Page 29 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“What’s going on?” she asked, dumping the coffees on the table.

Felix looked at me, fear flooding back across his face.

“Do you want me to tell her?”

He shook his head, took a deep breath, and recounted the entire phone call again. Every detail, every stumbled excuse, every moment where he’d failed to convince Emma that everything was normal. Priya listened in complete silence, her expression growing more still with each revelation.

“Okay,” she said at the end of it all. “Thank you for telling me.”

That was it? I stared at her in disbelief. “Priya, are you not going to apologise to Felix for him having to endure that call from your girlfriend?”

Priya frowned. “Sorry, Felix. If she calls again, don’t answer it.”

“That’s it?” My voice grew in volume. “That’s your strategy here? It sounds like she’s going to go to the police, Priya! Our cover is blown. You need to address this.”

“And I will!” Her voice rose to match mine. “I’ll sort it. I just… need to do it in my own time.”

I stared at her. “I don’t think you have any more time.”

Something cracked in her composure then. The careful mask she’d been wearing slipped, revealing the pure panic underneath.

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Emma and I—we have something perfect. Something real. I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. Well, just as much as you guys. But my job here at Killigrew Street has forced me lie to her for months, made me sneak around like some kind of criminal.”

Priya yanked the band from her ponytail, hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, then immediately started gathering it back up again with shaking fingers.

“So now she’s going to think I’m a mastermind liar, not the sort of person you want to commit to for the rest of your life! And that’s not even mentioning the whole ‘learning about the supernatural world’ curve ball. She’ll run for the hills!” She turned to Felix suddenly. “If she does send the police to the door, all the paperwork is in place, correct?”

Felix nodded quickly. “I’ve got building permits, renovation contracts, insurance documents—everything’s set up to make it look like we’re actually restoring the hotel. Historical preservation grants, architectural surveys, the works.”

“Good.” Priya’s attention shifted to me. “And it’s your job to make it look like we’re actually doing construction when they come, right? With the equipment and everything?”

I nodded sheepishly. Years ago, we’d run drills for exactly this sort of situation, but we’d all grown complacent. I was going to have to talk to Seb about reinstating the protocols.

“And Felix,” Priya continued, her tone becoming more businesslike. “You’ve also still got that alert system set up, haven’t you? The one that flags any police reports mentioning our names or Killigrew Street Hotel?”

Felix’s fingers automatically went to the drawstring of his hoodie. “Yeah, it’s all in place. Any keyword combinations involving the hotel, the street, it all gets pinged straight to my inbox. I’ve got it monitoring police databases, incident reports, the lot.”

“Good. It’s all fine, then.” After snatching up her coffee from the table, Priya stormed towards the staircase, then paused at the bottom step. “I’m going out for the day, but don’t forget what I messaged the both of you about last night. You know, the leftover quiche?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. I hadn’t realised she’d said the same thing to Felix as well. “You seem bizarrely concerned about this quiche.”

“I don’t like food waste!” she spat, stomping up the stairs, and leaving Felix and me in an uncomfortable silence.

“Um…” Felix said, fidgeting in the armchair. “Okay. I’m going to get to work now.”

I moved away from him as if my presence nearby was preventing him from leaving the chair. “Sure.” Then, because I clearly had issues, and lots of them, I picked up Felix’s coffee—the one with the star on the lid—and offered it to him, just in case our fingers happened to touch when he took it from me. “Don’t forget this!”

Felix managed to snatch the coffee from me without any skin contact at all.

Then he scurried off to his lair, slamming the door behind him.

I scrubbed at my face with my hands.

I really was doomed if my master plan amounted to passing my mate things with the hope that our fingers might touch.

I slumped back into the armchair Felix had vacated, still warm from his body heat, and let the weight of my situation crush down on me.

Wolves mated for life. One person, one bond, one chance at that perfect connection that poets wrote about and others spoke of in hushed, reverent tones. Some wolves never met their mate at all—they found love with others, built families, lived full lives without ever experiencing that soul-deep recognition that screamed mine when you first locked eyes across a crowded room.