Page 10 of Jace’s Mate (East Coast Territory #1)

J ace stared at the she-wolf, stunned.

Her.

It was her —the source of that maddening scent that had haunted him for days, slipping through the wind and driving his wolf insane. He’d torn apart half of Baltimore hunting for her trail, and now, here she was, standing in front of him like some impossible gift.

“I’m Jace,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, the sound rumbling with the weight of his wolf barely contained. “And you’re my mate.”

She blinked, stunned.

Good. Because he sure as hell was.

Her scent flooded his lungs, sharp and sweet and maddening. His inner wolf howled with primal satisfaction, already pushing to mark her, claim her , sink his teeth into her neck and seal the bond. Every instinct screamed for him to pull her close, to never let go.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

His betas lingered nearby, watchful but silent. They knew better than to interfere.

And then—she opened her mouth.

“I am not ,” she snapped, lifting her chin like she could glare the truth into something else.

Jace almost laughed. Almost. He could hear her heartbeat pounding, smell the heat of her blood, feel the pulse of her need crackling between them. She might not understand it, but her body knew. His wolf knew. They were already calling to each other in the oldest language there was.

She was his .

And he wasn’t letting her go.

“I’m Jace,” he said again, softer this time. He extended his hand.

She hesitated. Long enough for his pulse to thunder once. Twice. Then her hand lifted, trembling slightly, and settled into his.

“Anikka,” she offered, her voice low. She was still staring at him like she was trying to decode a dream.

His fingers curled around hers, slow and reverent. Her skin was warm, delicate, perfect. He didn’t want to release her.

“Who’s your Alpha?” he asked.

She blinked. Confusion darkened her eyes. She didn’t even notice their joined hands.

“What’s an Alpha?”

The question hit him like a slap.

He inhaled deeply, grounding himself with her scent. No mistake. She was a wolf. His wolf.

“Your pack leader,” he said carefully. “The one who leads your pack.”

She looked down, startled to realize they were still touching. She yanked her hand away.

Jace stepped forward.

She didn’t retreat.

“Dogs have packs,” she muttered, but her voice had lost some of its certainty.

“You have a pack,” he told her, voice steel beneath velvet. “You’re a she-wolf. You feel it, even if no one’s told you. It’s in your blood.”

“I don’t,” she said fiercely. “I live with my uncle. And his...employees.”

Jace tried for a smile, but suspected what showed on his face was more wolf than man. “That’s your pack,” he said. “Your uncle’s the Alpha?”

He stopped. The words died in his throat.

He’d been about to say, Take me to him. He wanted to demand her release. That was the way of their kind—Alpha to Alpha, the claim acknowledged, the mate bond honored. Even among rivals, mates were sacred.

But the question never made it past his lips.

Because then she said, “What’s a she-wolf?”

And Jace’s mind blanked.

“A she-wolf,” he repeated, slow and confused. As if saying the words again would somehow make sense to her.

But her eyes only filled with more doubt.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” she said, backing away.

He reached out and caught her arm, gentle but firm. “Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked, voice low.

He hated coffee—bitter, acrid, and a scent-blocking nightmare—but humans loved the stuff. And she didn’t know what she was yet.

“No, thank you,” she said, her voice soft as she shook her head. “I’ve never acquired a taste for it.”

Of course she hadn’t. Jace smothered the rush of satisfaction threatening to twist his lips. Of course.

“How about a glass of wine?”

That earned him a flicker of interest. She turned, studying him again—her eyes drifting over his chest, his shoulders, assessing.

His wolf all but preened under her scrutiny.

Good. A she-wolf always evaluated the strength of her mate.

Not for her own protection—never that—but for the future of her pack. Her pups.

Their pups.

Jace didn’t know if she understood what she was doing, but his entire body roared with satisfaction and approval. She didn’t know it yet—but she was his .

“Have you never shifted?” he asked, startled even as he said the words. She looked old enough—mid-twenties, at least. Most shifters experienced their first change before puberty, when the wolf’s instincts grew too strong to suppress. Some had their first shift when they were even younger.

Her brows drew together. “Shifted?” she echoed. Her dark hair shimmered in the sunlight as she shook her head. “I mean… I’ve shifted furniture? Boxes?”

He almost laughed. Almost.

“Shifting,” he said again, voice soft, coaxing. “Into your wolf form.”

A pause.

“I don’t know why you keep talking about wolves,” she said, her voice quiet, almost apologetic. “I’m just… a normal person.”

He stepped closer, unable to help himself. She didn’t move away.

His fingers grazed her cheek. She shivered—but didn’t pull back.

“You’re a she-wolf,” he murmured, tracing the line of her jaw, the pulse fluttering just beneath her skin. “And I’m a he-wolf. Alpha of my pack. You’re my mate.”

That did it.

With a huff of frustration, she stepped back, clearly trying to put distance between them.

He caught her arm before she got far.

Her eyes flared with anger. He saw it—felt it—but didn’t let go.

She made a disgusted sound. “I don’t know why you keep saying things like that.”

“You really don’t know?” he asked, stunned. “You’ve never shifted? Not even once?”

“Stop it!” she snapped, then immediately glanced around, her voice dropping to a hiss. “Stop saying that word!”