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FOUR
WILDER
Wilder rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. He didn’t need to look out the window to know it was well passed the time he went home. The full moon was high in the sky, and soon, it would be tomorrow.
There were downfalls to being an insomniac and a workaholic.
Wilder could always justify just one more hour of work.
With a sigh, he stood. If he stayed another minute, he would never hear the end of it from Padma. Every time she read one of his emails or texts, she noted the timestamp, and she gave him grief for not, at the very least,tryingto sleep.
It was never any use, though.
What was he supposed to do? Go home to an empty house? Lie in an empty bed?
No.
It was too much to ask of him.
Even after five long years during which he had aged about a century, he couldn’t lay his head on his pillow without thinking of his mate.
Amelia.
She wasn’t his.
She never would be.
She was another man’s wife. A man who didn’t deserve her, but that didn’t matter. She had made her choice without knowing she was an alpha wolf’s mate. She had chosen her path long before meeting him.
Wilder would always mourn the love that could never be his, but it was easier to do that when he wasn’t alone in his too-big too-empty house. He could try to work the pain away.
With another deep sigh, he stood, shut down his laptop, and turned out the light. He looked around his office, checking one last time if there wasn’t another task he could do.
Unsurprisingly, there was nothing.
Even his usually quite bothersome siblings were quiet. It was probably due to the fact that all of them had met their mates. Even the reclusive Canaan had found someone to share the rest of his life with.
Wilder was in a sour mood as he took the elevator down to the ground floor. A bit of cool night air would do him good before he went to the parking garage to get his car.
He was barely out of the door when a scent tickled his nose.
His entire body sparked with recognition. Wilder didn’t have to look around to see who smelled like his mate.
It was her.
Amelia Sunderland was right there on his front step. Was he hallucinating? Had he somehow conjured her? Was he finally losing his mind and hallucination?
“Amelia?” he asked, his voice rough.
Her eyes went wide as she gasped. “You remember me?”
He cleared his throat before he answered. How the fuck could he explain remembering a woman he had barely met five years ago? “I never forget a face,” he lied. Her scent was the same that haunted his memory—only crisper. Sharper.Better. Everything about her was better than he remembered.
She was prettier, lovelier than he could have remembered.
He scanned every inch of her with hungry eyes, but really, he was looking for a wedding ring or any sign of an injury. What else could he do when he ran into his mate outside his office in the middle of the night?
“What are you doing here?”
