13. Runaway Mate
Runaway Mate
Cassius
Fuck, she’s beautiful. My mate, my scent match is standing right in front of me, and she’s perfect.
Seeing her in person is an otherworldly experience.
Her large green eyes, upturned nose and delicate pouty lips give her a doe like quality.
She is captivating. Next to her, I feel like a monster.
There is nothing delicate about me. Though society considers me handsome, I do not kid myself that I look in any way soft.
Would my rough hands leave bruises in their wake?
Can she see the blood staining my skin? Would any of that stop me from claiming her? No.
I nearly had a heart attack watching her climb that tree.
I had to stop myself more than once from going out there and plucking her from the branches myself.
And when she threw herself off, fuck, my heart plummeted.
For a moment everything slowed, and I felt myself dying inside.
I can’t bear to see her hurt. But she needed to do this.
She needed to walk voluntarily into my trap, or she would see the chains locking around her.
When she held that knife to my neck, plastering herself on my back, wrapping her limbs around me, I came a little. My little troublemaker, my devil. Her scent alone makes me hard, but the touch of her skin, the feel of her against my scent gland, nothing will ever compare.
She smells better up close. Spice and warmth, combining with my smoky scent.
I want to wrap her in my arms and never let go.
I want to rub my scent into her skin so everyone will know she is mine.
Her jealously was beautiful. She’s a ball of rage and confidence, and I know she wouldn’t have wavered.
If I had answered wrong, she would have taken my life.
She didn’t hesitate to speak to me, to touch me without permission, or meet my gaze.
But then she melted under my touch. She let me hold her, taste her skin and perfumed at my command.
She let me move her, guide her body with mine, trusting me with her very self. She’s everything.
“I’m not allowed a mate.”
She sounds hurt, almost embarrassed. But she never needs to feel that way around me. Nothing she could ever do or say would make me look at her as anything other than perfect.
“Why?”
“I’m not stable.”
Stable? I don’t give a shit if she’s ill, a psychopath or promised to another, nothing is going to stop me from making her mine. If I thought I was obsessed with her before, it’s nothing compared to now that I have got a taste of her.
“You don’t need to be. You just need to be mine.”
A faint screech comes from the hall, and my hands drop from her face for a second.
King’s fussing gets louder, and I pull the door open just enough to hear better and wait.
Sometimes he needs a moment and settles himself back down again.
The wailing stops, and I let out a breath, turning back to my mate.
She’s gone.
I throw myself at the open window and search for signs of her, but there’s no luck. Darkness encompasses the trees, and she’s quick. The moment I let her out of my sight, the chances of finding her fell to zero.
I lick my lips, letting my tongue linger on the remnants of her spicy scent.
“Fuck.” I chuckle.
If it weren’t for the tingle on my tongue, I would be half convinced that she wasn’t here at all. I shake my head. I can’t help the disappointment that floods me. I only got a fraction of the time I wanted to spend with her.
I will find her again, and she can run as fast as she likes, but there’s nothing she could say that would stop me.
For once I let myself wallow in front of the TV, rotting away with the lingering scent of my mate around me.
I’m not entirely sure what I put on, but either way, the fast moving colours and pictures allow my mind to retreat into itself.
When I find her again, I’m going to make it clear that she doesn’t run from me.
That girl needs rules. Breaking into people’s homes and throwing herself from trees.
She doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy restrictions.
Sucks for her. I don’t particularly enjoy a dead mate.
“We’re home!” Browen’s cheerful bellow reminds me to blink.
I’m not entirely sure how long I have been staring at the TV, but my limbs feel stiff as I stand.
Giggles and hurried footsteps bounce up the stairs, and the door opens, revealing two impeccably dressed and deliriously happy Alphas.
Browen wrinkles his nose and sniffs the air.
“What did you cook? Fuck—it’s burning my nose.”
“Stop being so sensitive.” Henri shoves his shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the smell, though his eyes keep darting around the room with a slightly spooked expression.
“That’s my mate you’re talking about, so watch it, or I’ll break your nose.”
“Won’t make a difference. I can’t smell shit out of it right now, anyway.” He mumbles.
I growl and take a step forward to show the idiot that I’m not joking. Henri matches my moves, letting out a matching growl before stepping in front of his pack mate. The fucker wouldn’t be able to beat me in a fight, but the two of them might.
Browen frowns, and he grabs Henri’s shoulder, shoving him out of the way.
“You brought an Omega here? Ohhh Henri is going to killll you.” Browen practically sings.
“Henri is right here.” He mumbles, rolling his eyes and leaning against the door frame, watching the interaction.
“No. He might want to kill himself though because she followed me here, climbed a tree and threw herself at a locked and sealed second-story window, jimmied it open and got in.”
Henri stands straight, alert, his eyes darting everywhere, expecting people to be lurking in every corner of the room.
“What the fuck?” Both Alphas sputter, a little afraid and a little amazed.
That’s my girl.
* * *
“I thought your building had a backup generator?”
“It does.”
“Is it broken?”
“Nope. I turned it off. I wanted to see what she would do next.”
Henri downs his drink and moves to pour another one.
“You’re going to have your hands full with that one. We have enough trouble trying to keep up with Little Miss Prankster.”
He brings over the decanter and fills my glass until it’s almost full.
“You’re going to need that.”
“And she just hangs out at your place?” Browen laughs.
I take a gulp of my drink, letting the burn pour down my throat, and shrug.
“Hang out is a loose term. More snooping and redecorating.”
“Very domestic.”
“Which is why I needed to force her into showing herself.”
“And you had to do that here?” Henri deadpans.
“And use our children as props?” Browen adds.
“Yes—”
A soft thud sounds overhead, and the Alphas exchange a look that I can only guess the meaning of, and now I want to bleach my brain.
Henri leaves without another word, but Browen lingers. His eyes are pinned to the door, but he pats me on the back and offers a genuine smile.
“Don’t give up on her. There’s nothing worse than missing out on time you could have been with your mate. It will be the best thing you ever do.”
I hightail it out of there before I can hear any more noises.
The drive home is quiet, and my mind wanders, lingering on thoughts of her. I hope she got home safe. Though my chest aches and needles stab my heart, knowing she will only ever be truly safe and at home with me.
“I’m not allowed to mate.” “I’m not stable.
” She seems certain, resigned to the thought of being alone.
Well, fuck that. This past year has been painful, knowing in my heart that I’m ready for my mate but every search leading to a dead end has felt endless and alone. I can’t imagine not being able to try.
There’s so many things I wish I could have asked her, so much that I want to know. With time, I’ll know her better than she knows herself, but for now, I’ll have to settle with breathing her scent for the first time. The first touch of her, the sound of her voice, and the warmth of her skin.
Apollo is less than pleased to see me. His head darts around like he’s telling me I’m missing something. I ruffle the top of his head, and we both flop onto the soft with a sigh.
“I met your mama today.”
He whines, resting his chin on his paws.
“I’ll bring her home soon.”
With that promise, I leave, shutting myself into my bedroom.
It’s moments like this that I used to sleep in the nest, but it seems to be the one room my mate won’t step foot in, and without her scent, it doesn’t feel as comforting as it used to.
I should rip it out and leave it a blank slate for her to make her own.
Maybe she would prefer something more like my bedroom.
It’s messy and unorganised. The bed is massive, taking up most of the space in the room.
I don’t like to sleep in large open spaces—trauma from the military I guess, and constantly being on the lookout.
Having to watch every potential entrance, sometimes sleeping out in the open with nothing around for days.
My room and my office are the two rooms I use most. It’s not like it’s unclean.
I don’t have old food or unwashed clothes everywhere.
But I do have a pile of worn but not yet dirty enough clothes on a chair in the corner of the room, and my bed is almost never made.
More than once I have come home to her scent beneath my sheets, and tonight that is exactly the thought I want to fall asleep thinking of.
I shove off my clothes and climb under the covers, the soft cotton sliding across my skin.
In nothing more than boxers, I let my mind conjure up her image.
Dark, long hair I could easily wrap around my fist. The soft strands slip between my fingers, and I twirl them around until they knot themselves, unable to wriggle out of my grasp.
Her pale, milky skin is perfect to suck and bite.
I can see the bruises, the bites, the marks I will make on her so clearly against her unblemished skin.
A red hot blush would follow every lick and touch I make, staining her cheeks.
I groan, wrapping my fist around my throbbing erection.
I can smell her in my room, in my bed, and on my skin. I can taste her on my lips and I want nothing more than to lay her down and worship her.
I’d spend hours learning every part of her body, where to lightly caress and where to grip tightly. I would catalogue her moans, her limbs shaking, the way her breath would catch, and I’d force each and every one until I have had my fill and I know I will never get enough.
I slide my fist up to the head, gripping tightly and rub the pre cum over my palm, letting it guide me. My chest heaves and my eyes fall shut. The image of her is burned into my eyelids, and I can see her so clearly.
I growl, my canines ache for her.
Gripping my shaft, I pump my fist, remembering how I guided her hand with mine.
Wrapping her tiny fingers around the hilt of the knife and forcing her to do my bidding.
Would she have the same nervous, excited hesitation with her hands on my cock?
Or would she take what she wants, what is already hers.
She’d follow my commands with heavy eyelids, like the sound of my voice alone could get her off.
Her moss green eyes would lock on mine, and neither one of us would be capable of looking away.
My muscles tremble, and I bite into my fist, but it doesn’t stop my brain screaming at me to mate her, to make her mine.
A muffled growl escapes me as the taste of my blood and her scent combine.
My knot begins to swell, and I grab it, squeezing.
It throbs against my palm. I pump my cock one last time and cum with a groan.
It spurts onto my chest and my head falls back.
The strain in my muscles has gone, but the lingering sadness of losing her remains.
Fuck.
I still don’t know her name.