Page 12 of Fetch Me A Mate (Shifter Mates of Hollow Oak #1)

ROWAN

T he sky over Hollow Oak had turned the color of a fresh bruise.

Rowan worked on the roof, the wind tearing at his jacket, pulling at the corners of the heavy tarp he was wrestling into place.

A storm was coming in fast from the mountains, a real gully-washer by the smell of it.

He’d seen the clouds gathering and had stayed late, driven by an instinct he refused to name to make sure the inn’s wounds were covered.

He hammered the last anchor into place just as the first fat drops of rain began to fall. They hit the shingles with a sound like scattered pebbles, quickly building to a relentless drumming. He made his way to the ladder, soaked through in seconds, the wind a solid wall against his back.

He was halfway down when the lights inside the inn flickered. Once. Twice. Then they winked out, plunging the world into a deep twilight broken only by a startlingly bright flash of lightning. Thunder cracked directly overhead, a raw, splintering sound that vibrated through the ladder.

Inside, he stood dripping in the lobby, the darkness absolute. He could hear the storm raging, a wild, chaotic music of wind and water. He should leave. Get in his truck, drive to his small, empty cabin, and wait it out alone. That was the smart play. The safe play.

A soft glow appeared at the top of the main staircase.

Diana held a three-pronged candlestick, the flames dancing and casting flickering shadows that made her look like someone from another time. Her face, illuminated from below, was a study in soft curves and determined angles. She wasn’t frightened by the sudden dark, just focused.

“I had a feeling you were still here,” she said, her voice carrying easily through the roar of the storm. “The weather turned fast.”

“Just securing the roof,” he said, his own voice sounding rough in the enclosed space. “Didn’t want your new joists getting soaked.” He shrugged out of his wet jacket, the motion stiff.

“Well, thank you.” She descended the stairs, the candlelight moving with her.

“The power’s out all over the square. Twyla’s sign went dark a few minutes ago.

No telling when it’ll be back.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, the circle of light creating an intimate island in the vast, dark lobby. “The fire’s still going in the parlor.”

“I should go,” he said, the words automatic. He took a step toward the door, toward the cold and the rain and the solitude he knew he deserved. “No sense staying.”

“What, a big bad wolf like you afraid of the dark?” The words were light, a gentle tease, but her eyes held a challenge. She held the candlestick a little higher, a silent invitation. “I dare you to wait it out with me. I’ll even break out Miriam’s emergency whiskey.”

His mind screamed at him. Leave. Now. This is a trap. Too close. Too dark. Too dangerous. Leaving was the right thing to do, the only way to keep the wall between them solid. It was the only way to keep her safe from the ghosts that followed him.

But his wolf, so often a restless, angry beast he had to fight into submission, was suddenly, unnervingly still.

It wasn’t pacing. It wasn’t snarling. It was watching her, standing in the warm glow of the firelight she offered, and it felt the howling chaos of the storm outside and the quiet sanctuary inside.

The wolf wanted to stay. It wanted the warmth. It wanted its mate.

The silence stretched, filled only by the drumming of rain and the whistle of wind through the eaves. He looked from the front door, a dark rectangle promising a wet and lonely night, to her, a fixed point of light and warmth in the consuming dark.

He gave a slow, reluctant nod, the motion feeling like it was pulled from him. “Fine,” he heard himself say. “But just until the storm breaks.”

She smiled, a small, genuine curve of her lips that did more damage to his defenses than the entire storm could do to the roof. “Deal.”

She turned and led the way toward the parlor.

The candlelight threw their shadows long and distorted against the walls, making them seem like the only two people left in the world.

He followed her into the room, the heat from the hearth reaching for him, pulling him in.

The storm raged outside, and the inn held them in its quiet, dark embrace.

His wolf settled in his chest, not with a growl, but with a deep, patient hum. Waiting.

Thunder crashed overhead, rattling the windows in their frames. Diana flinched slightly at the sound, then laughed at herself.

"I love storms," she said. "Always have. Something about the raw power of it."

"Not scared?"

"Of thunder? No. Of other things, maybe." She glanced at him sideways. "What about you? Anything scare you?"

You, his wolf whispered. What you make me want. What I could lose.

"Not much," he said aloud.

"Practical answer from a practical man." Diana pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Though I'm starting to think there's more to you than practical."

"Like what?"

"Like the way you know exactly which floorboard will creak before you step on it. Like how you can tell what the building needs just by listening to it." She turned to face him fully. "Like how you stayed tonight instead of going home to ride out the storm alone."

The firelight turned her amber eyes to gold, and Rowan felt his careful control begin to fray. His wolf pushed closer to the surface, drawn by her warmth and the intimate space the storm had created around them.

"Maybe I just wanted to make sure the tarps held."

"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe you wanted to make sure I was okay."

The truth of it hit him like a physical blow. He had stayed for her, drawn by instincts deeper than conscious thought. His mate, alone in a dark building during a storm. Every protective instinct he possessed had rebelled at the idea of leaving her.

"Diana."

"Rowan." She said his name like a challenge, like a dare. "Stop running from whatever this is."

Lightning flashed again, closer this time, followed immediately by thunder that shook the building. The storm was directly overhead now, nature unleashing its full fury on the small town below.

"You don't understand," he said roughly. "The things you don't know about me?—"

"Then tell me."

"It's not that simple."

"It could be." She leaned forward slightly, close enough that he saw the pulse beating at her throat. "Whatever happened before, whatever you're running from—it doesn't have to define what happens now."

His wolf surged forward, demanding he close the distance between them. Demanding he claim what was his by right of blood and bone and the ancient laws that governed their kind. The scent of her filled his lungs, sweet and warm and perfectly, impossibly right.

"Diana," he said again, her name a warning.

"I'm right here."

Thunder crashed again, and the inn shuddered around them. But in the circle of firelight, with rain lashing the windows and candles flickering in the drafts, the storm felt distant.

His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, silver eyes fixed on their mate. The animal was done with distance, done with careful control, done with pretending the bond between them didn't exist.

Take her, the wolf demanded. Claim her. Make her understand what she is to us.

Rowan's hands morphed into fists, fighting the urge to reach for her. One touch would be his undoing. One kiss would shatter every wall he'd built between them.

"You should go upstairs," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "Get some sleep."

"Should I?" Diana tilted her head, studying his face in the firelight. "Is that what you want?"

No. The word blazed through his mind, his wolf's voice and his own speaking in perfect unison. Stay. Let me hold you through the storm. Let me show you what you mean to me.

"It's what's smart," he said instead.

"Smart." She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "I've been smart my whole life, Rowan. Smart and careful and always keeping my distance. You know where it got me? Alone."

She rose gracefully to her feet, and for a moment he thought she was going to take his advice. Instead, she moved to the window, pressing her palm against the glass as lightning illuminated her profile.

"I came to Hollow Oak because I was tired of being alone," she said quietly. "Tired of never belonging anywhere, never mattering to anyone. And now I'm here, in this beautiful old building with a man who looks at me like I'm the answer to a question he's afraid to ask."

She turned back to face him, and the raw honesty in her expression nearly undid him completely.

"So no, Rowan. I don't think I'll go upstairs. I think I'll stay right here and see what happens when the wolf stops running."

Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the circle of firelight, everything had gone perfectly, dangerously still.

Rowan's wolf pressed against his ribs, silver eyes fixed on their mate, waiting to see if he would finally stop fighting fate.