Page 8 of Binding His Fated Mates

The honest answer was yes. Of course I did.

I wanted it so badly that some nights, in the quiet dark of the cabin, the wanting felt like it would eat me alive. I wanted to forgive Daniel. I wanted to stop being angry. I wanted to close the distance in the dream, or better yet, in the real world.

I wanted to touch him, to feel his body against mine the way I hadn’t since—

Since before. Since Lee and I were one person and Daniel was everything to us.

But wanting and doing were very different things.

“I try not to think about that,” I said.

Lee studied me for a long time, still infuriatingly patient. “You’re going to have to, eventually.”

“Yeah. Well. Not today.” I stood up. The cabin suddenly felt too small, the walls too close together.

I needed to move. I needed to be anywhere that wasn’t six feet from my literal other half, having a conversation that was threatening to peel my skin open. “I’m going for a run.”

He nodded but he didn’t offer to come with me. A rarity, since we did practically everything together. But he probably understood that I needed the space from him. If I was a little more generous and patient—like him—I might let myself wonder how he was feeling, too. But I strongly suspected I didn’t want the answer to that question.

I dressed quickly and I was out the door before Lee could say anything else.

* * *

The forest blurred around me, swallowing me whole as I raced through it. It was morning and without moonlight, I couldn’t shift, but I was still stronger and faster than the average person, even when in human form. And the area around the commune had trails, of sorts, beaten by the pack over the years.

I ran hard and fast, weaving through the pines, leaping fallen logs, pushing my body until my muscles burned and my lungs ached and there was no room in my head for anything except the next stride. This was the only time the noise in my head quieted fully.

But the problem with running was that eventually, you had to slow down. And when I did, the thoughts were right there, teeth bared, waiting for me to lower my guard.

All of it came rushing back: Daniel. The dreams—and yeah, they were mate dreams, I wasn’t a total idiot. The connection humming between Daniel, Lee, and me like a living thing. Wondering if I, the impulsive half—the weaker half—actually belonged here at all.

That was easy to answer, at least. Because I didn’t. Plain and simple.

I hadn’t been born into the pack, the way Reed, Lacey, Sarah, and Emma were. I hadn’t chosen the bite, the way Harris had. I hadn’t had five years to adjust to being a werewolf, the way Oliver had. And I wasn’t as smart as Lee. Even Daniel, who could do literal magic, belonged more than I did.

The only thing I had going for me was that I was a damn good fighter—I was better than Lee in that singular way. One of the best fighters in the pack, actually. Even though I’d only gotten a crash course in the months after becoming a wolf.

Somehow, violence came naturally to me. And I’d adjusted to my new abilities better and faster than Lee had.

So long as I kept my mouth shut and didn’t rock the boat too much, that would be enough to stay. The pack didn’t know me—not really—and they probably wouldn’t much like me if they did. Most of them—with the exception of Lacey, who was convinced I had bullshit in both pockets—thought I was a nice guy. They had no idea I had a deep well of fury and pain inside me that I had no way to express in words.

And then came the worst of it: the thoughts about before.

Hunter Lee Jameson—the person I’d been before I’d become two people—had been in love with Daniel Henbane.

Not the might-have-been-something-someday kind of love. Not a crush. It was the can’t-eat-can’t-sleep-can’t-breathe-without-him, first-and-only-love-of-my-life kind.

We’d been best friends since Daniel’s family moved next door when he was eight and I was nine. We’d grown up together, inseparable, and we’d done everything together. Every free moment, he was at my house, or we were playing in the field behind our homes, or else exploring the creek down the street.

For years it was just a powerful friendship, but the intense, all-consuming kind, where you’d rather spend a Friday night with each other than with just about anyone else on earth. And then, when we were sixteen, the friendship had caught fire. He’d come out to me a couple weeks prior, a nervous wreck—as if he’d thought for even a second that I might judge him—and I’d been able to throw the ball right back into his court and come out to him, too.

After that, we’d both just… known. Hell, we’d always known. Even before we had words for what we were to each other, what we might become.

Our first kiss had been in my truck, parked at night on the side of Highway 17, a few miles outside our hometown of Moses Lake, the summer before junior year. There were miles upon miles of open country in both directions, the normally brown landscape of Eastern Washington turned a haunting deep indigo under the canopy of stars.

Daniel had been rambling about something—a book he’d read, maybe, or something he’d seen on TV. I couldn’t remember the details anymore. Some of the older memories of before were a little faded, like photographs left out in the sun too long. But I remembered the way Daniel’s clear, dark eyes had been shining with enthusiasm, the way he’d gestured excitedly with his hands while he talked, grinning at me, and then feeling the sudden, overwhelming certainty that I couldn’t go another second without kissing him.

And so I did. And Daniel had kissed me back. It was like we’d both been waiting our entire lives for that moment. It had been clumsy at first, neither of us having been kissed before, but still perfect.