Damon's Point of View
She believed me.
Actually believed my bullshit excuse about needing to know if she was a "good fit for the pack."
I watched her face as she answered—completely serious, a little nervous, trying so hard to give me the right answers. Like there were right answers to questions about chocolate preferences.
It was adorable.
She was adorable.
Which was a problem because I was supposed to be acting professional. Alpha-like. Not sitting here thinking about how cute she looked when she got flustered.
"And I'm hardworking," she was saying now, words tumbling out faster. "Really hardworking. I can clean, or cook, or help with pack duties—whatever you need. I won't be a burden, I promise. I'll earn my keep and—"
She thought she had to earn the right to stay.
That twisted
