Page 14 of Hunted Ink by Trisha Linde

After my secret trip to the city, I came back with only one fact. The wolf worked at a garage.

Mate, the voice reminded me yet again. He was stuck on the word.

I rolled my eyes. Fine. My mate worked at a garage. But knowing that wasn’t enough. I needed more. I refused to let that be the end of things. I was officially obsessed with the guy. I dreamed about him every night, haunted by the memory of his crisp scent. And even when I knew chasing after him could only end badly, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

And so, for the past week, I found excuses to leave the compound. I came up with the great idea of proposing a new outdoor archery range, with an offer to help train the younger generation, and Pater had nodded proudly. “You are my most valuable member to the Order. What would we do without you.” When he patted me on the shoulder, I had to force back the shudder of revulsion that rolled through me. My smile felt brittle, but he bought it.

That covered several trips to the city for supplies—haybales, a couple new bows. And with each trip, I drove by the garage, greedy to catch even a glimpse of my mate, breathing deep gulps of air from the open window as if starving for his scent.

On yesterday’s trip to pick up some fletching to repair the damaged arrows, I decided that what I really needed was a disguise. Assuming that I would be approaching my mate at some point, I wanted to appear non-threatening, and my combat gear would not achieve that, so I stepped into a second-hand shop to grab some “normal” clothes. I was now the proud owner of a brightly colored button-up shirt and a pair of baggy jeans that kept slipping down my hips. “They’re wearing them big these days,” the woman behind the counter had assured me, the overhead light giving her silver hair a purple sheen. The scent of cigarettes coming off her was burning my nostrils, so I didn’t want to linger and debate her fashion tips.

As soon as I reached city limits, I pulled over and changed into my new clothes. Would today be the day I worked up the nerve to approach him? My truck was overdue for some maintenance. I could just pull into his garage and say hello.

The first drive-by, I told myself it was just recon. The second, I reasoned the parking lot was too full; they were busy, which meant he wouldn’t have time to talk. I drove past three more times throughout the day, and I even got so far as flicking on the turn signal, but in the end, it didn’t feel right. I’d been rehearsing what to say to him, how to approach the questions so they didn’t sound like I was insane. “So, there’s this voice in my head, and he tells me you’re mine.” I scoffed and made another loop around the block.

Just as I was about to give up and head home, ready to try again another day, a flash of neon blue caught my eye, and I swore my heart stopped in my chest. His hair wasn’t the same color, but I knew it was him. The man, wolf—mate. And he was showing off so. Much. Skin. Without conscious thought, my hands jerked the wheel to the side, cramming the truck into a narrow parking spot and neatly clipping the bumper of the car in front. Did I care? Not even a little.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was radiant, and there was this intense pull beckoning me closer. Even without the voice in my head begging me to follow, I would’ve been helpless to resist.

As he made to turn the corner, I rushed to hop out of the truck, panic driving me to action. I jogged to catch up. What if I lost him again? But when I rounded the corner after him, his scent was still sharp, and ahead, it was impossible to miss the bright splash of blue that was his hair. It was like a beacon. It brought to mind poisonous dart frogs, their bright colors acting as a warning to predators. But if this was a warning, then I would welcome even the most painful death.

With each step, I closed the distance between us, and as he paused on the steps of a building, I found myself mentally begging for him to turn around and look at me, please let me see those blue eyes. My memory of them couldn’t possibly be accurate.

I waited outside the door, palms slick with sweat, watching him through the glass, until he began to walk slowly up the stairs. “Hi, I’m Apollo,” I whispered to myself as I pulled open the front door, the flimsy lock doing nothing to stop me. “What’s your name?” Maybe a little cheesy, but it was a much better start than some of my other options. Like pinning him down until he agreed to be mine.

Up and up we climbed, until I heard a door above close, and I quickly moved to close the distance. Pausing at the top of the stairwell with one hand on the handle, my mate’s scent strong enough to make my head spin, I gave myself one final pep talk, then pushed through the door, ready to meet my future.

For all the scenarios I had planned, I had to admit, none of them involved a baseball bat being swung at my head.

Everything went dark.

Reality came back slowly, the thick fog dispelled by a throbbing pain in my skull. I moaned, but the sound was strangely muffled. There was something in my mouth, but when I tried to reach up to see what it was, I found my hands bound behind me.

My eyes flew open, and I winced at the bright light. I was on the roof, the evening navy sky open all around, and I was tied to a chair with a gag in my mouth. After a brief moment of panic, my eyes landed on the blue-haired man in question, his arms crossed over his—still bare—chest, his coverall sleeves tied around his waist.

Memories flooded back to me in a rush, a baseball bat swinging at my head. He hit me! No wonder I had a headache. I had to admit, with a strange sense of pride, he had a good swing.

He wore a cute smirk. “What are you wearing? You look ridiculous.”

I frowned, looking down at myself objectively. I knew it! I shouldn’t have trusted that little old lady’s fashion sense. I rolled my eyes and tried to explain that I didn’t usually dress like this, but it came out like mumbled gibberish around the gag.

The man’s lips twitched, and he stepped closer to hook a finger into the gag and pull it free. “Better?”

“No,” I snapped, irritation tingling up my spine. “You hit me.”

He grimaced. “I did. I’m sorry about that, but I think we can both agree that it was for the best.”

I arched an eyebrow, lips pursed. “I would debate that. Best for who, exactly? Why don’t you untie me, and then we can talk.”

“That’s just what a brainwashed hunter would say, right before he slit my throat. Look, Conroy—”

That name caused a full-body jolt, almost painful in its intensity, and I shook my head sharply, cutting him off. “Why do you keep calling me that? That’s not my name! My name is Apollo.” I barked the words out without thought, defensive and angry, but it sounded wrong to my ears. That was my name… wasn’t it?

His expression was infinitely sad as he took in the frown I tried to hide, his shoulders drooping under some unseen weight. He crouched down to my level. “You don’t remember me? It’s me, Kedi. We grew up together. You were my best friend.”

Kedi… I stared up at him, trying to imagine him without the blue hair and body modifications. “I don’t…” I began, but there was something about his eyes. I knew the shape they would take when he smiled, the dimple that would appear when he laughed, marked now by a blue stud. I finally landed on, “Maybe.”

“I can work with maybe,” he said, offering me a gentle smile.