“I’m not asking you to agree with it. In your shoes, I wouldn’t like it either. But the pride has a better chance of protecting me if I’m the only one they need to worry about.” She put her finger to his mouth when he would have protested. “Let it go. Choose your battles wisely. This isn’t one you’ll win, and I think you know that already.”

He sighed. “I rehearsed this conversation in my head several times. You always gave the same responses you did just then.”

She shrugged. “I can only be who I am, Dominic.”

Drawing her close, he dabbed a kiss on her mouth. “Then you leave me only one option.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have a brand-new shadow.” He smiled. “Say hi.”

“I don’t need to be shadowed.”

“No, you don’t. But it’ll make me feel better to have you in my sights. Would you really expect me to do anything else? I’m a highly dominant male wolf, baby. I protect, defend, and stand beside what’s mine.”

She heard what he didn’t say: he respected her level of dominance, and he needed her to accept his in return. And she couldn’t exactly dismiss it, could she?

With her elemental understanding of how dominant shifters worked, her cat didn’t bristle at his need to be close to her. In fact, the feline approved of it. “You’ll get bored.”

He frowned. “Being around you is never boring.”

“It will be after you’ve spent hours just sitting around the barbershop, doing nothing.”

“Watching over you isn’t ‘nothing.’ Especially when it gives me peace of mind.” He scraped a hand over his jaw. “I need another shave anyway. And wouldn’t it be nice for you to have me there to distract your pride mates when they come to check on and possibly fuss over you?”

Actually, it would. “What about when they start asking about our marks? Which they will, because they’re all nosy as hell.”

“I’ll just tell them the short version—I charmed, melted, and romanced you.”

She snickered. “Romanced. Right.”

“Hey, I can be romantic.”

“Sure,” she said drily, stretching out the word.

“Okay.” He straightened his shoulders. “Roses are red, and so are other flowers. Take off your panties, I just need a few hours.”

“Oh my God.”

He chuckled. “Kidding, kidding, here’s a good one. Roses are red, fit for a bride. Get flat on your back, and spread your legs wide.”

She stood up, shaking her head. “There’s no helping you, there really isn’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” Fisting her shirt, he dragged her back onto his lap. “Not done with that mouth yet.”

Later that day, Mila raised her hand to knock on her parents’ front door, but then she paused. “Quick warning: My uncles . . . well, they don’t hate my dad. They just hate that he mated their sister and wouldn’t move to Russia. But it means they can be assholes toward him. It’s mostly Isaak. He likes to pretend Dad isn’t even there. Of course, Dad just thinks it’s all pathetic, but it can make dinner conversation awkward.”

Dominic palmed Mila’s nape. “Baby, Trey’s grandmother makes a point of insulting most of the females in our pack at almost every meal—I know all about awkward.”

“My uncles might give you a little grief, since they’re snobs when it comes to other breeds. They only respect their own kind.”

He shrugged. “It makes no difference to me whether they like me or not.”

Mila couldn’t imagine them not liking Dominic—he could win over anyone. He’d hung around the barbershop all day. Theoretically, it should have been annoying to have him constantly watching her and taking up space. It wasn’t. Especially since he always supplied everyone with coffees, dealt with any pride mates who came nosing around, and was sure not to get in her way while she worked.

She’d expected him to get restless and start doing dumb shit to entertain himself, but he’d seemed happy enough to just laze around and chat with people. And watch her in a way that made her blood heat. He’d also had fun cornering and kissing the life out of her during her breaks.

Turning back to the door, Mila was just about to knock when it flew open.

Valentina smiled. “You are here.” She ushered them inside and kissed both their cheeks, making a huge fuss over Dominic. Rolling her eyes at that, Mila turned . . . and found herself swept up in a massive hug.

“Uncle Isaak,” she greeted with a smile, patting his back.

Grinning broadly, he held her at arm’s length. “My little Milena! So beautiful, just like your mother.”

Dominic’s brows lifted. “Milena?”

Isaak frowned at him. “It is good, strong Russian name.”

Sergei pulled her close, his face soft. “Do not worry about this assassin matter. We will find your brother. Aleksandr will not have gone too far.”

“Aleksandr?” echoed Dominic.

Isaak shot him another frown. “It is good, strong Russian—”

“We got it, we got it,” James cut in.

Isaak cocked his head. “I hear a squeak, Valentina. Perhaps you have vermin.”

Valentina swatted his arm. “You will not play these games with my mate.” Turning to Dominic, she said, “These are my brothers—Dimitri, Isaak, and Sergei. Boys, this is Mila’s man, Dominic Black.”

Dominic nodded at the three male wolverines as they silently assessed him. They looked very much alike—dark, muscled, hair slicked back . . . kind of like the bad guys in The Matrix, minus the sunglasses.

With his chest puffed out and mask of sheer arrogance, Isaak seemed to stand out most. Shorter than his brothers, Sergei gave Dominic a somewhat genteel smile to put him at ease, but there was far too much cunning in those amber eyes for anyone to be relaxed around that guy. As for Dimitri . . . he just seemed to broadcast “try me, motherfucker” with his menacing glower and dark aura, even as he hugged Mila so gently. Oddly, though, Dominic got the sense that Sergei was the most dangerous of the three.

Dimitri looked at Mila. “What about Maksim?”

“I’ll kill him if he even thinks to come for her,” Dominic said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “Ripping out his throat won’t bother me in the slightest.”

After a long moment, Dimitri gave a small shrug. “We will still get alliance without the mating, it is no matter.”

Sergei moved closer to Dominic, his nostrils flaring. His nose wrinkled in distaste. “A wolf, Milena?” Letting out a put-out sigh, he gave Dominic another once-over. “At least you are not cat.”

James’s brows snapped together. “Hello, Mila’s a cat.”

Sergei glared at him. “Our Milena is wolverine.”

“No, she’s a pallas cat,” James stated.

“Her animal has the skin, muscle, and bone of a feline, but it is not the body that is important. Our Milena has soul of a wolverine—we all see it. Therefore, she is wolverine.”

“No, she’s really not.” James raised a hand when Sergei would have argued. “I’m done. Let’s sit and eat.”