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She’s standing perfectly still in the center of the hall, and she’s looking toward me. Obviously, she can’t see me, but I think that she can sense me.
“So it’s you,” she says.
“It’s me.”
“You think we’re mates.”
Not a lot gets past little Heather.
“I don’t think we are. My father does.”
“He doesn’t care if you’re with a human.”
“He wants the dreams to stop.”
“Why?” She asks. “What’s so bad about the dreams?”
“They’re getting worse,” I tell her. “Aren’t yours?”
Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, tearful that I can’t find my mate. In my dreams, I run, chasing her, over and over, and she’s always just out of my reach.
“Yes. I don’t see why that means we need to get married. You don’t even know me. You don’t even like me,” she scoffs.
“I want to keep you safe.”
“That’s not the same thing as love, Flynn.”
“I’m not saying it is, but...”
“But what?”
I sigh. An unmated shifter is someone who will never be happy. Failing to mate curses a shifter to a life of solitude. Nobody likes a lone wolf, but it’s not because they’re grumpy. It’s because lone wolves eventually go crazy. Failing to find and connect with their mate is powerful enough that it drives most wolves to insanity.
My father knows this, and he’s fearful for me. He worries that this will become my fate if I don’t wed my bride. He also knows that I’m one of the few single wolves in the pack, and although I haven’t mentioned my dreams to him, he’s not an idiot. Our housing units are side-by-side. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s heard me screaming in my sleep.
He’s been polite not to say anything, but if Heather really is the one, then maybe we should mate. Maybe it would solve both of our problems. Maybe it would give us hope.
“We both need this,” I say.
“Excuse me, but no. Neither one of us needs this. I definitely don’t. You don’t even know me, Flynn. How can you say you want to marry me? And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be your nightmare juice.”
I was afraid she’d say this, and unfortunately, I can still hear the alarms going off in the school. I’ve found Heather, and I’ve caught her, and it’s time to bring her back inside. As much as I don’t want to, it’s time.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“For this.”
I step forward and grab her before she can run.
“No! Not again! Let me go!”
She kicks and screams, yelling. I toss her over my shoulder and Heather kicks and yells, hitting me with her tiny fists. The pain doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, it doesn’t hurt. Not even a little bit. The only thing that hurts is my heart because unlike last time, I’ve kind of gotten to know her a little bit, and I know that she’s fierce and fiery and fun.
I know that she’s passionate about writing and crazy about her cats.
And I know that she might, just might, be my destiny.
