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She pulls off the freeway and into the upscale Brentwood area, quickly finding her destination and parking. I drive past so she doesn’t become suspicious, and park further up the street, watching her vehicle in my rearview mirror until the gorgeous redhead climbs out.
My mouth waters as her full glory is revealed in the dying afternoon sunlight, the rays shining on her hair and turning it into a waterfall of fire. She’s taller than most women and over six feet in her heels. Still, at 6’5”, I’d tower over her. She’s wearing a floor length bronze satin sheath with a forest green wrap thrown over her arm.
I expect her to go into the house she parked in front of, but she doesn’t. Instead, she rushes up the street toward my Jeep, her heels echoing on the pavement as she jogs. I hold my breath as she comes even with me, then stops and bends over, her hand on my door.
The window is open a crack and I inhale the scent of fresh laundry and chamomile, hear her musical voice as she mutters to herself, “How am I supposed to keel over in this thing? Who requests the actor wear a tight but classy dress? Gross assholes with too much money, that’s who.”
Unable to resist, I turn my head to watch her, absorbing every detail. This is only the second time I’ve been this close to Vanessa. I’ve been in her home, followed her, been to her place of work, and inspected her friends, but for the most part kept my distance.
She straightens, runs her hands down her hips, then turns her head, finally noticing me. She gasps, her hand going to her throat as she stares at me, her green eyes wide with fright. Then she laughs, the sound chaining me to my seat, and shakes her head at herself.
“Sorry for borrowing your car to adjust my shoe,” she says cheerfully, waving as she steps away. “Have a nice night!”
She continues up the street, approaches an upscale home with several vehicles outside, knocks, and then disappears through the door. I pull my Jeep closer until I can see the gathering of people through the front windows. Crossing my arms over my chest, I slouch in the seat, preparing for a long evening of ensuring the safety of my mate.
I can’t pin her down, despite spending years watching over her. She lives in a trash heap of an apartment building but often goes to the nicest areas of the city. She socializes with the richest of the rich, but her best friend is a professional beach bum, and her deceased mother was an art thief. Perhaps if I was around more often, I’d understand this mate of mine better, but my duties to the people of Wolf-Haven call me away.
I straighten in my seat when I catch sight of her fiery hair as she steps in front of the window, a cocktail glass in hand. She sips the drink, closing her eyes, her shoulders relaxing.
I needed that. Her voice whispers in my head, intensifying the ache in my heart. The mating bond.
Bonding with her had been an accident. When she was a child, she liked swinging herself as high as she could on a swing set before leaping off and soaring through the air. Sometimes she would land on her feet and sometimes she would take a tumble. It was the most idiotic thing I’ve seen a human do, and I wondered at my mate’s intelligence. When she was six, she attempted one such flight. I was close by and saw the concrete block she was about to land on. I rushed toward her, using my shifter speed, and caught her in my arms.
She’d looked up at me in surprise, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.
I couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you do that?”
She shrugged and struggled in my hold until I set her on her feet. “I like to fly,” she replied before turning and racing toward her mother, who had been absorbed in a magazine and didn’t notice our interaction.
Since that day, I’ve been bonded with my mate. I feel her emotions, can track her with ease, know when she’s in trouble. It’s a gut-wrenching thing to have the woman I love, a woman who doesn’t know I exist, whispering in my head, sharing her happiness, sadness, anger, and joy, while knowing I’ll never get any closer to her than this.
A scream echoing through the night has me sitting up in my seat, adrenalin rushing through me. It’s not the voice of my mate, but it’s coming from the dwelling she went into. I shove my door open and leap out, racing towards the house.
A confusing tableau unfolds in front of me through the windows. My mate is stumbling around, her hand at her throat, foam dribbling from her mouth. Then, clutching at a tablecloth, she falls to the floor, dragging it with her, dishes falling and smashing. There, she spasms before going still, her eyes wide and staring blankly while people rush to her side.
My mate is in trouble!
My wolf takes over as instinct drives me and I shift right there on the street, uncaring of any humans who might see. I must get to her, find out what’s wrong and get her help. My clothes split at the seams as I leap through the bay windows, the glass shattering. I land on the floor next to my mate as people scream and scatter in different directions. I stare at her unmoving form, eyes unseeing, foam at her lips.
Dead.
Poisoned.
I swing my head around, pinning the humans with a lethal stare before letting out a roar of rage that sends the humans scrambling further away from me. I will kill every single one of them for harming my mate.
Chapter 2
The Wolfman
VANESSA
Oh god, oh god, oh god!
I can feel it breathing above me, can see the pointy teeth inches from my face, lips pulled back in a snarl. I lay frozen underneath the white-furred beast as party guests look on in horror.
Not a wolf. A shifter. I think, anyway.
Slowly it lowers its massive head, yellow eyes glittering with menace.
