Chapter 1: Moving in

~∆~ Mariah's POV ∆~∆

The apartment next to mine has been silent for three months. No late-night TV blaring through paper-thin walls, no shower running at ungodly hours, no mysterious bumps in the night that make me wonder if my neighbor is either having incredible sex or getting murdered.

It's been blissfully quiet.

Which is why the sound of footsteps in the hallway at 2 AM makes me bolt upright in bed.

My heart kept beating fast wondering if I would be meeting my maker soon.

The footsteps stop right outside 4B, the apartment that shares a wall with my bedroom. Perfect. Just what I need when I have a client presentation tomorrow that could make or break my freelance graphic design career.

I press my ear to the wall, listening for signs of life. Nothing. Maybe whoever it is just dropped dead from exhaustion. A girl can hope right.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and Ethan's name lights up the screen. My stomach immediately ties itself into the familiar knot that's become my constant companion over the past few weeks.

~ Still up? Missing you.~

I stare at the text, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Three little words that should make me smile, make me feel warm and wanted. Instead, they make me feel like a fraud.

~ Missing you too.~

I type back, because that's what girlfriends do. They miss their boyfriends when they're apart for more than five minutes.

Except I don't miss Ethan.

Don't get me wrong, Ethan Summers is perfect on paper. Tall, handsome, successful lawyer with the kind of smile that makes other women hate me on sight.

He's sweet, considerate, and has never once left the toilet seat up. He brings me coffee in the mornings and remembers my favorite takeout order.

He's also a werewolf who's convinced I'm his fated mate.

And I'm too much of a coward to tell him he's wrong.

The worst part? I don't even know for sure that he's wrong. I'm human. I don't have some mystical mate-radar that starts beeping when Mr. Right walks into the room.

All I know is that when Ethan told me three weeks ago that the moon goddess had chosen us for each other, that he could feel our "forever bond" in his very soul, I panicked and agreed.

Because what kind of heartless bitch tells a guy that his deepest spiritual belief is bullshit?

~Want me to come over?~ his next text reads.

~No, it's late. See you tomorrow for dinner.~

~Can't wait. Love you, beautiful.~

I set the phone down without responding, because I can't bring myself to say it back. Not again. Not when it feels like swallowing a broken glass every time.

There's a loud crash from next door and it makes me jump. Definitely not dead then. Just clumsy.

I grab my robe and tiptoe to my front door, pressing my eye to the peephole. The hallway is empty, but I can hear muffled cursing coming from 4B. Deep, masculine cursing that does absolutely nothing for me.

Okay, that's a lie. It does something. Something that makes me very aware that I'm only wearing a thin cotton nightgown under this robe.

I should go back to bed. I should mind my own business and let my mystery neighbor stumble around in peace. Instead, I find myself opening my door and stepping into the hallway.

"Everything okay over there?" I call softly.

The cursing stops. For a moment, there's complete silence, and I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. Then the door to 4B opens, and my brain short-circuits.

The man standing in the doorway is... Jesus. He's huge. Not just tall...though he's definitely that, probably six-foot-four at least...but broad.

Shoulders that could probably bench press a small car, arms that strain against the sleeves of his black t-shirt. Dark hair that looks like he's been running his hands through it, and eyes so green they're almost unnatural.

And he's staring at me like I'm a ghost.

"I..." He clears his throat, his voice rough like he hasn't used it in a while. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No," I lie, because admitting I was awake at 2 AM makes me sound like either an insomniac or a stalker. "I heard something fall. Just wanted to make sure you weren't bleeding out or anything."

His mouth curves into a smile that does dangerous things to my pulse. "No bleeding. Just me versus a box of hockey gear. The gear won."

Hockey gear. That explains the build.

"You play?" I ask, then immediately feel stupid. Of course, he plays. Look at him.

"Something like that." His eyes do a quick sweep of my robe-covered body, and I'm suddenly very aware of how little I'm wearing. "I'm Ryder, by the way. Ryder Cross."

Rain Cross. The name sounds familiar, tickling the back of my brain like a half-remembered song.

"Mariah Rivera." I pull my robe tighter around myself. "Welcome to the building. Fair warning, the walls are paper thin, and Mrs. Chen in 4C has opinions about noise after 10 PM."

"Noted." He leans against his doorframe, and I catch a glimpse of his apartment behind him. Boxes everywhere, but what I can see looks expensive. Like, really expensive. "I'll try to keep the gear wrestling to a minimum."

There's something about his voice that makes my skin prickle with awareness. Something that makes me want to step closer instead of backing away like a smart person would.

"Good plan," I say, proud of how normal I sound. "Well, welcome to the neighborhood. Try not to die in there."

"I'll do my best."

I turn to go back to my apartment, but his voice stops me.

"Mariah?"

I look back over my shoulder, and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.

"Sweet dreams."

The way he says it, low and rough, sends heat through my body. I manage a nod and escape into my apartment, closing the door behind me with shaking hands.

What the hell was that?

I lean against the door, my heart pounding like I just ran a marathon. This is bad. Very, very bad. I have a boyfriend.

A boyfriend who thinks we're universally destined to be together forever. I cannot have inappropriate thoughts about my sexy new neighbor.

No matter how his voice makes me feel like I'm melting from the inside out.

I make it exactly three steps toward my bedroom before my phone buzzes again.

~ Actually, I'm coming over. Can't sleep without you.~

My blood turns to ice. Ethan has a key to my apartment, I gave it to him two months ago during a moment of relationship optimism I now deeply regret. If he shows up and smells another man on me...

Werewolves have an incredible sense of smell. Even if I just talked to Ryder for two minutes in the hallway, Ethan will know. He'll ask questions I can't answer without sounding guilty as hell.

~Don't. I'm exhausted and I'll be terrible company.~

~All the more reason for me to take care of you. Be there in twenty.~

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I race to the bathroom and scrub myself down with the most heavily scented body wash I own, trying to eliminate any trace of my hallway encounter.

The whole time, I tell myself I'm being ridiculous. I didn't do anything wrong. I was being a good neighbor. Nothing more.

So why do I feel like I'm cheating?

Exactly nineteen minutes later, I hear Ethan's key in the lock. I'm in bed, pretending to be asleep, when he slips under the covers behind me.

"Hey, beautiful," he murmurs against my neck, his arms coming around me possessively. "Miss me?"

"Always," I whisper, hating myself for the lie.

He nuzzles my throat, and I feel his body relax against mine. "God, I love you so much, Ria. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you."

The guilt cripples me. This is what I've done to him. Made him believe in something that isn't real. Made him love someone who can't love him back the way he deserves.

"Go to sleep," I say softly, because I can't trust my voice not to shake if I say anything else.

"In a minute." His hand starts to slide under my nightgown, and every muscle in my body tenses. "I need you."

This is the part where a good girlfriend would turn around and kiss him. Where she'd let him make love to her and whisper sweet nothings about bonds and destiny.

Instead, I fake a yawn and curl deeper into my pillow. "I'm so tired, E. Rain check?"

He sighs but doesn't push, just pulls me closer. "Of course. Sweet dreams, baby."

Sweet dreams. The same words Ryder said to me twenty minutes ago, but when Ethan says them, they don't make my skin tingle. They don't make me want to turn around and see what happens next.

And that's how I know I'm completely fucked.

Because good girls don't lie to their boyfriends about being fated mates.

And they definitely don't spend the rest of the night thinking about their sexy new neighbor's voice saying their name.

But apparently, I'm not a good girl after all.