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I don’t remember much from my childhood, but I have a vivid memory of staring down at the little pink bundle of blankets at a soft, squishy baby Elena. Even as a little boy, I knew it was my job to protect her.

As a future alpha, Raf felt it, too. I always thought my urge to keep her safe was me fulfilling my duty as her big brother’s best friend.

The impulse stayed with me as we grew up — the feeling becoming so engrained that I never looked at it too hard. Until now.

Elena, probably four or five years old, falling off her bike. I’d been next door at my place making Hamburger Helper, and I saw it happen from the kitchen window.

I ran outside and scooped a crying Elena off the sidewalk, carrying her back to her yard and setting her in the grass.

Her little face was red and tear-stained, and she had a nasty scrape on her knee. I still remember the little pink butterfly clipsshe wore in her pigtails. I kissed the skin just above the wound and ran into her house to find a bandage.

I let the Hamburger Helper burn. It was late enough that my dad had slept off the pills and booze and early enough that he hadn’t started drinking again. When I came back inside to the smell of burnt beef and macaroni, he shoved me into the doorframe so hard that it made my ears ring.

My mate.

Elena, twelve years old, in the passenger seat of my beloved Jeep. I’d just driven it off the used-car lot, and Raf had called and asked if I could pick up his sister from a sleepover. His mother had told him to do it, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t.

I could tell Elena was upset about something as soon as she got in the car. She’d been hanging out with Casey Taylor —the queen mean girl of her grade. Judging by Lena’s puffy red eyes, the sleepover hadn’t gone well.

I’d been so excited about the lux after-market sound system my Jeep had come with. I’d been dying to play Eminem’sRecoveryalbum as soon as I drove it off the lot, but seeing Elena so sad, I let her blast Katy Perry all the way home.

My mate.

Elena, fifteen years old, at her Quinceañera.

Her mom had hired a DJ, and someone hadn’t given the guy the memo that Elena’s dad was dead. When his voice boomed out to announce the father-daughter dance, I read the panic in Lena’s eyes.

She was just standing there in her poofy blue dress, looking like Cinderella waiting for her prince to show up.

Raf was busy sneaking booze in the kitchen. All of her uncles and cousins were there, but they were either engrossed in conversation or else just staring like a deer caught in the headlights.

I bolted to her side with shifter speed and pulled her onto the dance floor. I can still feel the sharp pinch in my chest at the relief and gratitude in her eyes.

My mate.

Elena, lying in a hospital bed all beat-up and bruised from the accident. Tubes and wires snaked all over her body, and the only sounds apart from her heartbeat were the mechanical beeps and sucking noises from her ventilator.

The doctors had shaved a section of hair on the right side of her head, making her look like some badass punk-rock chick who’d been in a bar fight. She had thirty-six staples holding her closed. I’d counted each and every one.

But it wasn’t the shaved head or the staples that bothered me. It was Elena’s scent. She smelled like burnt plastic, antiseptic, and gasoline.

I didn’t think she knew I was there. She hadn’t opened her eyes.

I’d never been the type to pray — didn’t know who or what to pray to. But I prayed then that she would be all right. Shehadto be all right.

My mate.

I hadn’t had a single romantic thought about Elena until the night of her sweet sixteen, so I’d never considered that she could be my mate.

But that night when she looked up at me with those big brown eyes like I hung the fucking moon and stars, I knew my feelings toward her had changed. That didn’t make them okay, which was why I’d left town and joined the Gold Creek pack. I was a twenty-one-year-old with poor impulse control. I didn’t need that level of temptation.

I almost told her how I felt after she woke up in thehospital, but Raf had told me she was dating some guy named Derek, so I stayed away.

But now . . .

Elena’s not a kid anymore, and she’s not a sixteen-year-old girl. She’s a beautiful woman sleeping two feet away, and my dick is as hard as a rock. I want nothing more than to close the distance between us and slide my hand up the soft skin of her thigh to see if she’s as turned on as I am.

My wolf wants me to mark her. Claim her. Mate her. Fuck her.