I went cold, then hot, as I read the simply worded statement, wonder in me as I looked up and met his anxious eyes. “You want me to be a member of your pack?” I stammered.

“I don’t have one,” he rushed to explain. “You’d be the only one in it. I’m a registered loner but my company won’t fire someone with tenure if they’re an alpha male or female.”

I could say nothing and he rushed to fill the silence.

“I, uh, feel bad for trying to bribe you,” he said. “It’s not like we’re married or anything, but it gives you the right to get your insurance through me. And if either of us is hospitalized, we have access to the medical records and have a say as to what happens if the other is unconscious. I don’t have anyone to make those kind of decisions for me, and I’d rather have you than a court or my siblings.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “You can come to the company picnic, too.”

My gaze fell to the paper, then rose to his stubbled face, then back to the paper. “What about your old partner?”

He peeked over the paper to look at the print. “It takes a female to make a pack.”

“Oh.” I stared at the form. “Why me?” I asked, honored he’d ask but bewildered. “There must be lots of Were women who would jump at the chance.”

“There are. And that’s just it.” Dropping back, he rested against the island counter. “I don’t want a pack. Too much responsibility. Too many ties. Packs grow. And even if I went into this with another Were with the understanding that it was an agreement on paper and nothing else, she would expect certain things, and so would her kin.” He looked at the ceiling, his eyes showing his age. “And when those things weren’t provided, they would start to treat her like a whore instead of an alpha bitch. I won’t have that problem with you.” He met my eyes. “Will I?”

I blinked, starting slightly. “Ah, no.” A smile quirked the corner of my mouth. Alpha bitch? That sounded about right. “Gotta pen?” I asked.

David exhaled with a soft puff, relief in his eyes. “We need three witnesses.”

I couldn’t stop grinning. Wait until I told Ivy. She’d have kittens.

We both spun to the window as a whoosh of flame and a shout rose high. Ivy threw a second bough of evergreen on the bonfire, and the fire billowed up again. She was taking to my family’s tradition of a solstice fire with an unsettling enthusiasm.

“I can think of three people off the top of my head,” I said, jamming it into a back pocket.