Page 9 of Jace’s Mate (East Coast Territory #1)

“Y ou’re getting married.”

Anikka heard the words, but they didn’t register at first. She turned from the stove, where she was stirring a thick, savory stew, and glanced toward her uncle.

He stood in the narrow doorway between the cramped kitchen and the even smaller dining room, arms folded, a smug, triumphant gleam in his eye.

He looked like a man bracing for impact.

“I’m… sorry?” she said, blinking at him. She repeated his words in her head, trying to make sense of them. They still sounded ridiculous.

“Married,” he snapped, stomping forward and tearing off a hunk of bread she’d just pulled from the oven. “Ow!” he hissed, dropping the steaming piece onto the counter and shaking his hand. “You’re getting married,” he repeated, as if that settled everything.

She turned back to the stew, calmly adjusting the seasonings. “I don’t know anyone I’d be inclined to marry,” she said, her voice mild.

His cheeks darkened, mottled with fury. “You don’t have to know anyone!” he roared. “I command it—and you will obey without question!”

Behind him, the two guards stationed in the doorway didn’t flinch.

In fact, they seemed... detached. One leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, while the other glanced toward the ceiling, clearly bored.

Anikka caught the shift and blinked. That was new.

A few days ago, they’d been wary of her uncle—rigid with nerves anytime he raised his voice.

But now? They just looked tired of the drama.

She shook her head. “No. I’m not marrying a random stranger.”

Wilton’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson, and for a moment, she honestly wondered if he might burst a blood vessel. “You will obey me—or face the consequences!”

Her head tilted slightly. “What are the consequences?”

The question caught him off guard. He sputtered for a moment, clearly unprepared to answer. But after a quick scan of the kitchen, his expression shifted. He straightened, puffed up like a man who’d found his trump card, and jabbed a finger toward the stove.

“You’ll go without food until you learn your place in this house!”

Anikka blinked at the stew, then turned back to him with a slow shrug. “If I don’t eat,” she said pleasantly, “then no one eats.”

She looked past him to the guards, biting back a smile at their horrified expressions. Apparently, they didn’t like that plan. “I’m the only one here who knows how to cook.” She raised her eyebrows. “Do either of you know how to make a decent stew?”

Her tone was all sugary politeness, but her words dripped with challenge.

Focused on the guards, she didn’t see Wilton’s hand until it was already swinging. She caught the motion too late to fully dodge—his fist skimmed her cheek and jaw instead of landing a direct hit, but the pain flared hot and immediate.

She froze. For a split second, she couldn’t breathe.

Then it started again—those strange, furious sensations that had been building for days.

It began in her core, a bubbling ache that surged outward. Her fingers felt like they were on fire. Her spine burned. It was as if something just beneath her skin was tearing free.

What was happening to her?

“Control it!” Wilton roared, backing away now, fear replacing rage in his eyes. “Damn you, control yourself!”

For a moment, Anikka considered letting go—just releasing the flood of rage and allowing whatever this was to take over. She was so tired of suppressing every emotion, of tiptoeing around her fury, biting her tongue until it bled.

But then she glanced at the guards.

A second ago, they’d been standing behind her uncle.

Now? Wilton had shoved them in front of him like shields.

The two men—she still didn’t know their names—stood silent and still, but their expressions weren’t angry or hostile.

They were... confused. Their eyes flicked back toward Wilton, almost like they expected him to do something.

The shift in dynamic grounded her.

But she didn’t wait around for those two guards to figure out that they no longer followed Wilton. He’d hit her, so Anikka turned and ran.

She didn’t think, didn’t pause—just fled the kitchen, her breathing ragged as she pounded up the stairs. But her bedroom offered no relief. The moment she stepped inside the tiny space, the walls closed in. The air felt sharp in her lungs, like she was inhaling through a straw.

She needed air. Sunlight. She needed to get away from her uncle before she did something… unthinkable.

Attack him?

The thought stopped her cold.

Attack Wilton? Was that even possible? Was she really strong enough to—

Anikka sucked in a breath and forced herself to push the question away. Bit by bit, she reined in the burning sensation twisting through her chest and limbs. Her emotions still roared under the surface, but she had them contained.

For now.

Even so, she couldn’t stay trapped in that house. She needed out. Carefully, she cracked her door and slipped into the hall, avoiding the boards that creaked. At the top of the stairs, she paused and listened. Silence.

Where was everyone?

She stood perfectly still, trying to sense Wilton’s location. Was he upstairs? In his room, stewing in his own anger? He spent hours up there, doing God knew what. At least he wasn’t here to stop her.

Quiet as a whisper, she opened the kitchen door and stepped outside. She eased it shut behind her and then—

Ran.

Anikka sprinted down the street, her too-tight, thrift store shoes slapping the pavement.

Familiar roads gave way to strange ones.

Her lungs burned, her legs ached—but she kept going.

The wind kissed her sweat-damp skin. The smells of the city—hot dogs, car exhaust, the faint whisper of rain on brick—flooded her senses, but none of it mattered. She was free.

After nearly an hour, her legs gave out. She slowed to a walk, then stopped altogether.

She stood on a busy sidewalk, heart thudding, chest rising and falling.

People passed her on both sides, casting sideways glances at the flushed, panting woman in the wilting floral dress.

But Anikka didn’t notice. Her focus was inward—on the joy of freedom, the breathless rush of finally being out from under Wilton’s thumb.

She tilted her head back and inhaled deeply.

And that’s when it hit her.

The scent.

She froze, eyes going wide. Stronger than it had been two days ago. Potent. Impossible to ignore. Her whole body responded in a sudden rush—heat, awareness, need.

What was this scent?

Why did it make her want to weep and shiver at the same time?

Drawn like a magnet, she took a step forward. Then another. She sniffed the air, following the trail, unaware of the people she brushed past.

Then she turned a corner—and stopped dead.

In front of her stood a gleaming steel-and-glass building, towering over the street. But she barely noticed the architecture. Her gaze was riveted on the man walking toward the entrance.

Him.

Tall. Broad shoulders. That uncompromising jawline and the dangerous edge in his eyes. Power clung to him like a second skin.

And he was looking right at her.

Instinct screamed at her to back away. She did, taking half a step back before she caught herself. Straightening her spine, Anikka lifted her chin and glared.

Let him look.

And he did. He didn’t blink. His nostrils flared. His whole body tensed.

A bead of sweat slid down her back. She suddenly realized how disheveled she must look—damp, wild-haired, wearing that hideous dress that clung in all the wrong places. She’d torn it somewhere along the run, hadn’t she?

But the man was still staring. And with every step he took toward her, the scent grew stronger, curling into her lungs, threading through her blood.

She wanted to stop breathing it in. She couldn’t.

He smelled like—

Not rosemary.

Like something ancient. Wild. Meant for her.

The space between them vanished. He was less than a foot away now, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

Her body whispered things she didn’t understand. Submit. Bow. Expose.

But no. She wasn’t going to roll over for anyone. Ever.

“Who are you?” she demanded, voice sharp, refusing to be overwhelmed—no matter how delicious he smelled.