Page 19 of Jace’s Mate (East Coast Territory #1)

T he sun was setting low, casting a sickly orange hue across the threadbare walls of the house.

Dust floated in the stale air like ash, and the fading light did little to warm the hollow stillness of the living room.

The floor creaked with every step, the once-polished wood now dulled and scratched from years of neglect.

Blank picture frames hung crookedly on the walls, and the furniture looked like it had been dragged in from garage sales and junk piles—barely held together and mismatched in both style and era.

“Where the hell is my dinner?” Wilton roared, his voice echoing off the empty walls with more desperation than authority.

He stormed into the dim kitchen, scowling at the large, dented pot still sitting on the back burner.

They’d eaten the last of the stew last night—if it could be called stew—but something should’ve been simmering again by now.

He stomped closer and lifted the lid. A wave of rotting, sour stench slapped him in the face.

“Filthy!” he barked, recoiling with a hand over his nose. “Anikka! Get in here and make something for dinner!”

Silence answered him.

He spun around and stomped toward the front of the house, toward the room he called his “study.” In reality, it was just a glorified closet with a desk and a rusting lamp, the drawers crammed with scribbled notes and greasy envelopes.

It was where he tried—and failed—to figure out how to salvage this mess of a mission.

Slamming the door behind him, Wilton began pacing the cramped space, gnawing at his lower lip.

His gut churned. This wasn’t going how it was supposed to.

The girl was slipping out of his control.

Her instincts were waking up. And Jace Unker…

that damn Alpha was more of a threat than anyone had warned him.

“You’re failing.”

The words slithered through the air like smoke, and Wilton spun so fast he nearly knocked over the lamp on his desk.

There, in the shadows near the window, stood her —the woman he feared more than anyone else in this world. This woman was as cold and calculating as she was lethal.

“I am not!” he protested, forcing a confidence he didn’t feel into his voice. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat. He straightened his spine, puffed out his chest, trying to mimic Jace’s commanding presence. But he only managed to look like a terrified raccoon pretending to stand like a bear.

She stepped forward, her silhouette sharpening in the fading light. Her boots clicked softly on the wooden floor. Her red nails—sharp and glossy like blood-tipped knives—glided across his collarbone as she circled him.

“Either you’re too stupid to know you’re failing,” she whispered, her voice silky and venomous, “or you’re lying to me.” She leaned in, her breath hot and predatory against his ear. “Either possibility is unacceptable.”

Wilton swallowed, hard. “I’ll fix things! I swear!”

She said nothing at first. Just watched him squirm, her gaze colder than death.

He babbled on. “I’ve been doing what you asked. I brought her to the city. I’ve kept her in check. I’ve got her scent spread around—”

“Do you?” she interrupted, sniffing the air with a slow inhale.

Her head turned, nostrils flaring like a wolf catching wind of a lie. “Her scent isn’t nearly as strong as it should be in this house.”

Wilton flinched.

“Where is she now?” the woman demanded, her voice still calm, but with steel just beneath the surface.

“She—she went to the store. For ingredients,” he stammered, sweat now dripping down the sides of his face. That might be true. Possibly.

“I don’t think you even know where she is, Wilton,” she said, stepping closer. “And that’s a problem.”

“She’s at the store!” he snapped, fear morphing into defensive bluster. “And no, she doesn’t know what she is. Just like you ordered. I’ve kept her in the dark. She doesn’t even suspect she’s a shifter.”

She didn’t blink. “Good.”

“She won’t leave. I’ve made sure of that,” he lied, wiping his hands on his filthy pants. “She cooks. She cleans. And I’ve got her scent exactly where it needs to be. I’ve been keeping her close. The Alpha will be confused, distracted. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The woman gave a slow, disbelieving laugh.

“Jace Unker is twice your size and ten times your cunning,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk.

“But even a wolf like that can be thrown off by the right scent.” She let the silence hang for a beat, then added with a chuckle, “And Anikka’s scent?

Oh yes… that will distract him beautifully. ”

Wilton opened his mouth, then shut it. What was there to say?

He’d never found his mate so he had no idea what it would feel like if her scent ever came to his senses.

Hell, he didn’t even understand how this woman knew that Anikka was the Alpha’s mate!

But she was paying him to do a job and that’s all that mattered to him.

The woman sighed, her disgust etched into every line of her heavily made-up face. Her scarlet lips twisted with contempt as she said, “Fine, Wilton. But we’re nearing the end of the plan. If you fail now, you’re no longer useful to me—or to my Alpha.”

Then she was gone.

Wilton blinked. He hadn’t heard the creak of the door. Hadn’t seen her move. One second she’d been in front of him, hissing threats into his ear—and the next, the space she’d occupied was empty.

His heart hammered in his chest.

How the hell did she do that? He’d kill to learn that trick, but somehow, he doubted that conniving bitch would share her secrets.

With a howl of fury, he stormed to the door and yanked it open so hard it nearly tore from its hinges. “Anikka!” he roared, his voice echoing off the bare walls.

Silence.

He stomped through the house, the heels of his heavy boots hitting the scuffed wood floors with sharp, angry thuds.

As he searched the house, doors flew open under his hand, slamming into the walls.

But there was no sign of her. Not in her bedroom, not in the bathroom, nor in the ugly kitchen, where the evening sun had cast golden slashes through the dusty windows.

There was nothing. No clattering of pans. No rhythmic chopping. No humming.

That damn humming. She always hummed when she cooked—something soft and annoying, like a song only she could hear. The silence now felt wrong. Too deep. Too still.

Even the usual murmurs from his betas were absent.

His chest tightened.

He rushed down the creaky basement stairs, his boots echoing off the concrete.

Relief hit him in a wave when he saw three of his men sprawled across cots, snoring.

He remembered now—he’d sent them out last night, digging for more information on the East Coast Alpha, hoping to uncover weaknesses, something to exploit.

They were still filthy, still armed, and completely passed out.

Wilton crept closer, about to kick the nearest cot. Then he stopped.

No. Let them sleep.

Did he really want them to know he’d lost their source of income and the only person who knew how to cook?

Anikka was the glue keeping his operation together. Her cooking kept the men loyal. Her presence made the house tolerable. If they knew she’d run, they might take their loyalty—and her scent—straight to the East Coast Alpha.

No. This was his problem to fix.

Wilton clenched his fists, trembling with rage. And fear.

He’d shift. He’d hunt her down himself. He’d drag her back—by her hair if he had to. And once she was home, he’d make damn sure she never defied him again.

He would beat the defiance right out of her.