Much of the supernatural world remains a mystery, though I’d heard of the whole ‘true mates’ phenomenon. When seeing beyond the surface level, you can suddenly Recognize someone as yours. But not everyone finds their perfect match. I never dreamed it would happen to me.
I want to start pacing and pulling my hair, but I have a feeling that will only make me feel more crazy and not less. I force myself to stay still and be rational, one of us has to be. I point out the obvious. “We are not mates.”
“Why not?” he counters.
“Because...” Is this some kind of trick question? How am I supposed to explain something so glaringly obvious? “We barely know each other, we don’t even like each other, and we can’t even agree on whether we’re mates. Am I wrong?”
“No.”
Oh good. He didn’t argue. Are we finally back to normal?
“It doesn’t matter. I know what I saw.” He grimaces, his words soft as if he’s afraid to scare me off. “When your power coursed through the whip and you were determined to send that creature back, you changed. You looked a lot different than the grumpy brat who stares into his cereal bowl and scowls. Something clicked into place.”
“What about other options?” The words tumble out desperately before I can stop them. “Are you drunk?”
“Dodger.”
“Did we rule out insanity and brain damage?”
Instead of responding, Harper sighs deeply and crosses his arms over his broad chest, a big unhappy werewolf in the middle of my room. I know nothing about cheering up unhappy puppies. How is any of this real? We couldn’t even finish breakfast without bickering. How are we supposed to spend a lifetime together?
Nope. Not dealing with this right now—or possibly ever. Pushing past him, I collapse onto my bed and bury my face in the cheap bedspread.
Denial. A classic solution. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away?
“You’re being ridiculous,” he says from across the room.
Better ridiculous than insane.
But denial has some limitations. Much as I’d love to ignore him, Ethan Harper just dropped a huge mate bomb on me. He’s all I can think about.
I crack open one eye to sneak a peek at him. Harper is a mountain compared to me, easily three times my size. His wardrobe screams law enforcement: budget suits with plain black ties, strictly business. But they must be custom-made to fit those shoulders and accommodate the way his biceps strain against the fabric when he crosses his arms. Do supernatural clothing retailers have special werewolf sections?
Usually, his imposing frame and that granite-carved cop face trigger my fight-or-flight response instantly. We’re natural enemies; he’s the badge-wearing authority figure, and I’m the street urchin always skirting the edges of trouble.
But right now, he’s just a man. An irritated, confused man who believes I’m his destined mate. Something treacherous unfurls in my chest—part of me wants to smooth away that frustrated crease between his eyebrows, while another part itches to needle him until those golden eyes flash with real angerbecause that could be all kinds of fun if we’re really—No, no! Bad thoughts. I can’t let myself get swept up in this craziness.
“So... now that you’ve had a minute to process this, what are you thinking?” the detective talks to my prone form on the bed.
I’m still reeling. Part of me wants to bolt out of the room—the open door beckons like an escape route. Or I could reach over and take his hand. We’re supposed to be mates, right?
“Dodger, tell me what you’re thinking.”
Tell him that I’m contemplating holding his hand? Nope, not happening. I groan and sit up. “Mates should be able to stand each other for more than five seconds. We aren’t a perfect match.”
“I never said we were, just told you what I saw.” Harper clears his throat. “Maybe this is too much to handle right now, especially given the circumstances we find ourselves in.”
“Should we just call a do-over and pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen?” No chance of that happening unless he knocks me out or gets me blackout drunk.
“No, let’s just start with something easier.”
“Like quantum physics?” I suggest, loving when a muscle in his jaw twitches.
“No, like being in the same place for six seconds without wanting to strangle each other,” he suggests.
“Think our odds are better with quantum physics,” I grumble.
“You can be as difficult as you like; I still know what I saw.” Harper sighs, settling on the edge of the bed next to me. He’s quiet when he continues. “Look, we aren’t exactly an obvious pair, and the supernatural world is new to you. But fated mates are something most wolves take seriously. I can’t ask you to do the same, but you can’t ask me to go against my instincts and ignore what I saw.”
