Wrong Train, Right Wolf (Love Sync Mates Season Two)

1. Adan

ONE

ADAN

“What is that noise? Turn it off.”

My assistant must’ve been busy. He always ran interference for me so there were no surprises at work. But that damned alarm on his computer was intruding on my sleep.

Hello? Hello?

As well as that beeping, there was an annoying voice in my head. I pulled the covers over myself and hunkered down.

Excuse me? Annoying?

Oh, shoot. I was conscious enough to recognize the voice as my wolf .

Sorry. I’m not really awake.

He harrumphed. You should be. The alarm is telling you to get up .

I sat upright, my body rigid, while my mind whirred. When I turned off the beeping, the phone told me it was Sunday. So why had I set the alarm?

Thoughts churned in my head, and I rubbed my brow. Thinking so early on a Sunday hurt. My gaze alighted on a wheeled, carry-on bag. It was open and packed with layered clothes.

I prided myself on being organized.

You’re not!

“Gods, I’m going to a conference.”

Why did I think it was a good idea to take the earliest flight and not one at a more reasonable hour like after lunch? I could have had a leisurely breakfast and made it to the airport in plenty of time. It was only a one-hour flight. But I’d intended to get there early and settle in before scouting around for good restaurants and somewhere to shift.

Please, can we hunt?

Yes. That’s the plan .

I bounded out of bed and into the shower, forgetting I was wearing PJ bottoms and they were now soaking wet. A quick soap-up and rinse and I was half into my pants with a shirt hanging over my shoulder. I’d done online check-in, had my digital boarding pass, and only had carry-on luggage, so that was a timesaver.

“Teeth!” I screeched. I couldn’t sit beside a stranger, or anyone really, breathing sour breath over them.

Gross!

I bolted out the door after rinsing my mouth with mouthwash and holding my toothbrush with a squirt of toothpaste on the top. The rideshare driver told me not to make a mess, and I held up a paper cup. Brushing my teeth and spitting into the cup was a little ewww but better than stinky breath. Maybe a lot ewww!

So gross!

Considering my wolf tore animals to pieces and devoured them, being icked out by toothpaste was weird.

I was thirty minutes behind schedule, but the traffic on Sunday shouldn't be a problem. Except we got behind a slow-moving truck in one lane and a van from an assisted living facility in the other. Almost tearing my hair out, I badgered the driver to switch from one lane to the other. No dice.

Eventually the older folks sped up a little and changed lanes, allowing us to zoom past.

“Can you go a little faster?” We were at the speed limit, but cars often sped past me when I was driving to or from work.

The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “If you miss your plane, you can get another one. But I can’t work if I lose my license.”

Gods, what was wrong with me? I’d expected the guy to threaten his livelihood. I sat back, arms folded, checking the phone as the minutes ticked by.

When we arrived, I flung myself out the door, yelling I wouldn’t forget to add a tip. I raced toward the gate, thanking the universe I jogged regularly, though running with a bag was a little cumbersome. I was a shifter and had boundless energy, just not at the crack of dawn.

I freaked thinking they’d closed the gate, and they were about to. But I fell to my knees, still clutching the toothpastey cup, and begged the staff to let me in.

The gate agent peered into the cup and made a face before tapping around her mouth. “You have a little something.”

Oh, right. Toothpaste.

Maybe she’d take pity on me, the guy with his lips smeared in foam, and let me in.

“I’m sorry, sir. The gate’s closed. You’ll have to take the next flight.”

“Please.” I couldn’t miss this flight because I’d recalled that when I’d bought my ticket, the other flights were fully booked until late evening.

“I’m sorry.” She turned away, and I was left alone at an empty gate, still kneeling.

Staggering to my feet, I dragged the bag after me. A woman whispered to her companion and pointed to my cup. Damn, I tossed it in the trash, and when I got outside, I considered my options. A late flight arriving after midnight when I had to be up at six. The other choice was to take a train.

Trains are better . My wolf wasn’t keen on being flung through the air inside a big tin box. I like keeping our feet on the ground .

I checked the train schedules. There was one in an hour, and I should be able to make it to the station. I booked my ticket while in the rideshare and checked the indicator board on arrival at the station. This was busier than the airport, with trains being changed to different platforms and trains to various destinations on the same platform.

I lugged my bag toward the turnstile, but you’d think as a shifter that my coordination would be better, but I got stuck just as I often did in revolving doors. Passengers behind me complained they’d miss their train. But my brain couldn’t compute how the turnstile or a revolving door worked, and I often stumbled or smacked my face on the glass doors.

I managed to get myself, the bag, and my briefcase through, and my train arrived. Everyone crowded in. I stayed back, not wanting to get caught in the crush. It didn’t depart for another ten minutes, so there was no need to hurry.

But that was a mistake because being one of the remaining passengers, if not the last person to board, all eyes were on me as I struggled, trying not to bump people’s knees that were jutting into the aisle, or bang their heads and hands, while checking the seat numbers.

The overhead racks were full, and I had to walk to the end of the carriage, searching for a space. People grumbled, and I had a disagreement with a bear shifter about not touching his bag that almost resulted in fisticuffs. I would have booked a premium-class seat but hadn’t wanted to fork out the money.

I’d been lucky enough to bag a window seat, Row 21 Seat D. There were two unfilled seats, besides my own. A window in front of mine and one on the opposite side of the aisle.

I apologized to the human sitting beside my empty seat who huffed and refused to get up, instead, swerving his legs into the aisle and forcing me to clamber over him. I hated that ‘cause my butt was in his face, though that was better than shoving my crotch at him. He must have been around my kind because there was a whiff of shifter on his clothes.

A human stumbled down the aisle with a small suitcase and holding up a large shopping bag. Every row he passed, he banged, bashed, or stood on someone’s toes, and those people were in an uproar. He panted and mumbled, “Sorry, sorry.”

The guy had a ticket in his mouth. Gross. That was worse than a cup of toothpaste. Who knew where that had been?

He found a space for his suitcase, and he made it to the row in front of me.

But he did the thing I loathed. He looked at the seat number above my head, checked his ticket and then again at the seat number.

Don’t say it, do not say it, I silently begged as sweat trickled down my spine. I couldn’t have made a mistake.

“I think you’re in my seat. 21D”

He said it! No!

Mine must’ve been 20, not 21. Retrieving my phone from the seat pocket, I heaved myself up and apologized to the snarky guy who once again did not get up. He didn’t bother moving his legs, so my ass was right in his face. Again.

But as I stood upright beside the human, his scent smacked me, and I grabbed a seat to prevent myself toppling over. A shifter almost falling was unheard of, but I was swaying and gripping the fabric.

“Sorry about that.”

The guy nodded, his cheeks a glorious pink as beads of sweat dotted his brow. I couldn’t think straight. My head was full of him, his scent, his hands clasping the shopping bag and the boarding pass with teeth indentations.

The aisle guy got up for him, while I had to struggle to reach my correct seat. I fell backward and accidentally grabbed my new seat mate’s ass, earning me a glare.

The journey hadn’t even started and everyone was annoyed with me.

But I didn’t give a damn. The latecomer’s scent which befuddled me had pushed my shifter sensibilities aside, making my lightning-quick reflexes sluggish and my head fuzzy.

He’s our mate! My wolf was in no doubt.

He is! But what to do about it? If we were seated together, we could chat and maybe meet for a coffee or a meal, assuming he was staying at our destination and not heading elsewhere.

I tried peeking between the seats but headbutted my companion. He growled, not a shifter response, just an annoyed human reaction. If I pissed anyone else off, the passengers would be voting me off the train, and I’d be tossed out while it was moving.

My imagination was getting out of control, and I peered through the glass at the platform, willing the train to start.

“Excuse me. I think you’re in my seat, 20D.”

What?