“What do you think?” Hunter asked at last, his voice a rumble of security that beat back the darkness of the approaching night. He was still grasping my fingers, and now he raised his own palm so he could press a kiss against the backside of my hand. The gesture sent a tremor of pleasure up my arm and down my spine.
“I think it’s perfect,” I admitted. “I think Celia will be happy here. I think our clan will be happy here. And I know I’ll be happy here. How about you?”
“I think this land and our pack suit each other to a T,” he answered, pulling me yet closer so my shoulder slipped into the warm cavity beneath his arm. I fit perfectly, like a round peg in a round hole.
I’d assumed my mate was finished speaking, and I was content to just sit together in silence and watch night fall over the land. But Hunter wasn’t done quite yet.
Then together, the band in question—Hunter and I, a couple dozen rogue bloodlings, a pair of trouble twins, two steadfast pack mates, and my long-suffering mother—all sank our roots into the deep soil of our new clan home.
***
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