“No,” I mutter, still smarting from the slap.

“Then stop making assumptions.”

I glower at her. “He told me I’m not his type! You want me to ask him for an entire essay on what that means?”

“If need be, yes,” Elsa replies calmly. “You shouldn’t think you know everything that’s going on in someone’s head. Sometimes you have to fight to get what is rightfully yours. You are each other’s fated mates. That is not a small matter. If he says you’re not his type, you need ...