Page 8 of I Don’t Believe In Fated Mates!

I stop in my tracks and stare up at him. "You can not possibly be ready to make a lifetime commitment when you just met me less than an hour ago. Don't make promises you can't keep." I want to tell him that I've had my heart broken too many times when I've found a new family and then been moved on with no warning, but I am not ready to open myself up to a stranger like that.

His hungry gaze meets mine. "Do you know what a fated mate is?"

My heart speeds up. I want this too much, and I've been bounced around for too long to easily believe in 'forever'. I was always the girl that nobody wanted.

Alexis came back for you, a little voice whispered in my head. Maybe you're not completely unlovable.

Alexis' paternal grandparents tracked her down when she was fourteen and adopted her, and my heart was broken when she left. She begged her grandparents to take me too, but they were in their 70s, lived in a tiny house, and could barely afford to take in Alexis, much less anyone else.

But she actually kept her promise to keep in touch. She wrote me letters every week. Remembered every birthday, every Christmas. When she was eighteen, we not only went to the same college, we were dorm roommates.

I swallow hard. He's waiting for an answer. "From what I've studied of wolf shifter culture, you believe that when you meet your fated mate, you just know."

"Exactly," he says, nodding solemnly, as if this is all perfectly logical and not the most insane conversation of my life. "And I know."

I blink up at him. "You know. From five minutes of conversation, two arguments, and one unauthorized naked encounter in front of an office building?"

His eyes gleam with amusement. "You seemed to appreciate the view. I didn't hear any objections."

"I was getting around to it!" I snap, heat rushing to my face. Yeah, sure, I was definitely going to tell him to cover up a naked body so sexy that my panties were practically melting.

That earns me a rumbling laugh from deep in his chest. It's annoyingly…nice. Like I could get addicted to that sound if I'm not careful.

He studies me for a long moment, all traces of humor fading. "Lane, I know this is fast. But my wolf—he recognized you instantly. It's not about logic or timing. It's fate."

I cross my arms, trying to block him from getting too close. "I need some time to think about this."

"No, you don't."

He leans down, close enough that I can feel his breath brush my cheek. "You'll be spending tonight with me. And every night."

Oh. Oh, hell no. My heart does this ridiculous somersault, and every cell in my body votes yes while my brain screams bad idea, bad idea.

I back away slowly, my pulse drumming in my ears. I have no idea what the appropriate response is to being claimed by an incredibly hot werewolf shifter, but I'm pretty sure it's not fainting—or staring at his chest, which I'm still doing. Before I can scrape together a single coherent thought, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

"Alpha! We need to speak!"

It's the angry man from earlier—the one in the expensive suit with silver streaks in his black hair. His scowl could cut through steel, and the way he moves, stiff and deliberate, tells me this man isn't used to being ignored. The air around him feels colder somehow, tighter, like the trees themselves are holding their breath.

Jesse doesn't flinch. His arm stays wrapped around my shoulders like he's daring the man to come closer. "I'm talking with my mate," he growls. "Back off, Jeremiah."

Jeremiah's eyes flick to me, and the disgust in them makes my stomach clench. "Your mate? But—you just met her, you can't possibly—Alpha, she's human."

Jesse's eyes flash with a light that's not human at all—an eerie, burning red that seems to pulse with his heartbeat. His ears sharpen, the tips darkening with streaks of gray fur, and the hair along his arms bristles like an animal on edge. "And she's my fated mate," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you have a problem with her, Jeremiah? Choose your next words very carefully."

For a heartbeat, the woods around us go utterly silent, the sound of insects and birdsong vanishing. Jeremiah's nostrils flare; his jaw tightens. He holds Jesse's gaze longer than anyone with a survival instinct should. Then, slowly, he bows his head in a submissive fashion. The movement is small but filled with tension, every muscle in his body quivering with suppressed fury.

"I'll take my concerns to the other council members," he mutters, voice rough with barely contained rage. "And they will agree with me."

A deep, guttural sound rolls through Jesse's chest—a growl so low I feel it vibrate through the ground beneath us. His entire body trembles with barely restrained violence, and somehow, impossibly, I can feel it inside me. His anger, his protectiveness, that fierce surge of possessive love—like our emotions are tangled together. It makes no sense, and yet it's as real as my own heartbeat.

That can't be. It can't.

But I don't have time to figure it out. His muscles are tensing, shifting under his skin, and I know he's about to shift into a beast, and launch himself violently at Jeremiah.

I grab his arm, feeling the muscles swell and bunch, and plead "Jesse. Don't. Please. I don't want this."

Jeremiah takes advantage of the moment to spin on his heel and stalk off.