I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the old shorts I had thrown on after the hunt and pushed them down.
Her eyes followed the movement.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I felt the exact second her scent changed.
Roses.
Sweetness.
Heat.
The death of me.
Perse looked down at the shirt she was wearing.
My shirt.
Still smeared with blood because I had apparently decided to court my mate like a deranged woodland predator.
Then she looked back up at me.
“Help me with this?”
I blinked.
The words entered my ears.
They traveled toward my brain.
Somewhere along the way, they were violently intercepted by the image of Perse sitting on my sink, asking me to undress her.
“Sorry,” I said.
Her mouth twitched. “The shirt, Aiden.”
Right.
The shirt.
Normal.
A very normal request.
People re
