Page 8 of Colton’s Mate

Chapter 4

A few days later, Colt was on his way home from the building supply store with a load of plumbing fixtures, PVC pipe and tile. After they’d become a crew, he, Remy, Kitty and Brandon had pooled their money to buy and renovate the derelict old mansion Brandon was renting.

They were starting with bathrooms. They all agreed that five people sharing the one tiny bathroom that actually worked was going to end in bloodshed sooner or later. Especially since it opened off Kitty and Brandon’s bedroom.

The alpha and his new mate were spending so much time doing the horizontal boinkety-boink, Colt and Remy had been reduced to turning animal and crapping in the woods.

He’d never thought buying toilets would be so exciting. He couldn’t wait to install them.

Even so, he found himself detouring past Callie’s house on the way home. Just to check on her.

Because she was all alone, and there were still crows and panthers out there. Making sure she was okay was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Yes, said his leopard eagerly. We will stalk her like gentlemen.

Ever since the other night at the bar, he kept thinking of her at odd moments. Her stormy eyes, and the way her legs looked in her Silver Armadillo Bar & Grill short shorts. The way she’d unapologetically dumped a drink all over Miranda.

He knew he was supposed to feel bad about that—he’d even sent Miranda flowers with an apology note and gotten a text with a middle finger emoji in return.

Honor satisfied on both sides.

But when he looked back on Friday night, all he could think of was Callie looking so sexy and confident, causing mayhem worthy of a Wild Blood crew member.

Callie’s face lighting up with laughter as she wiped peach martini off her face.

Callie’s lips on his, taking a makeout selfie just to prove she could.

Callie lips, his leopard murmured, purring.

Fur creature, said his owl with a yawn. Borrrring.

Callie wasn’t home, which made Colt irrationally disappointed. He’d hoped she’d be sitting out in her yard, maybe, and then he could have casually stopped and chatted with her.

Now he wondered where she was.

His leopard said, We can find her. Hunt her down. Stalk her from the tall grass. Pounce on her.

His owl pricked its ears up. Hunting? Yessss. We can swoop down on her from above, carry her off and tear out her innards with our beak.

Fuck.

Colt said to them, You two are just a couple of romantics, aren’t you?

Stalking is romantic? his leopard asked hopefully.

Innards, said his owl. Mmmm.

Colt ignored them, thinking. Callie might be at the burned-out bar. He knew she’d started the demolition of the remaining structure, because he’d had Remy hack into the computers at the municipal and county building offices so they’d get alerts when any permits were filed.

Just out of friendly interest.

Hacking is not stalking? his leopard asked. Hacking is romantic?

We’re not getting romantic with Callie. Callie wasn’t a party girl you could date occasionally, in between a bunch of other women. Callie was brave and sexy and funny and… real. Full of substance.

Relationship material.

And for Colt, that was a big No. He’d grown up in a crew where all the couples were true mates, totally devoted to each other. He’d seen what that was like first-hand.