Page 2 of A Wolf’s Wound

Ryder

“It’s a great way to spend my day off.” She takes a sip of her fruity drink and nods. “Not that I don’t love my work at the vet clinic, because I do.”

I dip my head as she tells her story, leaning against a barstool as she continues to babble, but I stop listening.

Maybe I should try looking less bored. I nurse the golden liquid in my glass. Nah.

My date is beautiful. Fucking stunning, actually. She’d look good on my arm.

Or in my bed beneath me.

But the thought doesn’t warm my blood as it should—as I want it to. It’s like I have no… interest in her. The fuck? This unusual feeling has been growing more and more bothersome in the past weeks.

What does it matter, though? I can just find another one.

I nearly groan aloud, unsure which path to take. Because she really is gorgeous. She has long wavy blonde hair and bright gray eyes. She has the body of a supermodel and is only a few inches shorter than me. She’s the entire package. Beautiful, intelligent, charming, and successful.

And fuck me sideways—I can’t bring myself to care.

You don’t even know where you are. Maybe get your head on straight first. I swallow my drink and stop before I roll my eyes at my reproachful inner voice.

Not that my inner voice is wrong, per se. I don’t know where I am. We’re at a pub in downtown Stonehaven that she suggested, but I’ve never been here before.

Not sober anyway.

Knocking back my glass, I set the empty on the counter and order another for us both, though she can’t seem to keep up with me like she did in the bar where we met. At least, I think that was her that met me drink for drink.

“Ready to eat?” I try to give her a bright smile, but it feels forced.

I lead my date from the bar over to a booth close to the front door and signal to the bartender that we’re moving. Being close to the door means an easy escape for me if necessary. It also means that if we hit it off, we can leave easily enough too.

Eh, I don’t think that’s going to happen tonight, though.

“Your drinks, sir.” I look up at the waitress, offer her a fierce smile, and take my glass.

When I look back at my date, she’s still speaking. Thank God. I couldn’t talk even if she’d let me get a word in edgewise. It lets my mind wander instead, and that’s something I’m more inclined toward right now.

Do I even know her name?

Amber?

Ashley?

No . Ashley was last night.

I know her name starts with an A. I try to quiet the voice in my head.

It just speaks snidely back. Well done. A for effort, if you will.

I’ll make it up to her when she takes me to her place, I retort and then clear my throat as she asks me a question.

“What do you do for a living? I think I’ve spoken about myself enough already.” Her smile is bright and beautiful. Her mouth is wide. Her eyes sparkle. She is designed to smile and be absolutely gorgeous.

So why don’t I feel anything for her?

I clear my throat again. “I’m in the family business. It’s kind of complicated, and I don’t really want to talk about work right now. I’d rather hear more about you.”

She smiles sympathetically, and right then the waitress comes back to take our food order. It’s a good thing, too, because my inner wolf is growing restless with all the liquor and no meat to sate his cravings.

I don’t want to talk about work. And it’s not like I could if I wanted to. I can’t exactly tell her I’m the beta of the Stone wolf pack.

Hi, it’s nice to meet you. By the way, I’m a shifter. Nope.

I snort as I struggle to stifle laughter and cover it with a cough. My date doesn’t seem to notice, but the waitress’s eyes are sparkling as she turns to me. In my usual fashion, I wasn’t listening, nor have I looked at the menu, so I mutter, “I’ll have the special.”

The waitress takes off to the kitchen, and I look back at not-Amber/not-Ashley, wondering how I’m going to get out of explaining what I do and why I don’t talk about it.

But those questions don’t come. Instead, I exhale with relief when she starts talking about herself again.

I’ll have a reprieve for a few minutes anyway.

It is warm in the pub from the crowd of bodies, and warm outside due to the time of year. Our little town is on the cusp between spring and summer, and it grows warmer every day. As a wolf, weather is something I can talk about for hours.

The mornings are brighter earlier, and the sun lingers in the sky later at night. The air is fresh and vibrant and crisp and beautiful.

I don’t think you’ll be going home with her. My wolf speaks with finality, and I agree.

Amber or Ashley, or whatever her name is, isn’t the one for me. Just like every one of my dates this week.

She is speaking so enthusiastically that a pang of guilt trembles through me. For a moment, I can’t breathe, and my vision becomes cloudy.

I shouldn’t have taken her out. I was drunk when I asked her on this pathetic excuse of a date, but I should have known then that it would be useless.

As much as I don’t care even vaguely about all the women I’ve been seeing, I have no desire to intentionally hurt them. No one deserves that pain.

I sit in discomfort as I think about all the dates I have been on. I spend notorious nights out, garnering such a reputation as a shifter the girls can’t get enough of.

I pretend to my pack that I don’t care about finding my mate.

That I don’t want anything serious.

That I don’t want pups of my own.

But I know, deep down, I’ve hoped on every one of these dates I would find my fated mate.

Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place.

You don’t just stumble across the woman who was designed for you by destiny. The voice in my head, my voice but with a growling edge, scoffs at me. Fate brings you together. Just be patient.

But I am done being patient. The wolf inside me, the basest part of me, needs its mate.

I can’t suppress the low rumbling in my chest as the wolf inside me growls and paws against me, ready to be out.

He ’s ready for a mate. My eyes close briefly as the wolf paces in my mind, my eyes burning as my beast takes some of my control—pushing to be set free.

I reach blindly for the glass filled with premium Scotch.

But I cannot lift the glass. Instead, I wrap my hand around it and squeeze. I inhale deeply until the threat of spontaneous shift has passed.

I am in control most of the time. But sometimes, mostly when I am thinking about my mate, the wolf tries to take over.

When I look at the glass, a crack has formed at the base and has traveled all the way to the top. Shit.

I let go quickly, trying to refocus my attention. I vow to enjoy the rest of the date—even if she’s not my mate. I should engage with her, learn more about her. Maybe I can set her up with someone. She would make any man happy. Anyone would be lucky to have her.

I open my mouth to ask a question she’s probably already answered when my jaw snaps shut of its own volition, my gums stinging as my fangs push through.

The uneasiness comes on so suddenly I don’t even realize it’s taken control. It begins in the pit of my stomach—a low burning. Something that could be mistaken for drinking on an empty stomach. That has to be it.

I smile at her, gripping my knife and fork tightly. Then, I remember the glass and loosen my grip on the utensils. No bending steel in public.

The uneasiness builds and swells until it’s all I can process in my mind. The tightness in my chest, and the constriction around my heart is all-consuming.

What the hell are we even talking about? Did our topic somehow trigger my wolf?

I give her a close-lipped smile, and she smiles brightly back. The disquiet spreads from my torso to every other part of my body.

Every muscle in my body tightens, flexing. My blood burns, and equal parts anxiety and irrational anger unfurl in my throat.

Inside me, the wolf snarls and paws at its mental prison.

The sun is close to setting, and I haven’t even started on my meal, but I feel the urge to get out of the bar. Now.

Suddenly the cracked glass of Scotch shatters. My date shrieks and so do several of the people at nearby tables.

A waitress rushes over to clean up the mess. “Are you okay, sir? We’ll bring you another drink right away.”

I barely see her. Instead, my vision has become cloudy again. This time, it is because inside me, the wolf has sensed danger—imminent danger. To me? To my date? I’m unsure…

And I am halfway to shifting. In public.

Control. You’re surrounded by clueless humans. Control, dammit.

But my adrenaline rushes forward, the wolf responding to the threat and pulling my human half along. I am breathless, leaning over and coughing slightly as I struggle against the animal I’ve shared a body with for over thirty years.

“Are you okay? Did you swallow some glass?” My date, Amber/Ashley, is standing over me, her hand coming to my back. The other patrons of the pub are looking at me with expressions of confusion, concern, and disgust.

Fuck ’em all.

The wolf and adrenaline have become one, a twisting, dark thing inside me that won’t go unanswered. I can do nothing more now but give in. My wolf has sensed that something is wrong. Something—someone—important to me is in danger.

I don’t know what it is or who it is. But I have to leave the bar before it’s too late.

I stand and tug my wallet out of my back pocket. I pull out a wad of bills and throw them onto the table, not bothering to count the cash.

“Sorry.” I spare a glance for Amber/Ashley. “I’ve gotta go. Something has come up and…” I just shake my head because I can’t speak without flashing fangs. Then I’m dashing out of the pub and down the street within seconds.

Wolves are natural trackers, and shifters have instincts second to none. Now that I’m moving, I let those instincts guide me. I lift my nose to the air, and the wolf inside sniffs, no longer forcing me to shift now that it has control of the human form and we’re doing what it desires.

A shimmering scent rises above all others—one I have to track—one that will lead me to the source of whatever pulled me unceremoniously from my date.

Poor Amber/Ashley. You’ll have to call her and apologize. My wolf spares a thought for the woman, but I’m not sure I care. Not when the owner of that aroma I’ve found needs me.

The scent my wolf has picked up is sweet, ripe, and plush with undertones of citrus. A growl bristles inside my chest as I round a corner and sprint down the street, my feet pounding the asphalt.

I am only a few blocks away from the pub when I stop in front of a block of apartments. It’s an older part of the city, and the buildings are impressively built with beautiful architecture.

But none of that matters.

Move. You have to move. Danger.

My thoughts are no longer my own, overcome by my wolf’s instincts.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

Move.

Now.

The voice of the wolf, a dark rush of disjointedness and urgency, echoes around my mind. I can barely think beyond the need to find the source of my restlessness as I burst into the foyer of the apartment building.

Danger.

Up the stairs.

Second floor.

I follow the wolf, who guides me quickly up the staircase.

Danger!

I burst through the first doorway, the wood panel normally protecting the apartment barely clinging to its hinges with bits of debris scattered everywhere.

My human sight has left me wholly. Instead, I see in tones of wolf, my pupils dilating and contracting, turning yellow as my beast takes control.

My sharpened vision picks out the individual dust particles in the air and the scuffs on the floor that point to a sign of struggle.

My sense of smell has only increased, and now the sour scent of a man and sweat make my wolf’s teeth snap into place. It’s almost as if I can trace the scent of violence through the apartment as I stalk forward.

Danger. Hurry , the wolf whispers. It bares its teeth, ready to pounce.

Without hesitation, I leap into the room.