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“Why were you at Yannis’s house tonight?” Her voice pulls me from my distracted thoughts.
I consider lying. I’m not generally untruthful, but I’ve occasionally lied to my mates over the centuries to spare feelings. I sense the truth will go over better with this mate. “I followed you there. I’ve been watching you for a long time.”
“I knew it!” she exclaims, her face lighting up as she claps her hands. “I knew it was you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always had the feeling someone was following me, ever since I was little. When I met you, I realized it was you.” She matches my frown as she adds, “I don’t know how I know. I just do. Like a feeling inside me.” She puts her hand on my arm, stopping me, her eyes wide as they meet mine. “Shit, I really am your mate, aren’t I?”
I laugh, but my smile falls quickly away when I see her distress. I try not to let it pain me. She doesn’t know me and it’s a lot to take in. “Yes, you are.”
She lets out a puff of breath. “Can I decline?”
“Being my mate?” I ask incredulously and she nods. “No, it’s a permanent condition.”
I feel the generations-wide gap between us as her quick mind races, her thoughts speeding through my head… Like really, really cute, but you’ve met good-looking guys before, Vanessa. They always turn out to be Hollywood dicks. Not that this guy is Hollywood. More like a gorgeous, rough-around-the-edges Jason Momoa from his Stargate Atlantis days. But it doesn’t matter how Momoa he is, having a wolf mate and pursuing an acting career just won’t mesh.
I try to reassure her. “You don’t have to do anything with me you don’t want to.” This isn’t the first time I’ve been rejected by my mate, but as much as it hurts, I try to respect their boundaries. I change the subject before she decides to out-and-out reject me, asking Vanessa one of the things I’ve been wondering through years of following her. “What made you want to become an actor?”
She smiles, some of her anxiety melting away as her soft gaze sweeps the inky ocean. “When I was young, I moved around a lot with my mom who worked as a personal art broker.”
I nearly snort at her description of Izzy Bedalia, world famous art thief.
“I didn’t make friends easily and was alone a lot. I filled my time with watching television and playing make-believe. I never really grew out of wanting to dress up and pretend I was someone else. It seemed like a natural progression from the childhood plays I used to put on for my mom to acting.”
“Why do you want to be someone you’re not?” I ask, feeling no closer to understanding her than I did before. I hadn’t known she was lonely as a child. When I visited to check on her, she’d always been smiling and laughing, even when she was by herself.
“Who doesn’t want to pretend sometimes?” She kicks at the sand before sinking down onto it and looking up at me expectantly.
I sigh, knowing I’ll be picking sand out of my ass-crack for days, and follow her, sitting gingerly. “I’ve never pretended to be anyone I’m not.”
“Why not?”
I give it some thought before answering. “I suppose I’ve never had the luxury of make believe. Too many responsibilities.”
Her eyes are large and luminous in the wash of moonlight. “Has life been rough for you?” She covers her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I can be too nosy. Pinky tells me that all the time.”
“I don’t mind.” But there are things I can’t tell her even if the yearning to share my grief is strong. Instead, I say, “I’m over 700 years old. I’ve fought in a war. I buried my parents and watched my oldest brother deteriorate into madness while the rest of my brothers scattered. I’ve seen people I’ve grown to love die.” It feels as though a weight lifts from me as I talk. An immortal life is a long one and tragedy is unavoidable. Confessing this to my mate makes the burden feel easier.
Her hand creeps up my arm, rubbing, meant to soothe. Pleasure skitters across my skin where she touches me and I hold my breath, silently begging for more.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “It sounds lonely.”
Her heart is open to me and I know that her sentiment is real. She is sorry for me, but that’s all she feels and it’s not what I want from my mate. “And I’m sorry you don’t want a wolf for a mate.”
She smiles, her teeth flashing. “It’s nothing personal. I’m just not ready to get married or mated or whatever. You understand?”
Not really. I want nothing more than to spend eternity with my mate, but I nod anyway, thinking if I make myself agreeable, she’ll give me a chance. “Answering the mating call can be difficult under certain circumstances.”
“Like with cross-species mating?” she asks.
I hesitate, then say, “Humans aren’t always receptive to mating with a shifter.”
“And you’re one hundred percent positive I’m your mate?”
“I’ve known since the day you were born.”
She nods. “I figured. I’ve been aware of you since I was very young. Do you remember the swing set when you caught me before I could hit the ground?”
