Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

She certainly deserved every hint of embarrassment he coaxed into her now; it was her own damn fault for being unable to take what she gave. She could feel the thorns threatening to wrap around her heart again and force him out, remove the forwardness their game had bridged between them, and none of it was really his fault. It was hers, and she tried to remind herself of it as she searched for something—anything—that might turn their attention back to their task. Alas, there was naught but bones and moss to be found in the caves.

She was surprised to hear he had no mate, but was that truly so strange? Perhaps women more pliant than she sought the arms of a man in charge, and again she found herself wondering why she hadn't before—or if she would come to—see Mahler's worth in that respect. That thought was as infuriating as it was comforting—she would not have to deal with a scorned mate mistreating her in the pack she was staying with, which was good, but instead would forever question what he sought in bedding women besides mateship, and if there was something wrong with her for not doing the same. Her experience with Raptor had been unpleasant enough that she hadn't allowed another man's touch since; she really was missing out and had no idea.

She ruminated on his question for a long time before answering, I am. Then, because she hadn't caught his meaning, she added, distracted from what? Leading your pack?