Page 4 of Fated to the Alpha Warrior (The Wolf’s Forbidden Mate #1)

Dana seems to realize too late that she’s touched a raw nerve.

Grimacing, she puts her arms on my shoulders and rubs them with the towel to dry me off.

“Sorry, I… was getting wrapped up in the memories. I should’ve asked what happened to you.

Hell—first, I better get you dry, warm, and full of good food.

I have a cabin out near the fringes now, not far from that old coven.

It’s not perfect, but it’s mine, and you’re welcome to my guest room.

Unless you have somewhere better to be?”

Looking at Dana, all I feel is an immense sense of relief to finally be with someone who doesn’t see a broken, wolfless little girl when they look at me.

“That would be perfect.”

That guest room is now my bedroom. Gran’s quilts adorn the bed, and she gets out here as often as she can, usually when one of her neighbors takes her this way since her eyes aren’t good enough to drive at night. Sometimes Dana picks her up, since my motorcycle isn’t exactly Gran-friendly.

It’s the best way I can spend time with her now that going to her house means reopening the wound in my chest where the bond is, a void like a missing limb I never got to use.

The “cabin” Dana talked about is more of a modest house, albeit one with an alarming amount of cedar wood paneling.

Her parents had it built as their getaway spot, and after they both died in a freak car accident, Dana inherited it.

She came back out here to fix it up and sell it, but stayed, never returning to her new home in Pack Amethyst.

It turns out that when her parents took her away, they were running from Alpha Cade and the elders.

Dana’s never quite said why, and even Gran is a bit vague on the history, but I get the sense that it’s the reason she never really returned to the center of town or came to any pack meetings.

Technically, on paper and according to the pack bonds, she’s still one of us—just barely.

Kind of like me.

With the warm memory of being found by Dana still thrumming in my thoughts, I take a quick shower and get ready for the day.

I pick an outfit that’ll be cool, since the mid-summer sun warms even the Pacific Northwest, especially these days.

With a well-fitted black tank and a pair of slim, water-resistant athletic pants picked out, I braid my long ash blonde hair back and stride over to the full-length mirrored cabinet that doubles as a jewelry rack, and in my case, a bit of a weapons rack as well.

Opening the mirrored door, I select a few of my favorite cold iron rings and slide them onto my left pinky, middle, and index fingers.

I put more on my right thumb and ring finger.

Then I grab both a long, loose cross necklace, and a tight, so-thin-it’s-almost-invisible iron choker.

Finally, I pick out a slim iron dagger in a small sheath, draw it to double check its edge, and secure it at the base of my braid.

In the middle of the pack’s lands, where the alpha, his son, and all the warriors live, they don’t worry about things like random fae attacks or lone wolves.

Out here in the fringes, we have to be prepared to defend ourselves.

No one will come out to protect us if we get in trouble—and I like it that way.

Far better than the derision I’ve faced every time I get near the center of the pack’s lands, or worse, the pain of the rejected bond that flares up when I’m too close to him.

As a bit of extra insurance, I press my fingers to my mouth then to Gran’s photo where it’s pinned to the jewelry rack, kissing her goodbye for good luck.

Of course, she would scoff if she saw me doing it, even though I know she’s secretly pleased I’ve taken an interest in fae lore.

Carrie was a member of Pack Granite before their numbers dwindled and she joined Pack Jade with a few other Granite wolves.

Back in the ‘60s and ‘70s, Pack Granite hunted the fae. That was a time when they still came to our realm in droves, walking through doors made mostly by witches, and sometimes by humans. Gran likes to say that half the fae she hunted and killed were brought over by “hippies that should’ve known better than to mess with that sort of thing.”

Gran looks at me with a seriousness that’s unusual on her lined face.

“Listen closely, my little Aurora. If you’re going to live on the outskirts, you need to know a thing or two about signs the fae leave behind: rings of mushrooms are their portals into our world, they dislike cold iron and stale bread, and beware agreeing to one of their bargains. ”

She told me a story once of a shifter in Pack Granite who grew so bold he believed he could befriend the fae and borrow their magic without succumbing to their charms. One day, a fae asked him if he could “give him a story each night from memory.” When the shifter unthinkably obliged, he wound up bound to lose all his memories to the fae—who took them gladly, until one day the shifter woke up and didn’t even remember the bargain he’d made.

By that point, he had no clue who his loved ones were anymore, or even how to shift or that he could shift. Gran claims this tricky fae still roams the fae realms, shifting into a wolf at will, another thing he stole from the shifter.

I’m not sure if the story is true, but it holds a kernel of wisdom: be careful with your words around the fae, and be sure to listen to everything they say. Think once, then twice, then three times… and even if you think you know better, don’t agree with them at all.

Just because they can’t lie doesn’t mean they tell the truth.

With that warning in my heart and cold iron adorning several parts of my body, I head out to where Bessie is waiting in the driveway.

Bessie, of course, is my beloved motorcycle.

I bought her secondhand from another shifter in the outskirts, then fixed her up myself—breaking her several times in the process.

Courtesy of sheer stubborn force of will, several how-to videos, and more than a few tears and beers, I now have a way to get around pack land that doesn’t make me feel useless.

Instead, with the wind in my hair, the bike between my thighs, and the road disappearing beneath me, I feel fucking amazing.

It doesn’t hurt that Bessie is high up off the ground and capable of going through the winding off-road paths that shifters here use in their wolf form.

Gunning down a small, unmarked exit, I ride her through the sparse woods of the fringes.

Bessie’s tires kick up dirt and mud, sheering through any vegetation that’s dared to grow since we last rode this way.

I kick things up a notch, zipping around two wolves racing through the underbrush, enjoying their alarmed yips as I race by at full speed.

My mechanic, Walt, will groan when he sees what I’ve done to her this time.

But I’ll happily pay him in cash—and hang around to watch as he fixes her up again—if it means I get to feel this alive for even a moment or two.

It doesn’t matter that there are twigs in my hair and bugs splattering the visor of my helmet, which I wear only because Gran would kill me if I didn’t.

Having Bessie makes this life of mine a little bit easier to accept.

Soon enough the road opens up in front of me again, and I slow down to pull onto it.

My stop isn’t far down the road, so it’s a matter of minutes before I’m pulling up to the parking lot and reluctantly setting the kickstand out so I can turn the engine off and climb off my bike.

Walking again after riding always feels a little blah—which is probably what I imagine shifters feel when they shift back to human form.

I wouldn’t know. I haven’t even felt my wolf whine since that day in the amphitheater. For all I know I imagined the whole thing, that’s how I desperate I was back then.

The Aurora I am now is different. Stronger, harder. She wouldn’t give Kieran McCade a single thought, much less consider throwing herself at his mercy in desperation.

If only the mate bond—and my late-night stress dreams—would catch up with the rest of me.

“You took your sweet ass time.” Dana greets me as I walk up to the training grounds, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that sets off her tanned complexion. “For a second there I thought you’d meditated so long that you actually ascended.”

Rolling my eyes, I jostle her shoulder playfully. “Maybe if you worked on your own inner peace better I wouldn’t be able to put you in a leg lock.”

She scowls at this. “Just watch it. Today I’m going to have you practice your kicks before we face off.”

We head together to the open, outdoor training ground that passes for the sole “gym” in the outskirts of pack lands.

It’s almost always deserted, no matter how good the weather is, despite the fact that the equipment here is just as good as it is elsewhere.

Hell, practicing outside prepares you better for what happens in the real world—or so Dana claimed the first time she made me grapple with her in the rain.

She’s taught me multiple forms of martial arts since that fateful day on the road five years ago.

We practice little bits of everything from Krav Maga to Kung Fu, and even a little Tai Chi.

Dana learned most of it from her parents, especially her dad, as well as a trainer they had in Pack Amethyst. The alpha there insists that all his shifters know how to fight in human form—unlike Alpha Cade, who seems to think that being able to shift is all that matters.

If it weren’t for Dana, I’m not sure where I would be today. Not just because she’s the reason I have a home, but also because she’s the reason I have a purpose. She’s helped me feel strong and proud of my far-too-human body in ways I never thought possible.

As we warm up with stretches, kicks, and deep breathing, Dana and I catch up. “How’d that trip out of town go?” I swivel my hip as I back kick, and she makes a fist for me to use as a target. “Did you find that rare marble you were looking for?”

Dana operates the only antiques store in Pack Jade lands, and has been sourcing rare marble lately for a client with a taste for heavy coffee tables.

“I did, and I found something even better.” Dana motions for us to switch, and I hold up my fist for her to target with some front kicks. “There’s this coven out east, not far from where you were born, actually. They say they’ve found a way to break a shifter’s mate bond.”

I swallow, raising my brows at her as she taps my fist with a particularly brutal kick. “What do you need something like that for? You don’t have a mate.”

“Exactly—and I’m going to keep it that way.” Switching positions, Dana hits my fist with a side kick, then steps up and swings around with a roundhouse. “I’m going to make sure that what happened to you never happens to me. No offense.”

None taken, but as we finish our warm-up and move into our sparring session, I let my mind wander.

Last night’s dream was more than just the typical stress dream I’ve had since the rejection.

It was intense and far too real, from the patter of rain on my skin to the look of contempt in dream-Kieran’s eyes.

For years, I’ve done nothing about the rejected bond except stay away and hope that the pain fades.

But as I spar with Dana, the two of us checking our movements, each kick and punch fluid and aggressive, I can feel the pain of the bond in my chest. It flares to life like this every once and a while, and if I weren’t used to breathing through pain by now, it’d probably bring me to my knees from the sheer agony.

Our fight today draws a crowd. Spectators from the fringes watch as they stretch and warm up for their own workouts, most of them working with weights rather than sparring. I hear whispers as I sweep Dana’s legs out from under her, and I do my best to zone them out.

But as Dana taps out in the middle of our grappling, and I step back, having won with sheer grit and determination, I take a second to look around us.

The crowd is bigger than normal.

And it’s not just shifters from the outskirts today.

I recognize a few of my old neighbors from the center of the pack lands.

There’s Eddy, who runs the dive bar near the gas station.

Victoria, who teaches young shifter girls ballet.

Even one of Gran’s neighbors, old man Pete, has shown up to watch.

And he pretty much only goes outside his little neighborhood for Alpha Cade, or…

Kieran.

I can feel the bond flaring to life. Even though I should be proud of myself at beating Dana today, all I feel is the pack’s judgmental gaze, and this strange, hollow feeling in my chest. That can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.

“You good?” Dana shoots me a quizzical look, glancing around us at the crowd watching from a distance. “Normally you gloat a little bit more than this, especially if you beat me in the first round.”

“I’m alright,” I tell her without making eye contact, watching as the gazes in the crowd take me in with scorn. “Just not used to being watched this closely.”

That’s when I see him, watching from afar. He’s standing near one of the ramshackle houses set up in this part of the outskirts, most of them built into the hill.

From this distance, I can’t see his face, which is probably for the best. In my mind he’s looking at me as he was in my dream: with hatred and disgust.

I know it’s him even from afar. He’s watching me too. I can feel it from the bond, which pulses like a living thing in my chest, painfully aware of his presence.

And his distance.

Scanning the crowd, I realize that I’m surrounded by the pack. Being watched by my mate. Supported by my best friend, after winning a round of sparring against her.

Yet I’ve never felt so completely and totally alone.

“Let’s go another round,” I tell Dana, meeting her eyes as I wipe the sweat off my neck. “I’m not done yet.”

“That’s my girl.”

Then, with a grin, she tackles me to the ground so hard that I can feel the bruises bloom on my ribs—and I’ve never been so grateful in my life.