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Chey lifts her cup, resting the rim against her chin. “You know, it’s your pack, Javi. Not hers.”
“It’s all of ours,” I correct.
She takes a sip, eyeing me as she swallows it down. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
“It’s what’s best,” I reply confidently. “We’ve been on the run for too long.”
“That’s the truth.”
I finish off my own drink, abandoning my cup on the dresser rather than going for another pour. I need to have a clear head tonight just in case my mom noticed my absence during the run and decides to grill me about where I went. I’d tell Chey, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting my mother in on the fact that I’ve got a mate out there in the six-pack. She’d twist it somehow, try to exploit that connection to further her own agenda.
“I’ve got a lead on a couple of freelance photography gigs over in Breckenridge,” Chey tosses out casually, thumbing the rim of her plastic cup. “I was thinking of heading up there tomorrow afternoon to check them out. Wanna ride with me?”
“Can’t. I’ve got recon to do over at the six pack.”
She narrows her amber eyes on me like she sees right through my lie. “I thought you were done poking around now that you’ve made contact?”
“Can never be too careful,” I say with a shrug.
I hate lying to Cheyenne. If I tell her what I’m really doing, though, I’ll have to come clean about everything, and I’ve already decided against that for the time being.
“Alright, no worries,” she quips, waving a hand. “Maybe I’ll see if Meg’s up for a ride.”
“She usually is,” I snort.
Chey throws me a glare, decidedly unamused by my double-entendre. I just grin back at her.
The sound of chatter arises from outside, and I glance toward the door, pushing off from the dresser. “Sounds like they’re starting to come back, we’d better get out there.”
“You go ahead,” Chey sighs, balancing her cup in a hand and reclining back on her elbows.
I frown, watching her take another sip of tequila. Part of me wants to push her to come hang out with the pack- it would be good for her to get out and mingle a bit. I don’t, though, because I can’t begin to understand the trauma she carries, so I’ve learned to just stay quiet and respect her need for space.
“Let me know how it goes in Breckenridge tomorrow,” I murmur, giving her a nod.
“Let me know how it goes with the six pack,” she winks.
“Yeah.”If only I could.
6
While a lot of regular girls dream about getting married someday, many of us she-wolves fantasize about finding our fated mate. The whole concept is always explained like it has all the trappings of a fairytale- locking eyes beneath the full moon, your soul recognizing its other half in someone else, the bond snapping into place… romantic, right? Except I now know from experience that it’s not all heart eyes and riding off into the sunset. Far from it.
Javier Cruz is my fated mate.
I still can’t wrap my mind around that fact, and I have no idea what to do with that information or where to go from here. I feel like I’ve just been floundering since last night’s revelation, my carefully curated life of structure and planning rapidly descending into chaos.
I haven’t been able to think straight since our bond snapped in. There are so many uncertainties; so many unknown implications of what this means for the two of us. My wolf has been restless all day, anxious to be near our mate, and her agitation has rubbed off on me, grating on my nerves.
I’m a damn mess.
I’ve been trying to approach this logically, but the entire situation is like an equation that I can’t quite solve. It doesn’t make sense that fate would pair me up with Javi. Sure, I barely know the guy, but from our few interactions I can already tell how drastically different the two of us are. He’s this handsome, smooth-talking, arrogant alpha, and I’m just…me. A little socially awkward, a lot sarcastic, and decidedly uncomfortable with stepping out of my comfort zone. I mean, the bond is there, but how the hell are we supposed to forge some sort of intellectual connection when we’ve got nothing in common?
“What do you think, Lo?”
I jerk my head up at the sound of my name, sweeping my gaze around my table of friends at the squad complex dining hall until I land on the person who spoke it: Ares Raines.
He cracks a smile in response to my deer-in-the-headlights look, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Damn, girl. Where’d you go?”
