“Nothing. I brought absolutely nothing, and we have to go back to the cabin so I can make something special. Something ceremony-worthy.” I’m already re-strapping the helmet on my head.

But Warner steps in close, grabbing my hands. There’s a mischievous tilt to his too-tempting lips.

“Nope. Then, we’ll be late. Besides, I want to know what snack you brought for us to share.”

I glare up at him when, really, I want to scowl at myself.

How could I be so oblivious? This is a mating ceremony. Of course it requires special things, like delicious dishes. This isn’t a night out with the Sip ’N’ Stitch gang or playing pool with the pack.

This is a werewolf wedding, and I brought …

“No. I refuse. Mating you deserves a five-tiered cake.”

Warner leans in, rubbing his nose over mine. “Tell me.”

“I can’t. You’re a soufflé. Or a caramel apple pie.”

“Those do sound good, but I want to know what you brought.”

Feeling like the guilty party on a witness stand, I do my best to mutter my answer so low that even his wolf ears can’t pick up on the word.

“Hmm, nope. Didn’t catch that.” His arms twine around my waist, and he leans down to nip at my neck. “Tell me. Tell your mate what you brought.”

I groan, my forehead dropping to his shoulder. “Goldfish crackers.”

Warner’s body goes rigid for a moment, and I’m sure I’ve found a way to offend the most unoffendable man on earth.

Then, all the tension spills out of him with roaring laughter. He tilts his head back, letting the joyous sound fill the night air, and I’m caught between a scowl and a smile. Next thing I know, I’m in his arms, lifted high, and whirled about.

“Goldfish crackers. You are the perfect woman, Zoey Gunner.” Warner shouts this out, and I’m betting everyone in the bar can hear him.

“And you’re too forgiving,” I scold him. “Please let me go make you something better.”

My desperate fingers tangle in his silky hair, but he just lets out a happy growl as I tug at the roots.

“No. Our ceremony will have Goldfish crackers. It’s settled. Besides”—he gently sets me down on my feet—“I can’t wait another minute to be officially mated to you. I’ll eat dirt if it means I can finally call you mine.”

“Goldfish aren’t dirt,” I mutter.

Warner grins before pressing a kiss to my forehead and pulling me toward The Rabbit Hole.

Unlike the first time I stepped through the entrance of the werewolf bar, this night, lively voices fill every inch of the place.

“They’re here!” Courtney pushes through the crowd, wearing a glittery yellow top that sparkles like gold in the dim lighting.

All heads turn our way, and celebratory greetings get shouted as Warner waves a hello.