Forbidden Fated Mate of the Damaged Alpha

Chapter 1 Mine

Grady

I'm sitting here in my truck. I feel like a middle schooler at his first dance and all the girls are lined up on the other side of the gym. The woman I love is back for the first time in a dozen years. Sure, I'm older and less subject to the crushes of my younger days.

I am here for a reason beside Marris. Denholm Scott wants the plans for a housing community.

There is a question about where the property line goes.

If he's wrong, the houses could be planned on Pack Veron property.

The last thing I need to deal with is a fight. Once I find that out I'm heading home.

Who am I kidding? I'm here for her.

My phone rings.

"Grady Harrison."

"Did you check those land records yet?"

Denholm.

"Not yet."

"The library has been open since 7:30am. The archive since 8:00am. Get in there and find out."

"I will."

"Grady, we need to get a start on this project or the company falls behind. We can absorb the loss but the point is we don't have to."

"I know."

"When was the last time you were in there?"

"Years ago. I always make someone else go. Since my promotion, it's easy to do." I look at the box of business cards for the building company: Hansen Valley Builders. Grady Harrison, Vice President of New Projects.

"Being six feet, four inches tall doesn't hurt either."

"Look, I'm not insensitive to your situation but we still need that information."

My situation. Marris. I never thought I'd see her again. She's here, in that room.

"Veron wasn't going to call but I told him it would be a kindness for you to know in advance."

A kindness, I guess. Denholm is right. We need the information. My broken heart is eighteen years old. I need to let her go.

"I'm heading in there right now. I'll check in with you later."

I get out of the truck and push my Henley sleeves up to my elbows. Marris always liked these. I missed the comfort since my promotion to business button down shirts and suit jackets.

Looking down I see an old clan tattoo peeks out at me. Fortified by my family, I pick up my papers and keys. I shut the driver's side door, and set off across the dew wet lawn. A soft scent catches my nose. Could it be her?

"Maybe she's not married."

I push through the archive door.

The scent reaches me before my eyes adjust to the light. Fragrance of warm paper, some kind of fruity black tea, and underneath both of those something not entirely new.

My wolf doesn't ask permission. It knows it.

Mine.

I stop walking. I am three steps inside the university archive at 9:41am in the morning. Every rational thing I came here to do rearranges around a single fact I did not see coming.

Here, in the stacks, I hear the quiet roll of a ladder.

I think: eighteen years of Alpha focus. Denholm. The Veron dispute. The 1987 survey.

I think: of course.

I straighten my shoulders and walk toward the reference desk.