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Chapter 10

Horace

“O f course, it makes sense you had to put yourself in the app to test it out,” Doug, the completely obnoxious Wolf Shifter I sometimes hire to research people or projects for me, states around a mouthful of pizza.

I glare at him from my seat on the couch, trying to decide if I have the patience to deal with his nonsense or if I should just launch him out the nearest window.

To make things worse, the fucker isn’t eating just any pizza.

Oh no. He’s devouring a slice from Pizza Girls , the one place I’ve been actively avoiding for the past two weeks.

Bad enough their food is addictive as hell.

But also, my Bear is obsessed with the place.

The craving is so bad I started going into the office on purpose just to be there when our standing order for lunch twice a week from Pizza Girls arrived.

Four days in the office in two weeks.

That’s more than I went in for all of last quarter.

And now? On top of that shame spiral, I just got a notification from Date to Mate telling me I have a match.

A date.

For tonight.

Which— no. Absolutely not .

What? Don’t blame me. It’s not unusual to set up dummy accounts when testing software.

Uncle Uzzi had requested a few new features, mainly a user anonymity option— basically, an incognito mode where people could choose to keep their names and pictures hidden until the actual date.

Which, yeah, made sense.

So I did what any responsible tech consultant would do—I filled out a test profile. Honestly, even.

But did I expect to meet anyone?

Hell no.

Yet, here I am.

With a match.

A real one.

And my Bear? He’s not even curious about the person on the other side of that screen.

No interest. No excitement. Just one big, grumpy, territorial growl rolling through my chest like distant thunder.

Doug pauses mid-chew, his stupid Wolf eyes narrowing.

“Dude, are you hungry?” he asks, holding his pizza like he’s ready to defend it with his life.

“What? No!”

“Then why are you growling at my pizza?”

He takes another bite, eyeing me like I might lunge. “It’s really good, by the way.”

“I’m not growling at your pizza.” I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling sharply.

Because this— all of this —is ridiculous.

I am a grown man.

I have control over my cravings.

I am not going to let one tiny, too-good-to-be-true pizzeria drive me insane.

Even if I do secretly dream about their garlic knots and their meat lover’s pie with hot honey .

Fuck. My. Life.

Even if my Bear has been pacing like a caged animal every time I don’t let myself go in there.

Even if I have a really bad feeling about the fact that my mystery match is already making my instincts go haywire.

Doug sniffs the air dramatically, then wrinkles his nose.

“Yo, you’re making my Wolf all snarly. Spill. What is up with you?”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

How the hell do I explain that my inner Bear is irrationally angry at a date I haven’t even been on yet?

And worse—why do I have a sinking suspicion that this is all somehow, some way, connected to Pizza Girls ?

Fuck. Fine.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face because, honestly? I might as well tell him.

Wolves are the worst when it comes to being nosy. Probably why he makes such a good PI.

“My Bear is kinda stuck on one of the owners downstairs.”

The words taste like defeat as they leave my mouth.

“And?” Doug asks.

“ And now, with this date, he’s all out of sorts.”

Doug’s chewing slows as his eyes light up with recognition.

“Oh shit . A normal, huh?” He lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, my uncle married a normal.”

I arch a brow. “Yeah? How’d that go? Because, for my dad, it was pretty fucking terrible.”

Doug grimaces but shrugs.

“I mean, they’re still together. Happily, actually. But, yeah, there were some adjustments. Lotta yelling. Lotta broken furniture. And definitely some ‘why is my husband suddenly a giant furry monster’ moments.”

I grunt. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“So maybe your Bear should be happy you found a match on Uncle Uzzi’s app,” Doug points out, waving his half-eaten pizza slice in the air like a makeshift pointer. “I mean, the man’s a genius, right?”

He’s got a point.

Uzzi’s app isn’t some regular, algorithmic mess of random profiles. The guy knows things. And if he matched me with someone? There’s a reason.

“I know,” I admit. “But I can’t help but feel like I’m cheating if I go on this date.”

Because that’s the truth.

I’ve been living like an absolute psycho for the past fourteen days. Avoiding Pizza Girls like my life depended on it.

Taking the long way around the block.

Literally forcing myself to stay away— just so I wouldn’t catch a glimpse of Carina’s sweet face.

And why?

Because I’m a freaking coward, that’s why.

Hiding my feelings because I don’t want to face the possibility that she might be mine—and worse, that she might not want me back.

Just like my human mother didn’t want me.

The thought makes my Bear snarl, deep and guttural, the pain rising up before I can shove it back down where it belongs.

I don’t think about her.

I refuse to think about her.

A heartless woman who abandoned her sons and husband right when we needed her the most? She doesn’t deserve space in my head.

But Carina?

She’s not like that.

Don’t ask me how I know— I just do.

Even if she’s clueless about the supernatural world. Even if she has no idea that a whole different reality lives in tandem with the human one.

Mates usually understand, don’t they?

Real mates. Fated mates.

On some level, they feel it.

And my gut? My instincts? My Bear?

They’re screaming that she’s the one.

But now I’m stuck with this damn date.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

Doug stretches out in his seat, looking completely unbothered, before casually asking, “So, what happens if you don’t go?”

I blink, realizing I’ve been talking out loud this entire time.

I exhale sharply. “When you sign on to the app, you’re magically and contractually obligated to attend at least one date with your match.”

Doug freezes mid-bite.

His jaw drops slightly, eyes going wide with amusement.

“Well, shit.” He claps his hands together. “You better get dressed, Hoss.”

I groan, letting my head thunk against the coffee table.

This is not how I planned my night.

Or my life.

But apparently? My plans don’t mean shit.

Because I’ve got a date.