Page 14 of Destined Mate (Cross Creek Pack of San DeLain)
“Think the others are already here?” Duncan asked cautiously.
Wesley laughed without humor. “I would bet most are here or arriving soon.”
They passed a group hanging around an outdoor café, and Wesley sensed other paranormals—there was no mistaking certain scents.
Eventually, they made their way back to the SUV. Once inside, he exhaled slowly, wrestling with the mounting tension simmering inside him.
“It’s going to be a long few days,” Duncan said.
Wesley nodded. Duncan voiced what they were all thinking as they headed back to the hotel. “Yes, it is.”
NIGHT FELL swiftly over San DeLain, embracing it in a cloak of darkness.
After enjoying a satisfying meal at the hotel, they parted ways to pursue their own interests. The sparkling charm of the hotel pool enticed Theo and Duncan, and they were eager to take a dip.
Keith opted to stick around with Wesley, and they leisurely made their way to the bar that adjoined the restaurant. The dim glow of the bar’s ambient lighting and the hum of quiet chatter offered a cozy retreat for the evening.
He looked forward to tomorrow’s meeting. He’d never met a dragon. That should be fun. After a few beers, they retired to their room. Keith checked on Theo and Duncan to make sure they were settled in for the night.
Wesley and Keith watched TV for a bit, then went to bed.
When sleep finally came for Wesley, it brought with it dreams filled with the guttural growls of unseen wolves and sharp pangs of fear. Each sensation was vivid and unsettling.
In his mind’s eye, he saw frightened eyes staring back at him, eyes that followed his every step within a mysterious stone circle—a place he had not yet encountered in reality, but which loomed large and foreboding in his subconscious.
The densely wooded landscape was both foreign and familiar, alive with sound and shadow. He felt the anguish of those present and heard wolves’ snarls getting more intense, reverberating in the night air.
He’d never seen this place, yet it tugged at his instincts. This felt like home.
He moved through the forest with a sense of helpless dread, the path to the stone circle becoming more worn as he drew closer. From the darkness, there were gazes fixed upon him that begged him to do something, to help them… to help him .
When he finally reached the stone circle, the ancient site loomed skyward. Shadows flickered menacingly around its perimeter from lit torches.
The air was thick with tension and desperation, the growling almost drowning out the ominous pounding of his own heart. He felt the need to challenge, felt the pressing need to dominate the alpha who stood in the ring, waiting for him. The alpha who would deny Wesley his fate.
Anger surged through him as he stepped into the ring.
Right before he shifted, Wesley jerked awake, his senses hyperaware. His heart was an insistent drum in his chest, and he lay still for a moment, trying to calm his body.
He got out of bed silently, careful not to wake Keith, and glanced through the window at the sprawling city lights. It was pretty, but it didn’t soothe him.
Turning away, he walked into the bathroom, grabbed a cup, and ran himself some water. These visions were unheard of and making him crazy. The upcoming trial preyed on his mind, thanks to them.
He didn’t fear the other wolves—he was more than capable. Plus, something told him he’d win. No, the worry—dare he say it? The fear—he felt wasn’t about facing other wolves.
It came from the pain and panic in that damn gaze that was quickly coming to haunt him. He couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong, but he had nothing to base that on outside of a damn dream. A dream he shouldn’t be capable of having.
He took a deep breath and went back to bed—hopefully without the dreams this time.
WESLEY AND his small pack sat down with Hudson and his Right Hand, Conrad, in a sunlit office, the morning light casting long shadows across the polished wooden table. Their conversation flowed easily.
Feeling reassured, he left the meeting with a renewed sense of purpose. Later that night, he met Raven, Lady Annabel, and a soldier named Felix at the Black Rose Café, which Raven owned. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped them.
Raven’s intuitive understanding of the challenges at hand offered Wesley a comforting assurance. As he departed, he carried with him a buoyant feeling of confidence, knowing both meetings had solidified his plans.
Saturday, Sunday, and Monday passed quickly. In the meantime, the rest of the alphas arrived. Every night, Wesley dreamed, and each morning he awoke more certain than ever that something was seriously amiss at Cross Creek.
By Tuesday, he was restless and agitated, pacing around the room as if the walls were closing in on him. His constant movement and jittery energy were beginning to fray his packs mates’ nerves.
He knew their patience was wearing thin as he fidgeted and muttered to himself, his presence a relentless whirlwind of unease that made it hard for anyone to focus or relax.
Wednesday was the challenge, but something whispered that waiting would be a catastrophic mistake, and he’d be too late. Too late for what, he didn’t know. Shit was going to hit the fan because of what he was about to do, but he no longer cared.
He was going to Cross Creek.