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My usual run around the outskirts of the park in central Silver Valley feels too quick and easy this morning, so I end up completing two circuits of it before going for a longer jog past the main residential areas around town. My phone shows me I’ve hit the thirteen-mile mark when I check it on my way back to the house. I didn’t come out expecting to run a half marathon, but I could probably come back out and do the same again later.
My heart is racing even as I slow down on entering the street.
The excessive energy I have is being stirred up by the presence of our mate, and my conflicting feelings. I had a moment with her yesterday. I had a few of them, actually, but the moment that I keep coming back to is the one that was super-charged with heat.
I felt what Bishop and Rueben have been feeling.
I knew in split-second that the woman in front of me was made to be with me, and everything inside of me agreed, vehemently. The primal urges that feeling stirred up were so powerful they almost felt like they were coming from an outside force. I’ve never felt anything like it before.
I get to the front porch of the house, and I do my stretches there, making sure I’m cooling down properly from my run. I’m a little dehydrated, but I’ll grab some water once I’m inside.
I’ve been gone for long enough that our mate should be done with the kitchen.
I’m having a hard time thinking of her as the same woman who’s been avoiding us for the past three years, calling us boring to her friends and showing zero signs of attraction whatsoever.
I don’t think I can keep calling her Scarlett.
She doesn’t feel like the same person.
Scarlett Faris is an aloof musician who never would have given us the time of day.
Our true mate decided to work out when I did because she wanted to spend time with me.
She felt what I did when I moved in behind her and started showing her how to work the treadmill.
I could feel her heartbeat quicken. I could see her skin flush.
I can’t reconcile her sweet nature with the Scarlett I know.
I want it to make sense, but it just doesn’t.
Finishing my stretches, I take a few seconds to talk myself in to going inside.
I step into the house and close the door behind me.
The kitchen is my first stop, and it’s where I find Bishop, standing by the open back door with a mug in his hand. I can hear a ball being smacked around outside, so I assume Rueben’s out back shooting hoops.
“Hey,” I murmur as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
Bishop takes a couple steps toward me. “Feeling any better yet?”
I shrug as I uncap the bottle. I can’t give the answer he wants, so I stick with my noncommittal, nonverbal response as I start to deal with my thirst.
“Well, Scarlett has a migraine,” Bishop goes on. “She’s resting in the lounge.”
I stop drinking, and suck in a breath. “A migraine?”
He shrugs this time. “She dropped the mop when she was cleaning, and she told Rueben it was a migraine. I checked her over, but I couldn’t see any signs of anything more sinister. So, she’s laying down in the dark. She might be asleep. We’re trying not to disturb her.”
I know Bishop would have done a thorough job in making sure she was okay, but I can’t help the anxious feeling that settles over me knowing our mate isn’t well. Instinctively, I want to check on her, to see for myself that she’s safe and that she has everything she needs.
It’s hard to ignore that instinct, but I force down the urge to rush to her side.
“She’s okay,” Bishop assures me. “Lunch is on the stove. Go shower and tell Gus he can join us to eat. I’ll check on Scarlett after lunch, and I’ll bring her food if she’s awake.”
I nod slowly and then take another gulp of water before I screw the cap back on the bottle and set it down on the counter.
“Gus might not come down for lunch.”
