Page 9 of The Secret Mate Society

I shrugged, not wanting to engage but finding myself responding anyway."Just bookkeeping for my garage.The numbers won't balance themselves."

"You own a garage?"Ethan's eyes lit up with interest."That's impressive."

"Family business," I said, trying to keep my answers short.The less I talked to him, the better.Yet I couldn't help noticing how his scent shifted subtly—a hint of excitement beneath the cologne.My wolf was still unsettled, pacing restlessly beneath my skin.

"I just moved here," Ethan continued, seemingly undeterred by my curtness."I'm a journalist with the Portland Gazette.Started Monday."

My shoulders tensed involuntarily.A journalist was the last thing we needed with a potential rogue wolf situation.Journalists asked questions, dug into stories, uncovered secrets.Another red flag.

"Welcome to Portland," I managed, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

Ethan tilted his head slightly, studying me with those startling green eyes."Thanks.It seems like a great city so far.I'm still trying to get my bearings though."

I nodded, hoping that would end the conversation.But he leaned forward slightly, his scent wafting toward me – clean soap, a hint of aftershave, and something else I couldn't quite place.Something that made my wolf stir.

"Actually," he said, tapping his pencil against his notebook, "I’m working on a piece for the crime section.Anything interesting happened in your neck of the woods recently?Having your own garage, you must talk to a lot of people.And I’m so new here, I’m not sure where to look to get a good story.”

My jaw clenched."We're not that interesting.Just fixing cars.There’s no crimes around us that I know of."

He let out a long sigh.“Yeah.It’s pretty quiet in this town as far as crime goes.I guess I should be thankful.Better than getting mugged in broad daylight, you know?”

“Right,” I said, giving him a half-hearted chuckle.

“I guess I’ll have to write about the animal attacks north of town.It’s not really a crime if it’s a mountain lion, but it’s something I guess.”

“Animal attacks?”I asked, my interest piqued.It was unusual for things like that to happen.“Like pets and stuff?”

“Cattle,” Ethan replied.“A bunch of them got torn to pieces.No one seems to know why.”

My heart skipped a beat.A mountain lion wouldn’t tear a cow apart, especially notseveralof them.It had to be something else.My mind went to the rogue wolf immediately, but why would they do that?A werewolf had no reason to attack cows.I was just being paranoid.I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could get a word out, Ethan’s phone vibrated on the desk.He flipped it open.

“Ethan Murphy speaking,” he said, listening intently.He nodded a few times, giving short replies to the other person on the phone.A man from what my wolf ears could pick up.Halfway through the call, he began jotting something down.“Alright.I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”He flipped the phone shut and looked up at me, flashing me a bright smile.“Well, duty calls.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as he gathered up his things.However, instead of heading toward the door, he walked over to me.I glanced up, the spicy sweetness of his cologne enveloping me and making me sway on the spot.

“This… might be a long shot,” he said, his cheeks turning pink.“But here.”He held out a folded napkin.

I don’t know what possessed me to take it, but I reached up without thought, our fingertips brushing as I took the napkin.All at once fireworks exploded across my body.My brain lit up and for a moment, the whole world seemed to slow to a stop around us.The wolf inside me howled and it took everything I had not to shift right there in the middle of the cafe.

“Well,” he said with a sigh.“See you later, Calder.”

With that he turned and headed out the door of the cafe, my name still ringing in my ears, the sound of it so sweet from his lips.I glanced down at the napkin, unfolding it with my thumb as my heart pounded in my chest.

Call me sometime.-Ethan

My heart continued to pound as I stared at his phone number scrawled on the napkin.There were a million thoughts running through my head, most of which I didn’t understand.But there was one word, louder than all the rest, repeating over and over again, filling me with adrenaline.

Mate.

November 22nd, 1967

I don't know what it was, but it killed Daisy, our best milk cow.I shot it twice and it didn't seem to notice.The sheriff came out and said it was a coyote attack and that I must've missed my shot.He's a damn fool.I've never missed a shot in my life.

It came back last night and I managed to get a photo of it.But the family is coming up for Thanksgiving tomorrow, so I'll take a copy of this photo down to the sheriff after that.

I just hope that monster, whatever it is, doesn't come back.I'm not sure my shotgun will be enough to stop it.

THE PORTLAND GAZETTE: Wednesday, October 21, 2009