Page 5 of I Don’t Believe In Fated Mates!

It's huge and solid. Stone and timber, sprawling across the clearing. The sunlight glints off the windows, and the shadows of the towering pines dance across the walls.

Red mulch rings the exterior of the building, dotted with bright bursts of color from sunflowers and irises that feel almost defiantly cheerful against the building's looming authority. Benches and lanterns are spaced out along the walkways.

Nearby, I see houses and a playground and other buildings. There is thickly forested land to the right, and beyond the houses, to the left, the land opens up into orderly swaths of farmland—fences tracing lines across the grass, red-painted barns and silos standing high on the horizon. Sheep graze in slow, drifting clusters, goats leap and climb a shed, and rows of corn and soy stretch outward in disciplined bands, the whole landscape humming with quiet, purposeful work.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, heart hammering. The iron gate behind me fades into the trees, but the sense of authority doesn't—this is the heart of their world. And I'm in it. Maybe I'm not supposed to be…but I've really got nowhere else to go.

I pull into a parking space in front of the headquarters. "Gotta go. I will call you later and tell you how it went." I hang up quickly before she can protest.

As I climb out of the car, one of the men on the walkway, who looks to be in his forties, turns and glares at me. He's got black hair streaked with silver, and he's wearing an expensive suit and a very unwelcoming expression. When he catches me looking at him, he directs a vicious glare at me, and his upper lip curls in a snarl.

I freeze where I'm standing – and then I hear thudding footsteps coming up behind me. Spinning around, I see an enormous, magnificent wolf barreling towards me.

The wolf skids to a stop, ripples and blurs, and its fur sinks back into its skin. With an intense, disconcerting certainty, I know it's Jesse.

He slowly straightens and stands up, staring at me.

Oh, and also, he's naked.

Holy hell. He's…perfect. Every muscle is carved like a sculpture, taut and rippling even as he stands still. Broad shoulders, flat stomach, muscular legs. He moves with an effortless, predatory grace, like he owns the ground he's standing on.

His dark brown hair is tousled, falling into his eyes in a way that makes me want to reach out and fix it—but also makes me want to rip my shirt off and wrestle him into the dirt. The intensity in his brown-gold eyes, the way his full lips press into a hard line…I'm momentarily mesmerized.

I blink at him in shock. "Did you just run behind my car all the way from the diner?"

He shrugs, like it's no big thing.

"Why aren't you out of breath?" I wonder aloud.

At that, his mouth curls up in a wicked smile. "I have an enormous amount of stamina. As you'll find out."

My jaw drops. "Presumptuous, much?"

"Let's start again. You're Lane. I'm Jesse." His eyes are glinting with amusement as he sticks his hand out to shake mine. He wants to touch me while he's naked? Oh hellz no. I do not have that much willpower.

I am desperately trying not to stare at his thick, erect manhood. It juts proudly from a nest of dark curls. Focus, Lane, I tell myself. This fuzzy bag of snarls is standing between you and the office building. Between you and your job.

"Me Tarzan, you Jane?" I huff.

His mouth curls up in a grin. "Fair. I may not have made the best impression earlier. In fact, maybe I came across as a rude, obnoxious caveman."

Despite myself, I find his self-deprecating humor seriously hot. I'm not letting him off that easy, though. "You think?"

"Maybe. But I promise you I will make it up to you."

"How would you do that? Why? You hate humans. You are clinging onto old, outdated grudges against us and judging us all for the bad actions of people several generations ago. Why would you want to make it up to me?"

His whiskey-brown eyes glint with amusement and something that looks very much like hunger. "Because you're my fated mate."

A wave of dizziness rolls over me. My ears heard it, but my brain is not ready for this.

"Excuse you very much?"

I take a step back. He takes a step forward.

He stops just close enough that I can smell him—woodsmoke, musk, and something wild and unique. My knees threaten to buckle, and I have to force myself to take a breath.

"You're my fated mate. You're meant for me," he murmurs, voice low and heated, like he's seeing me for the first time but also knows me somehow. "You're exactly what I would have described if someone asked me what I wanted in a mate."