Page 8 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

Until I walk into Sweetique Bakery and meet Holly Black.

My fated mate, covered in flour, and glaring at me like she’s considering whether my body would fit in her industrial oven.And just like that, every useful thought I have ever had abandons me like a coward.

The bond is still burning through my chest as I kneel in front of the dead mixer, tool bag open at my side, hands moving on instinct while the rest of me tries very hard not to turn around and stare at the woman behind the counter.

I fail.Repeatedly.

She’s small compared to me, but nothing about her feels fragile.Soft, yes.Curvy, definitely.Warm in a way that makes my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.But not fragile.

No.Fragile things crack when pressure touches them.Holly looks like pressure made the mistake of touching her and got bitten for it.

Her dark hair is twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, little strands falling around her face.Flour streaks one cheek.There’s a smear of chocolate near her wrist.Her apron says ‘Hot Buns Served Daily’, which should not affect me, because I’m a grown man with control over my thoughts and body.Except my body is currently calling me a liar.

My wolf presses hard against my skin.Mate.

I tighten my grip on the screwdriver.“I know.”

The mixer does not answer, obviously, because it’s a machine and not emotionally invested in my downfall, unlike fate.

From the front of the bakery, Holly laughs at something a customer says.The sound hits me low and hard.It’s not a big laugh.Not bright and careless.It’s quick, sharp, and almost surprised, like laughter is something that sneaks out of her when she forgets to keep her guard up.That makes me want to earn another one.

Which is ridiculous, dangerous, and deeply inconvenient.I have known this woman for eleven minutes and thirty-six seconds, not that I’m counting.

I remove the side panel from the mixer and immediately find the problem.A burned belt, worn gears, and a motor close to giving up.If this machine were a wolf, someone would have taken it behind the barn and apologized before putting it out of its misery.

“You better have good news,” Holly calls.

I glance over my shoulder.Bad idea.She’s leaning against the end of the counter, arms crossed and chin lifted.Her eyes are a warm brown, darker around the edges, and they don’t let me get away with anything.Her mouth is full and soft and currently pressed into a suspicious line.My gaze drops there for half a second too long, and her eyes narrow.

I clear my throat and look back at the mixer.“Define good.”

“The mixer lives, my bank account does not cry, and I don’t have to sell a kidney on the black market.”

“Is it a good kidney?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, if it’s one of the fancy kidneys, maybe hold onto it.”

Silence.Then a tiny snort.I smile before I can stop myself, and my wolf wags his damn tail.

Holly pushes away from the counter and stalks toward me.Her scent grows stronger with every step.Sugar, vanilla, warm bread, woman, and wolf.But under all of it is something sharper, older, and wounded.

The bond reaches for her, and I force myself to stay still.

She stops a few feet away, close enough that the heat of her body teases mine, far enough that she can pretend she’s not keeping distance on purpose.

I notice.I notice everything about her.

The way her fingers curl into the fabric of her apron.The way she positions herself with a clear path to the door.The way her wolf watches me through human eyes, wary and curious and aching.

Someone hurt her.No, not someone.Her mate.

The thought makes something violent and ugly stretch inside me.

I keep my voice even.“The belt is burned, and the gears are worn down.I can patch it for today, maybe tomorrow if the Goddess is feeling generous.”

“She’s usually busy ruining lives.”