Chapter Three
LANE
"And then the son of a bitch called me a skinbag, can you freaking believe it?" I'm making a hands-free cell phone call to Alexis as I drive. She's at work at the daily newspaper where she just got hired. Before that she was working at a much smaller weekly, so she's moving up in the world.
"You're not still going to take the job, right?" she says. "You're coming home?"
I heave a sigh. That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn't it? "I need this job. I told him where to shove it. Well, no, I thought that, but I didn't say it out loud. What I did tell him was that I was going to take this job and nothing was going to stop me."
"Wait, you said that to the Alpha?" Alexis sounds nervous.
"Yes, and?"
"And, he's the Alpha. They don't like it when you challenge them."
"It'll be fine. I think," I assure her. Nerves flutter in my stomach.
The road narrows as I drive deeper into the forest, the trees soaring into the sky. Sunlight filters through the thick canopy in golden streaks, illuminating dust motes that drift lazily across the air. My window is rolled down. The scent of damp earth and fresh wood fills the air.
Ahead, an enormous iron gate stretches across the road, black wrought-iron bars topped with elegant spikes. A sign stretches across the top, letters jagged yet commanding: MOONSTONE PACK. It's big and dramatic and more than a little terrifying.
My stomach twists.
"You should just come back home," Alexis says, but the gate swings open and I drive through.
"I'll find a way to avoid him."
"How?" she scoffs.
"I'll figure it out. Don't worry about me." There's an edge to my voice now, but I'm irritated at the situation, not her.
"I am worrying about you. You can't stop me. So there. Neiner neiner neiner. Also, come home! You could just…waitress or something, until you get a teaching job. You can sleep on my couch."
"But what I really want to do is teach, I love working with kids, and I might have a job here."
"What if the kids bite you?"
I heave an exasperated sigh. "You remember that shifters can't shift until after puberty, right?
And at that point if they're trying to bite me, they've got other issues.
Anyway, I'm the first-grade teacher, and no shifter in known history has shifted before age 12.
Most don't shift until age fourteen on up. "
"'Ooh, I'm a teacher, I'm smarter than everyone'," Alexis jokingly mocks me. Then her voice turns serious. "How many humans have ever taught at a shifter school?"
"My research shows that I'm the first. But I think that's a good thing. It could open up a new era of trust and cooperation between shifters and humans."
I slow the VW as the pack headquarters building comes into view, my stomach flop-flopping and my heart thudding in my chest.
It's huge and solid. Stone and timber, sprawling across the clearing. The sunlight glints off the windows, and the shadows of the towering pines dance across the walls.
Red mulch rings the exterior of the building, dotted with bright bursts of color from sunflowers and irises that feel almost defiantly cheerful against the building's looming authority. Benches and lanterns are spaced out along the walkways.
Nearby, I see houses and a playground and other buildings.
There is thickly forested land to the right, and beyond the houses, to the left, the land opens up into orderly swaths of farmland—fences tracing lines across the grass, red-painted barns and silos standing high on the horizon.
Sheep graze in slow, drifting clusters, goats leap and climb a shed, and rows of corn and soy stretch outward in disciplined bands, the whole landscape humming with quiet, purposeful work.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, heart hammering. The iron gate behind me fades into the trees, but the sense of authority doesn't—this is the heart of their world. And I'm in it. Maybe I'm not supposed to be…but I've really got nowhere else to go.
I pull into a parking space in front of the headquarters. "Gotta go. I will call you later and tell you how it went." I hang up quickly before she can protest.
As I climb out of the car, one of the men on the walkway, who looks to be in his forties, turns and glares at me.
He's got black hair streaked with silver, and he's wearing an expensive suit and a very unwelcoming expression.
When he catches me looking at him, he directs a vicious glare at me, and his upper lip curls in a snarl.
I freeze where I'm standing – and then I hear thudding footsteps coming up behind me. Spinning around, I see an enormous, magnificent wolf barreling towards me.
The wolf skids to a stop, ripples and blurs, and its fur sinks back into its skin. With an intense, disconcerting certainty, I know it's Jesse.
He slowly straightens and stands up, staring at me.
Oh, and also, he's naked.
Holy hell. He's…perfect. Every muscle is carved like a sculpture, taut and rippling even as he stands still. Broad shoulders, flat stomach, muscular legs. He moves with an effortless, predatory grace, like he owns the ground he's standing on.
His dark brown hair is tousled, falling into his eyes in a way that makes me want to reach out and fix it—but also makes me want to rip my shirt off and wrestle him into the dirt. The intensity in his brown-gold eyes, the way his full lips press into a hard line…I'm momentarily mesmerized.
I blink at him in shock. "Did you just run behind my car all the way from the diner?"
He shrugs, like it's no big thing.
"Why aren't you out of breath?" I wonder aloud.
At that, his mouth curls up in a wicked smile. "I have an enormous amount of stamina. As you'll find out."
My jaw drops. "Presumptuous, much?"
"Let's start again. You're Lane. I'm Jesse." His eyes are glinting with amusement as he sticks his hand out to shake mine. He wants to touch me while he's naked? Oh hellz no. I do not have that much willpower.
I am desperately trying not to stare at his thick, erect manhood. It juts proudly from a nest of dark curls. Focus, Lane, I tell myself. This fuzzy bag of snarls is standing between you and the office building. Between you and your job.
"Me Tarzan, you Jane?" I huff.
His mouth curls up in a grin. "Fair. I may not have made the best impression earlier. In fact, maybe I came across as a rude, obnoxious caveman."
Despite myself, I find his self-deprecating humor seriously hot. I'm not letting him off that easy, though. "You think?"
"Maybe. But I promise you I will make it up to you."
"How would you do that? Why? You hate humans. You are clinging onto old, outdated grudges against us and judging us all for the bad actions of people several generations ago. Why would you want to make it up to me?"
His whiskey-brown eyes glint with amusement and something that looks very much like hunger. "Because you're my fated mate."
A wave of dizziness rolls over me. My ears heard it, but my brain is not ready for this.
"Excuse you very much?"
I take a step back. He takes a step forward.
He stops just close enough that I can smell him—woodsmoke, musk, and something wild and unique. My knees threaten to buckle, and I have to force myself to take a breath.
"You're my fated mate. You're meant for me," he murmurs, voice low and heated, like he's seeing me for the first time but also knows me somehow. "You're exactly what I would have described if someone asked me what I wanted in a mate."
"Who…me?" I gesture at myself. Broad hips. A bit of a tummy. Generously sized thighs. Wavy red hair that refuses to be tamed. An explosion of freckles sprayed across my face.
"Yes, you." His eyes gleam with hunger. "Every inch of you is perfect. And you've got a mouth on you. I like that."
"The mouth that told you off in front of everyone in the diner?"
He grins, that damn wolfish grin that makes me want to punch him and throw myself at him at the same time. "Yeah. Exactly. And I want more of that. You can tell me off any time that I need it. It'll probably become a full-time job for you."
I gape at him, because the 180-degree turnaround is making me dizzy.
But the way he's looking at me—like I'm the only person in the world, like he owns me, and will do whatever he wants to me—makes my brain short-circuit. I take a step back, flailing for some self-control, and he takes a step after me, never breaking eye contact.
"Back off," I demand, my face flushing. It's not because I want him gone, it's because I'm afraid I'm going to start tearing my clothes off.
"Or what?" His mouth curls up in amusement. Oh my God. He is so Alpha, so overbearing…and it is so hot.
"Jesse, dear." A woman's voice, richly amused, slices through the air and yanks me back to reality.
A very pretty woman who looks to be in her fifties is walking up the pathway towards us. She's tall and bears a strong resemblance to Jesse and Cole; she has their same full mouth and thick dark brows, and she's wearing a black tweed jacket and skirt with a white silk shirt.
She has dark brown hair with a streak of white through it, and she's holding a gray pair of pants in her hands.
"What, mother?" he says impatiently. Ah, yes. Marion Ward, the woman I came to interview with. She's beaming at me in a way which soothes my jangled nerves.
Her smile turns to an amused frown as she looks at Jesse.
"Two things. One, you are blocking this nice woman's path.
We need to do her interview. And two?" She shoves a pair of gray sweatpants on him.
"Put on some pants, dear. Act like your father and I raised you with some manners.
Humans aren't quite as comfortable with public nudity as we are. "