bits." Marcus offered Nathaniel a smile, but it quickly disappeared as he was met only with the Lord's stone faced irritation.

"Mira is otherwise occupied," Nathaniel still wouldn't look at me, he was too busy glaring daggers into Marcus's skull, "Get Isa to help you."

"I am not occupied, actually," I shot Nathaniel a glare of my own, "I've finished my work for the day."

"I have a shirt that needs mending," Nathaniel narrowed his eyes at me, a bit too much satisfaction swirling around inside of those emerald irises, "It ripped this morning, and could use your immediate attention."

I bit down on the inside of my lip to keep from challenging him again. I knew almost for certain that there was no ripped shirt, but I had to remind myself that Nathaniel was still a Lord. He might allow me to challenge him in private, but in front of Marcus was another matter entirely.

Marcus looked thoroughly confused, glancing between myself and Nathaniel with wide eyes. He had taken a few steps back, though whether it was subconscious or not, I couldn't say. A natural instinct, perhaps, to get as far away from a predator as possible. And yet, my instincts had not kicked in, any fear I had at Nathaniel's bizarre act of aggression having settled into simple annoyance.

Annoyance at how he was acting, and annoyance at how handsome he looked doing it. His frustration had caused his whole body to tense up, biceps bulging through the fabric of his shirt sleeves. Now, if he ripped those, I would say something—Marcus be damned. I was a seamstress, not a miracle worker.

"Well, I'd, uh..." Marcus cleared his throat, stepping back and further separating himself from the glaring contest happening between Nathaniel and I, "I'd better finish this up. It was a pleasure getting to meet you, Mira. I'm sure we'll talk more later."

"Yes, I'm sure." I nodded, ignoring the low grumble of a growl coming from Nathaniel at Marcus's comment. "I'll see you at supper." With that, I marched right past Nathaniel, ignoring him entirely as I kicked up the dirt in the garden path. Nathaniel caught up easily, his long strides overtaking my hurried ones as he came to walk beside me. His gaze was burning a hole in the side of my face, but I refused to look at him.

What an irritating creature he was; that he could inspire such intense feelings on the opposite ends of a pendulum. In one moment, I was willing to cry at the idea of not being able to have him, and in the next moment, I would have been glad to be rid of him forever.

"Have I done something to upset you?" Nathaniel asked, his deep voice soft but prodding. His tone did nothing to hide the fact that he knew exactly what he had done. He had acted—jealously? Was that really the word? It seemed to be the only one that was an apt enough description for his actions, but the Lord had no reason to be jealous over me. He had a mate, I reminded myself, and a sharp ache tugged at my chest.

Nathaniel's arm shot out to stop me, fingers wrapping around my wrist. Tingles erupted wherever his skin touched mine, and a blissful feeling surged up through my stomach, washing the pain in my chest away. It had been days since he'd touched me, and I'd almost managed to forget how good it felt when he did.

But it was just another thing I would never have. Not his touch, not him. I pulled away sharply, this time daring to look him in the eyes.

That was a mistake.

His emerald irises swirled with something easily mistaken for desire, his breathing shallow, as if he were fighting to keep control. Nathaniel breathed deeply, fists squeezing tightly at his sides before he finally spoke.

"You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" I could have hit him. I could have reached up at him right then, but I wasn't sure what would happen if I put my hands on him.

"Yes." Nathaniel unclenched his fist casually, stretching out his fingers, that carefully controlled air of confidence slowly returning to him.

"Why, exactly, should I do that?" I sputtered.

"You no longer have to fend off an unwanted advance."

"What are you talking about?" Was this jealousy, then? But jealousy over what—a simple conversation? If it was, there was no reason for him to be so possessive of my company to the point where I could not even have a conversation with someone else. And yet, he had never been bothered by Isa joining me in the sewing room, taking up more of my time than he did on most days.

"Marcus," Nathaniel spat out his name like it was a curse, "You didn't see the way he looked at you. He was practically doe-eyed."

"He was being friendly, and besides—what does it matter to you how anyone looks at me?"

"You are both in my employ," Nathaniel straightened, rolling his shoulders back, "It was unprofessional."

"Unprofessional?" I let out a choked laugh, "You want to talk about being unprofessional?" Shaking my head, I planted my hands firmly on my hips.

"Do you have a complaint?" Nathaniel quirked a brow, but I could no longer read his expression. It had returned to that guarded, calculated look I was used to, which only served to frustrate me more.

"Perhaps." I said, already losing a bit of my resolve at the idea of actually having to voice my concerns aloud. Concerns that might also expose my own feelings, and all at once I realized that I would rather run back to the Alleys than have to tell Nathaniel about the effect he had on me.

"Very well," Nathaniel spoke before I could, "See me in my study tomorrow, and we can have a conversation about your concerns. I'm sure we will both find it very enlightening."

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