Page 41

LOCK

As my vision clears, every instinct in my body knows exactly where to look. I seek her out as she steps gingerly past a puddle and into the clearing. She’s beautiful. More beautiful than I could’ve imagined. Her body is snowy white, the fur wet and sleek across her chest and back. The only colour on her is a black patch that surrounds her left eye, covers part of her face and extends upwards to her ear.

She doesn’t look at me. It’s as if she can’t see me through the pounding rain, but that’s impossible. Her soul should have shifted with mine, twining together. She should be able to feel me.

She lifts her head and sniffs the air, then stiffens. Her head swings around and she spots me. She freezes and stares at me with such intensity, I feel another shifting deep within. It’s uncomfortable, like my guts are being rearranged. Her icy blue eyes pin me to the spot and, for a second, I think she’s going to attack.

“I thought you were dead,” I say hoarsely.

She lowers her head between her hunched shoulders, bares her teeth and lets out a low warning growl. But why would she be warning me off? I’m her mate, she must feel it.

Then she’s gone.

Just like that, in a whirl of snowy tail, she turns around and leaps back into the woods, disappearing as if she were never there.

I lose precious seconds to shock as I stare after her, my mouth open, the pounding rain hitting me. Shaking my head, I clear the fog and lunge after her, tearing at my clothes as I go. I won’t be able to catch her in my human form, so I have to shift.

I don’t understand why she’s running, why she looked at me as if she feared me. I’m her mate. The last thing I want is to hurt her. She should know that... unless she doesn’t recognize me. But that’s impossible. She should have felt what I felt. Her guts should’ve twisted, her soul should’ve recognized mine. It’s instinct. Something we’re all born with. Even before we find our mates, we know when they exist in the world. There’s no denying the feeling.

It’s why I thought she was dead. I felt the moment she was born two hundred years ago, then I felt the moment she died, seventeen years later. There was nothing left of her presence in my head after she was gone. Yet, here she is, alive and scared.

Anger surges through me and I know it’s my wolf, impatient that I haven’t shifted, that I haven’t begun the chase.

“Alright, go get her,” I say, dragging off the last of my clothing, my bare feet sinking into the muck of my yard as I step out of my boots.

She’s small, less than half my size. I shouldn’t have too much difficulty catching up with her.

My wolf changes in an instant, jubilation rushing through him, now me, as we leap into the air and land on four paws. Everything in me shifts and happiness soars through my body as familiar feelings of aggression rush through my veins. I take a back seat to my wolf, giving him free rein, which he immediately seizes.

He’s after the snowy wolf like a shot from a rifle, swerving past trees and leaping over brush. He lives for the chase and I’ve given him the ultimate one. He must find his mate and claim her.

He catches her scent, an intoxicating combination of honey and wildflowers. As I drown in the nectar, my wolf pushes closer to the surface, closer than I’ve let him get since I hit puberty, some seven hundred years ago.

I rarely let him out to play because he’s too aggressive. He would go to war with the surrounding villages if I allowed him. He’d clear the forest of wildlife in days. The furry asshole has no sense of moderation.

Now he’s in control, and I don’t care. I need him. He’s going to bring our fated mate home.She’s wiry and quick, but a limp slows her down.

Anticipation adds wings to my feet as I take the final leap, knowing she’s just ahead of me. My human and wolf are merging once more, I’m no longer feeling what he feels, I am him.

My paws land on her back and I shove her hard into the earth, driving her onto her belly. Instinct slams through me, and as she struggles to push me off, I snap and snarl, telling her in our language to settle down. I won’t hurt her, but she needs to submit to the bigger, more powerful wolf, to her mate.

She doesn’t listen. She fights until she’s on her back beneath me, her paws shoving at my chest, her teeth flashing as she snaps at my throat.

My wolf senses something in her, something wrong, something unnatural. He leashes his aggression without a single push from me. In all the years I’ve lived with my wolf, he’s never once leashed himself.

I place one paw on the side of her head, turning her muzzle into the wet brush. Then, almost gently, I set my teeth against her throat. She doesn’t yield but continues to fight.

I crowd her further into the ground, laying my much larger body across hers, crushing her without hurting her. She can’t do anything more than growl at me. I try to shove my mind into hers, to force her to recognize her mate, but her brain is too wild. It’s the mind of a wolf. It’s as if there’s no human inside at all. As if she hasn’t shifted from her wolf form in a very long time.

We lay that way for several long minutes, her body vibrating in fear, her growls turning to whimpers.

I hate treating my mate this way, but I don’t know what else to do. She’s damaged in some way. She doesn’t recognize me. In all the years I’ve been alive I’ve never heard of one mate not recognizing another. I didn’t know it was possible.

She’s small enough that I think I can risk turning human. I’m a big man, 6’5”, with plenty of muscle from years of working with my hands, hunting, and chopping wood.

I separate my mind from my wolf and, though he resists, he’s ultimately forced into retreat, allowing me to shift back to human. I place one hand on her neck, making sure her teeth are nowhere near my throat as I turn human.

Her eyes roll up as I shift and her body tenses, readying for an attack. She thinks she can take me in my human form, thinks she has a chance. She doesn’t. I lift logs regularly and she weighs less than some of those logs, even in her wolf form.

She’s beautiful, but there’s something wrong with her. Some kind of damage.

Years ago, I’d fantasized about what it would be like to finally meet my mate, and never in my wildest dreams had I imagined it would be like this. A mate that not only doesn’t recognize me but is actively trying to kill me.

I squeeze my fingers into her neck and shake my head. “Don’t try it.”

She freezes, and her eye rolls up to stare at me. She’s terrified, wants nothing more than to run from me. She regrets coming so close to my yard, but she’d been drawn by the scent of rabbit stew… and something else, a powerful pull that she didn’t understand, but drew her to my doorstep regardless.

I pause. How do I know what she’s feeling? Then I realize I’m in her mind. It’s the mating bond. I’ve weakened her enough that she’s no longer able to shield herself. I feel exhaustion beating at her. I can’t read her thoughts, but somehow I know that she’s been travelling for days and days. That she left her home… or something drove her away from it. Then I sense a barrier; its weak but effective. In my human form I can’t infiltrate any further into her head.

Frustrated by her silence, I demand, “Turn, little wolf. I want to speak to your human.”

She continues to stare at me, fear brightening her blue eyes.

“Why won’t you turn?” I growl, but more to myself.

Wolf shifters are born with certain instincts that allow us to know things without being told. I knew that I would recognize my mate when I saw her. I knew that I would be able to climb into her mind. And I know that I can force her shift if I must.

But when I try, she doesn’t shift, and when I push myself further into her head, I feel nothing but silence. I don’t sense her human. It’s as if that part of her is dead. It’s impossible.

Baffled, I lean closer and look her in the eye. Her lip peels back and she bares one long fang at me. Anger and humour collide, and I remember that my wolf is watching this interaction, feeling the things I feel. He’s annoyed that she’s refusing my commands, but I think her small defiance is cute. She can’t hurt me.

I wrap my fingers around her snout and hold her mouth closed so she won’t bite me, then I lean in until my face is inches from her eye. I push again with my mind, forcing myself inside her. I don’t give her the opportunity to shield, but barge past her resistance.

What I find is unexpected and horrifying.

She’s falling… we’re both falling. Flashes of sky and water as we twist and turn, then the icy wall of pain as we’re engulfed by cold, wet, black darkness. Terror rages through both of us. We fight, but we’re drowning.

Her wolf surfaces, forcing the human back. She’s fighting for her life in a losing battle.

The human is ready for death, but her wolf isn’t.

Unable to take any more of whatever I found in her mind, I shove myself away from her, stumbling back and landing on my ass. I try to shake the fuzziness of her memory from my head, but I take a few seconds too long. She regains her feet and turns on me with a snarl.

She lunges.

I reach for her, but before I can catch her, something streaks between us, smacking her ears with a wing and driving her back.

Thorny flies through the trees, then lands gracefully on his feet behind her as he shifts into a human.

His gaze is curious, but unconcerned as he looks her over.

She tries to back away from us, but she has nowhere to go. She’s trapped and she knows it. Her tail is tucked between her legs and she lets out a frightened whimper.

“I see you found your mate,” Thorny says, as if he’s commenting on the weather. “She’s quite a pretty creature.”

“Keep your eyes off my mate!” I snarl at him, an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy storming through me, my wolf urging me to tear out Thorny’s throat for daring to look at my mate.

He looks startled, then lets out a hooting laugh. “What would I want with a bedraggled wolf?” He chortles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s heard. “Not only is she the wrong species, but she is a she. I prefer the males of my own species, thank you very much.”

I stare at him. I’ve known the shifter for many years and I hadn’t known he was gay. It simply never came up.

My jealousy diffuses and I admit, “She’s terrified of me. She doesn’t recognize me as her mate.”

He cocks his head to the side and watches her thoughtfully. She’s hunched into a small bundle of shaking wolf, her blue gaze rapidly going back and forth between us as though she expects an attack.

“Now that is unusual,” he says. “Why do you think she doesn’t recognize her mate?”

“I don’t know,” I say, allowing my frustration to show. “She showed up in my yard and my wolf knew who she was right away. Even before I saw her. It was the soul shift.”

He nods, then asks, “So your soul is twined with hers?”

I almost say yes, then I think about it. I felt the soul shift, but did I feel the twining? I look inward, allowing my wolf to surface for a moment as we search each other. No, no twining. She’s there, inside us, but she’s pacing, restless, scared.

“No twining,” I admit.

“So she really doesn’t recognize her mate,” he murmurs. “This is highly unusual.”

“But you’ve heard of it?” I ask hopefully. For once, I’m grateful for Thorny’s penchant for absorbing gossip.

He nods, but says, “What should we do with her? She doesn’t look like she wants to stay with you.”

I sigh.

There’s no help for it. I can’t let her go; she’ll bolt and I’ll have to hunt her down, which isn’t great for relationship building.

“We have to get her inside.”

He shakes his head emphatically. “Birds don’t kidnap wolves.”

“We’re doing this,” I say grimly.

* * *