Twist of Fated Mates

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Nigel

I wipe the blood from my lips with the back of my hand and frown. It’s sticky and black under the moonless night sky. Will I ever get used to this?

Perhaps it’s best if I don’t.

Certain acts exist that no person ought to get used to.

The dying boar heaves its last few breaths. Its flesh will make a meal for scavengers less timid than I, less appalled by the savagery, less hampered by disgust.

It’s one thing to kill in my wolf form, and a far cry from that natural experience to kill as a man.

To soil my lips and hands with the blood of animals.

But better than the alternative. At least this way, people remain safe from the cursed thirst that gnaws at my belly and tugs at my veins until the wee hours of the morning.

Cold air on colder skin elicits a shiver, though temperature, no matter how extreme, can’t harm me anymore. Not since the attack.

With the gruesome task of feeding done with, I’m free to roam the forest in search of the scent I caught a few nights ago.

A sweet aroma, like nothing I’ve ever smelled before—evocative, light floral notes warmed by a deep woodsy aroma.

Like a meadow after a fresh spring rain.

Though I only caught a fleeting whiff, the memory curls like a vine, urging me to seek out more.

Towns and villages are dangerous for me. Perhaps more accurately, I’m dangerous for them. Normally, I’d avoid signs of people at all costs, but the scent beckons like a lullaby humming on the breeze. So rich I taste it on my tongue with each drawn breath.

If I can just find the source, fulfill my curiosity, that will be enough. Or so I tell myself. I’ve gorged on the blood of animals. I don’t need more. I can afford a brief jaunt into a small tavern to slake the desire to identify the sweet, delicious smell. No big deal.

As I enter, bells tinkle overhead. Some heads turn. Some don’t.

Nothing bad happens.

A scan of establishment reveals a well-kept tavern, wooden everything: floors, walls, rafters, tables, and bar.

The wispy remnants of the scent lures me forward.

Apprehensive, I make my way to the bar and claim a stool.

“What’ll you have?” asks the man behind the counter. A werewolf. Most of the folks here are.

“Hot cider.”

“Coming right up.”

Someone slams a mug down. I startle.

Nothing bad happens.

My stomach churns, blood gurgling as nerves begin to overtake me. I shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. I don’t know this pack. They don’t know me. And I haven’t bothered with the proper permissions and introductions to be here.

The barkeep returns and offers a smile I don’t deserve along with my cider, then goes about his business.

Nothing bad happens.

Perhaps I can relax a bit after all.

A mug of liquid heaven steams in front of me—heaven I can no longer drink—but I wrap my icy palms around it anyway, leeching its heat for myself.

The door chimes jingle, announcing a new arrival.

The scent hits before I can turn my head. I shutter the wave of excitement that threatens to perk my hopes up, but that soulful perfume! It’s so loud, screaming for me to pay attention.

My intuition must be wrong. I can’t have this now, not after everything. I’m ruined. It’s not fair.

Carefully, I deaden my expression, swallow the dream that cannot be, and take a peek.

Jaw hanging open, blue eyes full of joyful intensity, he practically runs through the tavern to greet me.

Mate.

Charlie

My whole life I’ve dreamed of meeting my mate.

In those countless daydreams—not to mention a fair few extremely pleasant nightdreams—never once did I imagine he’d already be dead.

Or undead.

Whatever.

“You’re a vampire.” I blink at him, my mouth agape. A whirlwind of emotions churns through me, none of them settling long enough to be pinned down.

He’s gorgeous, with a mane of black flowing hair, honey-brown eyes, and lips that are too red to be natural.

Plenty nice to stare at, even if that pretty mouth hides deadly fangs.

He sits alone at the bar, nursing a warm drink that smells of apples and cinnamon.

Steam rises from the cup, swirling a ghostly frame around his face.

Wide eyes narrow as he scans me from head to toe then meets my gaze. “And you’re short. We can’t all be perfect.”

“Hey.” I crinkle my brow. “I can’t help that.”

“And I can’t help being a vampire.”

Fair point. I shouldn’t be so cheeky with my intended, especially when he looks like he could eat me for dinner.

Especially when I want to let him.

We’re at Two Toes Tavern, my uncle’s place down by the river on the edge of pack territory. It serves both the human and preternatural populations, though the former isn’t aware of the latter. We keep our wolf identities a secret for safety.

I lean in and steal a whiff of his delectable scent—pine, lye soap, blood, and… mate. A sweeping rush of fervor rattles my nerves. Is it really him? Have I really found my intended so soon? So easily?

I’m not usually this lucky. Then again. He is a vampire. That’s weird. Wolf first, but vampire also. A zillion questions flit through my mind. Best to start with the basics.

“What’s your name?”

He watches me like it’s a trick question, gaze assessing, expression blank.

I can’t get a read on him. Does he feel it too? This magnetic tug, like a craving so deep my very bones ache with the need to be closer to him. To know him. This alluring wolf-vampire that dares set foot in our territory without permission.

Maybe that’s why he’s here. To seek permission. If so, I’ll be sure it’s granted. My mother is our alpha. No way she’d keep my mate from my side, vampire or not.

“Nigel.” He closes his lips and runs his tongue along his hidden teeth, toying with my curiosity. “Yours?”

“Charlie.” The urge to fling myself at him and cling like ivy grows difficult to ignore, but he’s holding himself carefully rigid, as if ready to bolt. Spine straight, shoulders back, body tense. So I rein in my desire.

For now.

I gesture at the open barstool next to him. “This seat taken?”

Nigel sniffs. “You can see that it’s not.”

Oh good. He’s bitchy. My favorite.

I climb onto the cushioned brown leather because he’s right about one thing—I’m short—and give in to the urge to study him.

He’s not alabaster pale like one might expect of a vampire. Rather his cheeks shine with a ruddy glow. Like he’s flushed. Or shy. Maybe he’s shy. “Are you shy?”

Nigel draws his brows inward. “Not particularly.”

Words fail me. “This isn’t how I imagined things going.”

“Me either.” He drags his gaze away from me and stares at the drink he can’t consume.

I hazard a guess. “You like the smell?”

A barely noticeable movement that might be a nod is his only response. He sighs, scattering the rising steam. “And the warmth,” he says, voice low.

“So, erm…” I’m not normally tongue-tied, but I’d falsely assumed this moment would be easier.

In my dreams, it goes like this. I lay eyes on my mate. He gasps. We’d be all smiles and hugs and easy conversations until we jump into the nearest bed to cement our bond like a proper pair. Instead, he doesn’t even seem pleased to meet me. What if he doesn’t want a mate?

And am I really going to settle for small talk? I suppose I am. “What brings you to the tavern?”

He raises his amber eyes to mine. He might be undead, but his eyes sparkle with life.

I could lose myself in their beauty.

“You, apparently,” he says. “Though I didn’t realize until now. Your scent drew me in.”

A swooping sensation of pure joy dances in my chest. “So you do feel it? Our connection.” I can’t hold back from touching him a second longer, but instinct warns me to be cautious. That this one spooks easily. I lay my fingers on the back of his hand. Cool to the touch. But I don’t mind.

He jerks his hand away, spilling his cider in the process. Now I mind. The rejection stings like salt in a wound, burning deeper with each breath.

Henric, the barkeep and also my cousin, appears out of nowhere with a damp towel and wipes away the spill. “I’ll bring you another.”

“No need.” Nigel stands. “I should be going. Sorry for the mess.”

He can’t be serious.

“Going? Going where?” I hop off my stool to follow. No way am I letting my mate out of my sight now that we’ve found each other. Even if he did just flinch from my touch.

Nigel drops a few bills on the counter and walks to the door.

He is serious.

But so am I.

Bells chime as he leaves, then chime again as I rush to keep up. “Wait. Nigel.”

He whirls on me, and I come to a dead stop, my nose an inch away from his chest.

“This will never work.” A flicker of sadness wavers. Then his expression hardens. “You’re better off without me, Charlie. I won’t bother you again.”

Nigel disappears.

My heart sinks. I didn’t even get to see his fangs.

I’m left standing stupidly, gaping at the empty air where Nigel vanished in front of my eyes. Except he didn’t exactly. Not quite. Rather he ran away so fast my vision was tricked into thinking he vanished.

But he’s left footprints in the sandy lot outside the tavern that lead off toward the river.

And more importantly, he’s left a scent trail.

He may be faster, but I’m the best tracker in my pack. I’ll be damned if I let Nigel get away that easily.

If he’s going to break my heart, I deserve to know why.

Yeah, maybe I’m short. Maybe I’m a little too eager. Maybe I’m not what he expected. Maybe he thinks I’m too young. Or too silly. Or not his type.

Well, he’s going to find out one thing about me, that’s for sure. I’m stubborn when I want something.

And I want Nigel.