Chapter Eleven
Sarah
The moment Mitch speeds away in his cruiser, bewilderment washes over me. One minute he was showing me the breathtaking cabin he’d built with his own two hands, his voice laced with quiet pride and reverence, and the next, he could barely get me back to the Wolf’s Bite fast enough.
Did I make a mistake? Say something to upset him or trigger his sudden change? I replay our interactions over and over in my mind, searching for any hint of misstep or offense, but come up empty-handed.
I frown as I try to make sense of his erratic behavior. There had been an undercurrent of tension, a simmering intensity that had pulsed just beneath the surface. And for a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something feral burning in the depths of his eyes.
As though another awareness lives under his skin.
But just as quickly as the thought takes root, I push it aside, dismissing it as nothing more than a figment of my overactive imagination. Despite the lingering confusion and hurt that Mitch’s abrupt departure has left in its wake, I can’t deny the deeper connection I feel toward him–a fundamental sense of rightness and belonging that defies all logic and reason.
There’s an undeniable quality about Mitch, an essence that resonates within my soul. He gets me, understands me on a level that transcends words or surface-level interactions.
When I’m with him, when I allow myself to bask in the warmth of his presence, a profound peace and acceptance washes though me.
It sounds corny when I think about him that way.
And yet, I have no other way to describe those feelings.
Which is why, despite the nagging voice of self-preservation that whispers for me to keep my distance, there’s an undeniable pull that defies the boundaries of rational thought.
My head snaps up as a haunting wolf’s howl echoes through the crisp mountain air. The sound tugs at something deep within me and makes goosebumps rise over my skin. I turn toward the treeline, my gaze searching for the source, but the forest remains still and silent and I remember the connection Willowbrook has with wolves. Maybe this is why they’ve named shops after wolves. That howl is going to stay with me for a very long time.
I wait to hear another howl, but the wolf stays silent.
With a shake of my head, I turn and make my way back into the Wolf’s Bite. As I step into the cozy lobby, I’m greeted by the sight of Cindi bustling about behind the front desk.
“There you are,” she exclaims, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. I haven’t noticed the shade of them before, but now I look, they’re an unusual shade. Like sea glass. “I was beginning to wonder if the sheriff had decided to keep you all to himself.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks at her teasing tone, and I can’t help but avert my gaze, suddenly self-conscious. “He, uh...he had to go take care of something,” I say, the memory of tires throwing up gravel in his haste to leave still fresh in my mind.
Cindi’s brow gathers ever so slightly, and I can practically see the wheels turning. But before she can probe further, I’m pressing on, determined to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Although my bank account has been cleaned out, I can still pay you. Mitch offered me a job,” I confess. Although it’s only a pity job, it means I can earn money. “I’m going to write about the festivities tonight for the town newspaper.”
To my surprise, Cindi doesn’t seem the least bit taken aback by the revelation. Instead, she simply chuckles and shakes her head, her expression one of quiet amusement.
“Of course he did. My brother would move heaven and earth for you, if he could,” she murmurs.
There’s something weighted in her tone that hovers just beyond the periphery of my understanding. A frown pulls at the edges of my lips as I regard her.
“Is there...something I should know about him?” I ask, unable to shake the nagging sense of unease that has taken root in the pit of my stomach. “I mean, is he...you know...”
I trail off, suddenly uncertain of how to voice the question that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Is Mitch the type of man who preys on vulnerable women, offering false promises and empty reassurances?
He knows many things about me. That I’ve run from a disastrous relationship, burning with shock and betrayal. I’m broke. My job will likely no longer be there because I haven’t turned up for days. I have no family to call on for help. Or even friends, come to that.
In short, my life is pretty sad. I’m vulnerable and if I’m not careful, open to more abuse. Many people wouldn’t think twice about kicking a person already down.
I hope I’m wrong. I hope that it’s only the lingering doubt that Mark has messed with my mind, and I hope that on the slim chance I’m right about Mitch, that Cindi would tell me even though she is his sister. I watch her body language, looking for traces of a lie, but she’s already shaking her head with conviction. “My brother is many things, Sarah. But a philanderer is not one of them.”
“Okay.” My shoulders slump in relief as the weight of my concerns dissipates.
Cindi’s gaze grows distant as she focuses inward. There’s something sad and wistful about the look on her face. “In fact the men around here tend to be the forever kind. One-woman men, bound to their mates for eternity.”
The word hangs heavy in the air between us, and that strange second-knowing switches into place again.
Mates.
Mitch uttered that same word, his voice laced with a depth of reverence and possession, only when he’d said it shivers of awareness had raced down my spine. “What exactly do you mean by...mates?”
She regards me for a long moment, her expression one of quiet contemplation. And then, with a soft sigh, she shakes her head and offers a small smile. “Imagine finding that one person who completes you in every way. As if they were tailor-made for you by the universe itself. A mate is a person destined to be your soulmate, bound to you through an inexplicable and unbreakable connection.”
Her words paint a vivid picture of love and devotion so profound, so all-consuming that it seems to transcend the boundaries of mortal understanding. Despite my best efforts to remain objective, to approach the concept with a healthy dose of skepticism, a flicker of longing takes root deep within my soul.
As the weight of Cindi’s words settles over me, a single face dances at the edges of my consciousness–ruggedly handsome, with liquid brown eyes and a presence that steals the breath from my lungs.
Mitch.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the errant thought before it can take root and blossom into something more. Because as much as a part of me yearns to entertain the notion of fated mates and cosmic connections, the rational side of me rebels.
“I think that sounds like it might be too good to be true,” I say.
“And I say sometimes fate works in mysterious ways,” Cindi says.
Still, as I make my way back to my room to prepare for this evening, I can’t shake the lingering tendrils of Cindi’s words, or the way they resonate deep within me even when I know better.
The feeling stays with me as I put the finishing touches on my outfit for tonight. A pair of well-worn jeans that hug my curves in all the right places, and a cozy sweater makes the color of my eyes pop.
I realize these are my comfort clothes. Articles I wore when I hadn’t met Mark. When I’d finished my journalism course and worked those first few low-paying, step-up-the-ladder jobs I liked much better than the big-paying, corporate job I’d ended up with.
Then I’d worn uncomfortable corporate suits. Strange I’d passed them up for tonight. In the back of my mind, they might be a better choice considering I’m getting paid, but the suits didn’t seem right.
Not now, and I realize, not ever.
I never really liked myself in those clothes, not that Mark ever commented on what I wore or looked like.
He never really saw me.
I was little more than a means to an end, a warm body to share his bed and a steady paycheck to keep the bills paid and the refrigerator stocked.
He was completely indifferent to me. He didn’t just fail to see me–he failed to appreciate the very essence of who I am and now…now when I think of him, I only see him in a gray, washed-out sort of way. He’s an old photo of an era long-gone and another image overlays the old in bright, vibrant colors.
It’s Mitch!
His image burns bright and alive and it’s vivid and enticing, exciting and overwhelming. And as I concentrate on the image of Mitch something untamed awakens within me.
Something that has lain dormant.
A rueful smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I acknowledge the truth that has been staring me in the face all along. I would never have been happy with Mark.
I would have been settling.
I would have suffocated.
I would not have rediscovered a part of myself that had been lost if I was still grieving over our relationship.
A breeze whisks through the trees outside the window, and also flows through my mind, blowing away the cobwebs that have clung to the inside of my skull. I should be filled with grief over Mark, but I’m not. I hate what he did, there’s no question. But the man himself? I haven’t missed him.
Instead, with him out of my life, I’m…free. I’m…unexpectedly happy.
A surge of gratitude washes over me towards Tanya – the woman who, through her selfish actions, saved me from a life of something far less than I deserved.
Where there always should have been a spark in my relationship with Mark, there was absence. I went through the motions because I thought I didn’t know better.
After only one day of knowing Mitch, a fire of knowing burns bright. Still, the small voice of caution whispers in the back of my mind. A gentle nudge toward rationality and self-preservation. It’s too early to feel like that for a man I’ve only just met. But even as I acknowledge the wisdom in those words, and vow to tread carefully and guard my heart, I can’t shake the sense of rightness emanating from the core of my being.
With a renewed sense of self, I straighten my shoulders and hold my head high as I walk down the corridor from my hotel room. My steps are confident, no longer weighed down by the baggage of Mark’s indifference.
As I step out into the parking lot, the crisp mountain air fills my lungs, invigorating me with each breath. I glance toward the treeline, half-expecting to hear the haunting call of the wolf that had stirred something primeval within me earlier, however the forest remains silent.
I’m a little early, but the anticipation of seeing Mitch again has me practically vibrating with restless energy. As I round the corner of the Wolf’s Bite, my gaze immediately lands on Mitch’s cruiser, and my heart clenches. There he is, already waiting for me, his broad shoulders and muscular frame cutting an imposing figure against the backdrop of the setting sun.
A shiver of awareness races down my spine, raising goosebumps in its wake. It’s a purely visceral reaction, one I can’t control or rationalize away. Every part of me is hyper-attuned to his presence, as if he’s a lodestone and I’m the helpless piece of metal drawn toward him.
My gaze locks with Mitch’s, as that invisible tether binds us together, and then, like a bolt of lightning searing through my consciousness, a single word whispers through my mind–loud, insistent, and shocking in its intensity.
Mate.
It’s not just a word, but a truth. I stumble, my steps faltering as a tendril of doubt slithers through the cracks of my consciousness just as fast.
Surely, that word was nothing but a trick.
A fleeting fancy caused by exhaustion and the turmoil in my mind.
And the unshakable understanding that the fairytale Cindi told me may not be fictional at all.