His arm remained around her when he answered her request for space, quiet against her hair.
"Mate."
He bent and drew in the scent at her temple, and she felt the breath of it. Mate. She knew that word. Once, she had watched two werewolves claim each other, and both of them had been glad.
"Alpha Vance, this is a mistake. I'm human. I cannot possibly be your mate. Let me go now, and nobody is harmed."
"Call me Roman."
"What is your name?"
"Elena Cruz."
"Elena." "Elena."
"Let me go."
"Elena. I have waited a long time for you. And now that I've found you, I will not let you go. I cannot let you go."
She bit the inside of her cheek and tried again, reasonable first, then not.
"You can. You are choosing not to. Let me go."
"I will not let you go."
He breathed in her hair again while the car carried them north. Her phone rang in her jacket pocket. It had to be Diego. She reached for it, but Roman took it first, read the screen, and slipped it gently inside his open suit jacket.
"Give me my phone."
He gave her no answer. She turned to the window as they crossed Halford Avenue. The streets beyond were new: wider roads, walls, trees, stone set back from the pavement. In front, Marcus spoke into his phone about the press and the public fallout from the claiming while the driver held the wheel.
Roman left her there until the iron gate opened ahead of them, then drew her back against his side. The car turned through the main gate and onto the private drive. The house was still ahead.