Chapter 3 The Fated Bond
CHAPTER THREE
the fated bond
IVER
Not many things in life are constant, but the moon’s cycle is. For one glorious night each month, it shines bright and full in the sky overhead, calling out to my inner wolf like a siren’s song and compelling me to take to the forest and run beneath it.
Shifters have an instinctual response to lunar energy; something interwoven in our DNA on a cellular level. Our inner wolves are closest to the surface when the moon’s full, and when we let them out, they’re stronger, faster, more agile. The moon calls, and we answer.
I’ve been Alpha of my pack for two years now, and I can definitively say that the monthly ritual of leading the full moon run is my favorite part of the gig, hands down.
We’re already a close-knit bunch, but coming together for the run strengthens our bond even more.
It fosters an innate sense of unity and belonging.
When I’m out running with my pack, I can feel their combined energy pulsing through my own veins, and I thrive off the thrill of it. It’s the world’s greatest high.
Something’s different about tonight’s run.
I can feel it in the air; taste it in every breath I drag into my lungs as I sprint through the forest, paws pounding against the earth like a heavy drum beat.
It’s not just that our borders are tighter than normal for increased safety or that another pack has joined in with my own.
As the light of the full moon filters down through the canopy of leaves overhead, I feel a distinct shift in the atmosphere; an urgent pull calling out to me.
My paws slide against the dirt as I pivot at the marker for the border that’s been set for this run– a safety precaution against the hunters that have been venturing too close for comfort as of late.
I hate the restrictive feeling of these tight borders.
We shouldn’t be penned in like this, we should be running wild and free…
but my own sentiments on the issue don’t matter much when I’ve got a pack to protect.
The security squad decided that this was the safest way to approach the full moon run, and the safety of my pack will always be my top priority.
The wind shifts as I turn to head west and a distinctive scent registers.
It hits me like a freight train, punching the air from my lungs as it slams into me and ignites my senses.
Suddenly, every nerve ending is alight, every instinct is pulling me in a singular direction.
I’m not sure where, or to what, but I’m powerless to resist the urge to follow it, that scent taking hold of me and drowning out all rational thought.
The moon calls to me from overhead as the scent beckons me, growing stronger by the second. My legs pump vigorously, muscles burning as I push myself to sprint faster. Whatever that scent is, I need it. It’s mine.
The wind shifts again. I skid to a stop, twisting around in a circle as I throw my head back and frantically inhale, trying to pinpoint which direction to go. The scent is now overwhelming; building all around me like a crescendo. Then it crashes.
I crash.
Someone crashes into me.
I’m knocked off my feet as another wolf tackles mine, the force of it knocking the wind out of me and sending both of us rolling across the ground.
We twist together at first, then untangle as we land, both of us righting ourselves and snapping our heads up to stare into one another’s eyes.
My wolf pulls back, and suddenly I’m shifting, bones snapping and rearranging as I retake my human form.
So does she. Amber eyes blink back at me, framed by thick, dark lashes. Full lips purse in startled surprise. The bond between us snaps into place, fate smiling down upon us as our souls recognize their other half.
It’s no wonder that I couldn’t get this girl off my mind, because Cheyenne Clark is my mate.
A surge of adrenaline shoots through my limbs as we both rise to stand, punctuated by an indescribable feeling of euphoria as the reality of what’s happening begins to sink in.
“M-mate,” Chey stutters breathlessly, still blinking at me in stunned disbelief.
“Mate,” I growl back, a surge of possessiveness spearing through me as I utter the word. “Mine.”
I advance a step in her direction and she flinches like a skittish animal, taking one of her own backwards as she lifts a hand, her mouth dropping open.
“I… what….” she stammers, her voice wavering.
I stop in my tracks, giving her space to come to grips with our new reality. I somehow sense she needs it. I also sense that she’s confused and a little frightened. It’s like I’m suddenly channeling her emotions through our bond; a raw, untethered energy flowing freely between us.
“Chey, you’re my fated mate,” I state with absolute certainty, still awestruck and astonished. Every full moon presents a chance of finding one’s fated mate, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less startling when it actually happens. It’s both everything and nothing like I expected it would be.
It’s so much better.
A celebratory howl cuts through the air; a jarring reminder that the two of us aren’t alone out here.
Tighter borders means close quarters, and someone in my pack just heard me make that declaration.
More howls rise up all around us as word spreads through the pack like wildfire, Cheyenne’s amber eyes popping wide as her head darts back and forth.
Fuck, she’s so damn beautiful. Every inch of her is utter perfection, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. I’m completely captivated, drinking in her appearance like I’m dying of thirst, eager eyes raking over her lithe form as I commit every detail to memory.
Long tan legs. Full, curvy hips. Perky tits that look like they’ll fit perfectly in my hands, with delicate little peach-tipped nipples. Golden hair, amber eyes. Full lips, parting on a stilted inhale.
The mark at the base of her throat isn’t her only scar. Parallel lines mar the skin of her left bicep, another deep line drawn up the inside of her left wrist. Though scars are rare on shifters, hers aren’t off-putting. They’re just as beautiful as the rest of her.
She slaps a palm over her wrist to cover the scar, pulling her hands together in front of her as I jerk my chin up to meet her gaze.
“Wanna run back?” I ask, sensing her discomfort and needing to alleviate it somehow.
“Yes,” she breathes, her head bobbing up and down in a frantic nod. “Back to the packhouse, or…”
“Yeah, the packhouse. Is that cool? Or did you…”
“Yep. Yeah,” she blurts with another sharp nod. “Let’s go.”
The air shimmers around her body as she calls her wolf forward, and I’m quick to do the same, seamlessly shifting back to my animal form.
The two of us take off running in the direction of the packhouse, and thankfully our wolves are a hell of a lot less awkward together than we are as humans.
We easily fall into pace with one another, rubbing up against and nipping at each other playfully.
That giddy sense of euphoria washes over me again as I run beneath the full moon with my fated mate for the first time.
When we break through the treeline at the packhouse, Chey and I briefly part ways to shift and collect our clothes. The second mine are on, I’m crossing the lawn toward her, driven by the primal instinct to be near my mate.
She’s got her head down as she works to fasten a cuff bracelet around her wrist, and I clear my throat as I approach so I don’t startle her. “Hey, do you wanna…”
Chey snaps her head up, amber eyes locking with mine. “I need a drink.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” I reply with an enthusiastic nod. “Just... uh, do you wanna…” I throw a thumb over my shoulder, looking and feeling awkward as fuck as she stares back at me blankly.
Shit, I’m usually way smoother than this.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, pivoting on a heel and trudging toward the packhouse. The bond between us strains harder with every foot of distance I gain, prompting me to up my pace. The faster I make this drink, the faster I can get back to her.
I’m only gone for five minutes tops, but when I reemerge from the packhouse the back lawn is abuzz with activity as the others return from their run.
My mate is still right where I left her, except she’s now been joined by Lo and Javi.
I grin like an idiot as I make a beeline toward them, blowing right past my sister and her mate to approach Chey.
“Vodka cranberry, right?” I ask, extending a hand to offer her the glass.
“Yeah, thanks,” she mumbles as she reaches for it. Our fingers brush when she takes the drink, pleasurable little sparks sizzling between our skin on contact. She jerks her hand back with a little gasp, my sister watching our interaction intently.
“Iver, please tell Chey that you don’t care about her mark,” Lo prompts.
I flinch back with a scowl, looking from her to Chey. “You think I give a shit about that?” I scoff, shaking my head as I turn my gaze back on my mate. “You’re literally my dream girl. I know we don’t know each other very well, but c’mon, you’ve gotta at least give me a chance.”
Chey lifts her drink to her lips, still looking profoundly uncomfortable. She downs half of it in two gulps while Javi slides in closer, murmuring something to her under his breath.
Lo’s fingers curl around my arm and I allow her to tug me aside, even as my inner wolf riots at being parted from our mate yet again.
“Do the two of them have history or something?” I ask suspiciously as soon as we’re out of earshot, eyeing the way Javi and Cheyenne are huddled closely together whispering to one another. “Like, romantically…?”
“What? No!” Lo snaps, scrunching her nose. “Cheyenne is like a sister to him.”
I snort in amusement as the irony strikes me.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, squinting.
I shake my head with a chuckle. “Fate just has a sense of humor, that’s all. A sister for a sister.”