Page 8 of Lost Wolf (Exiled Omegas #2)

Eight

Luke

Well, shit.

Keir's words from this morning play through my head on repeat. Maybe you'll even get a fated mate out of the deal . He said it with a laugh, and there's no doubt in my mind that he was kidding, but he also apparently jinxed me—or blessed me?

Because this unknown, half-feral shifter is my fated mate.

And he's utterly terrified of me, the bitter scent of fear wafting off him as he hides his face behind his curled arms.

I stare at the young man across the room, my gaze running over as much of him as I can see while he's trying to hide himself, and swallow noisily. My wolf is screaming at me to go to him, to pull him into my arms, to comfort him, but I don't think that would be taken well, not after how’s he’s reacted to everything so far.

In fact, it would probably make things worse.

His breaths come in fast pants as he starts to shake, and I catch a flash of green eyes from the narrow space between his arms. His entire body goes still as if he’s locked in place before the panic takes over again. He should instinctively know we’re fated mates, but he seems to be terrified of the idea. Why?

And what the hell do I do about it?

Trying to call him to me only seemed to make things worse, even though I could practically feel his wolf’s desperation for comfort and connection.

That isn’t normal behavior for a shifter, and I’m beginning to think Doc might be wrong about whether he’s feral. The way he behaves is so animalistic, as if he’s been a wolf for so long, he doesn’t remember how to be in human form.

But still, if nothing else, his wolf should want to listen to me, to an Alpha, especially if he’s been as isolated as I expect. Shifters need touch, and I can’t imagine he’s gotten much of that wherever he was.

My wolf whines at the thought of my mate alone and abandoned even though he’s safe now.

Sort of.

What I’d really love to do is call Keir, or even Julien, to ask what the hell I’m supposed to do in this situation, but I'm pretty sure any move I make right now would just cause my mate to withdraw even further into himself.

I need to figure out what to do on my own, and I absolutely can’t fuck this up.

If he was in wolf form long enough to be feral, or at least near feral, I don’t think treating him like a regular shifter is going to work. So, what if I treat him like a skittish wolf instead?

Taking a few deep breaths, I wrestle my own wolf into control and lower my gaze to the floor, relaxing my arms so my hands are hanging over the arm rests. I force myself to stay as still as possible and continue with slow, even breaths, hoping that if I’m calm, he’ll be calm. Seconds tick by, each one a thump in my chest as my heart rate slows along with my breaths.

Nothing happens at first, but then a soft scuffling noise reaches my ears. The shifter’s movements are quiet, but not silent. I don't dare glance up to see what he's doing though. Doing that would no doubt send him right back into the corner huddled in fear.

So, I let the time pass. If nothing else, the mating bond will pull him to be near me, though he might not understand what it is he’s feeling beyond a very strong instinct to be closer to me.

Just like I’m dying to be closer to him.

My wolf is anxious to simply rush over, scoop up my mate, and cuddle him close, but I force myself to be patient. I have to be. The last thing I want is to startle him away again.

My breath stutters when soft skin brushes against the tips of my fingers, a hesitant point of connection with my mate. It takes every ounce of my will power to stay still, but I flick my gaze to the side and catch the sight of the young man crouched on the floor next to my chair. He leans forward and noses at my fingers again, his nostrils flaring slightly.

He’s scenting me, a very wolf-like instinct, and whatever he smells must reassure him because he turns his face to the side and lets his cheek brush against the back of my hand. He closes his eyes and leans further into my touch, letting more of his weight shift onto his hands.

I slowly turn my wrist so my thumb rests against his cheek, letting his movements run the tip of my thumb over his face. He scoots closer, nudging his head under my hand until my palm rests against his white blond hair. His eyes open, darting to my face for a split second before shifting to the floor. He leans the side of his body against my leg, his cheek nuzzling my thigh as he makes a low humming noise in the back of his throat.

I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing, but I can't stop myself from gently running my hand over the top of his head in a calming gesture. My fingers catch in the many knots, but he seems to tolerate the contact so I don't stop.

He leans into me, his weight resting fully against the side of the chair as the tension drains out of his thin body and the stench of fear begins to dissipate. His eyes drift closed a millimeter at a time, the bright green irises disappearing behind pale, delicate lids as he relaxes under my touch.

I stare at him, a sense of awe and wonder coiling in my chest.

I have a fated mate.

The corners of my mouth curve into a soft smile as my gaze moves over his elven-like features. He’s underweight, making his features sharp, but his overall bone structure makes it seem like he’s naturally smaller anyway. He’s delicate in a way most shifters simply aren’t, whether that’s a natural trait or a result of things I don’t really want to think about, I have no idea.

All I know is that I’m going to make sure he’s safe from here on out. He mine now, and I won’t let anything happen to him.

I gently stroke his cheek and his nose twitches, but he doesn’t wake. I’d like nothing more than to just sit here with him the rest of the day, but there’s still a lot that has to be done.

Like figuring out who he is and where he came from.

And where he’s been.

The sound of footsteps outside the door to the room hits my ears, and seconds later the door swings open.

“Luke, there's something—” Macy starts.

My mate jolts at the sound of her voice and scrambles backward his arms curled over his head as if to protect himself from my blow. My wolf rises, anger burning through me as my glowing yellow gaze flies to Macy, a low growl rumbling in my throat.

“Sorry, I…” Eyes wide and hands up in a placating gesture, she bares her neck submissively and backs out of the room, clicking the door shut behind her.

Satisfied the threat is gone, I return my attention to my mate and my heart actually hurts when I see him back to cowering in the corner, his limbs trembling with fear. Again.

My wolf whines, every one of my instincts screaming at me to soothe and calm and protect , but the human part of me knows it’s not that simple.

Except… maybe it could be?

An idea gradually begins to form; my mate is so close to his wolf that it might help if he was close with mine. A little unorthodox for sure, but maybe the perfect choice in these particular circumstances.

I slowly rise to my feet and strip out of my clothes, keeping one eye on my mate in case he’s startled by my movements and tries to run. Once I’ve folded my clothes on the chair, I shift into my wolf and pad over to him, nudging his crossed arms with my nose.

My mate still smells like chemicals and fear, but underlying that, there’s the scent of forest and fur and mine .