CHAPTER THREE

I close my eyes and wait for the blow to fall.

Instead, I feel the package snatched out of my hands. When I open my eyes again, he’s taken several steps back, away from me, as if being too close to me might hurt him.

He still looks angry, but also a bit… confused? He looks left, and then right, and then down at the package, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now.

Yeah, you and me both.

“You,” he says, his voice deep and tinged with a growl. “You kicked me.”

Oh. The sable-fur wolf.

“Sorry. I… was scared,” I manage to say. “I mean, I am scared.”

Suddenly it feels like this isn’t real. Like I’m not lost in the woods at night, like the dark, alluring, frightening, attractive, dangerous stranger in front of me isn’t my mate.

“What’s your name.” He asks it flatly, like it’s not a question but a demand.

“Uh, Izzy.”

Izzy?! Why did I say that? I hate that nickname!

He stares at me for a long moment, long enough for me to realize that neither of us has any idea what to do next.

Then he sticks out his chin, just once, in a direction over my shoulder.

Is he… is he telling me to leave? Is he letting me go?

Well, he doesn’t need to tell me twice!

I force myself to tear away from his blue eyes. I turn my back on my mate, and I run.

*

I run all the way home. I don’t stop once, and I don’t slow until I’m at the front door of the modest, two-bedroom ranch-style house where I live.

I make sure to lock the door behind me, and then I practically collapse, clutching my chest. It wasn’t the run that winded me, but the whirlwind that just went down in the woods.

“Hey,” says a voice behind me. I was so concerned with getting safely inside that I didn’t even notice my brother, Ben, sitting on the sofa. He has a game controller in his hands and a headset around his neck. He wrinkles his nose at me and says, “Jeez, Bel, you look like crap.”

“Thanks Ben, you too.” I sigh. Ben is five years older than me, and was my legal guardian until I turned eighteen. He’s pretty much the only person I have in the world, practically raised me. He’s also the only one who’s allowed to call me Bel, which he thinks is funny because it makes us “Ben and Bel.”

“Rough night?” he asks as he unpauses his game.

“You could say that.” I drop onto the couch beside him. “Did you eat?”

“Mm-hmm,” he confirms. “Frozen burrito.”

“Ben, that is not real food.”

“That’s weird, because it was real good.”

I sigh. Of course I want to tell him everything, about the drop gone wrong, getting lost, being chased, nearly killed, meeting… him. But saying it all aloud sounds exhausting, and I’m already exhausted. Not to mention that Ben gets really protective of me, and he’d want to know exactly who this guy is, and probably have some strong words for Clyde for sending me on such a dangerous errand in the first place.

So instead of all that, I say, “I’m going to take a long shower.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” he tells me. “You have leaves in your hair.”

“Thank you, Ben,” I say sarcastically as I drag myself off the couch.

“You’re welcome, Bel.”

I shuffle down the hall to my tiny bedroom for a change of clothes, and I smile when I see fresh laundry neatly folded on my bed. Ben is a great brother. As far back as I can remember, it’s just been him and me. Our parents died when I was little, too little to even remember. I have pictures of them but I can’t recall their faces in my memory.

We stayed with an aunt for a while, but she wasn’t very nice and saw us as more of a burden than anything. As soon as Ben was old enough to work, he got us out of there and supported us. Then when I turned sixteen I got the job at the diner. Eventually we had enough to afford this shabby little place of our own, and it’s been home ever since.

I don’t know what happened to our parents. Ben doesn’t either, or at least he claims not to. And if he does, he absolutely refuses to talk about it. We’ve been rogues almost my whole life.

Pack? None.

Parents? None.

Mate? Potentially homicidal. Let’s call that one “TBD.”

Thank the Goddess for big brothers. At least I have him.

I take the longest shower of my life, washing my hair twice and wincing a couple of times when I notice fresh scratches on my skin from the tree branches while I was running for dear life. I shower until I hear Ben bang on the door and shout, “Bel, you do remember we pay for hot water, right?”

When I get out I have to wipe my hand over the mirror, it’s so steamed up. I bring a handful of hair to my nose and breathe deeply. The French fry smell is still there, of course, but at least now it’s mingled with the fruity scent of my shampoo.

I say good night to Ben and close my bedroom door and slide under the sheets, scrolling instinctively through social media on my phone but not actually reading any of it because my mind is racing with a hundred other thoughts.

Now that I’m showered and somewhat relaxed and my heart rate has returned to normal, I can actually try to process everything that happened tonight. And a few horrifying truths hit me:

1) I met my mate tonight.

2) I met my mate tonight while smelling like I bathed in burger grease.

3) I met my mate tonight while he was trying to kill me.

4) I met my mate tonight by kicking him in the face.

5) I met my mate tonight while sweaty and filthy and with leaves in my hair.

6) But most importantly, I actually met my mate tonight.

I groan aloud as I remember that I told him my name was Izzy. Then I groan again when I realize I forgot to ask him what his name was.

Suddenly I sit upright in bed, because I realize why he looked at me so angrily. It wasn’t because I was a rogue on his territory. It was because I was a rogue, and his mate. When our fingers touched, he knew it too -- and he must have been really disappointed.

Because who would want me as their mate? A rogue waitress with nothing? I’ll probably never see him again. And if I do, he’ll probably reject me on the spot.

Not like that would be a new feeling for Izzy the Nobody.

Even as I think it, I hear a noise outside my window. Just a slight rustling that a human wouldn’t even hear, let alone think anything of. But I remember the time raccoons got into our garbage can and made a heck of a mess, so I get out of bed and push the blinds apart just slightly to look outside.

I gasp.

I pull my hand back from the blinds as if they’re red-hot.

Out there, on our tiny patch of yellow lawn, standing in the moonlight, is a man.

He must have tracked my scent. Not like it would’ve been hard.

It’s him. Here. At my house.