Chapter Three
Dax
Violet has been at our goat farm for seven minutes and forty seconds, and I’ve spent every single nanosecond of those in a full-body panic.
My fated mate.
The universe not only has decided that I need one, it throws in the complication of her being Violet. The woman I’ve been assigned to protect, not mate. The too-pretty, too-curious, too-everything woman currently squatting in the Rambouillet sheep enclosure with a look of enchantment on her face.
Her eyes are wide, her lips are parted…
“Oooh, why don’t we have sheep? I’m going to ask dad to get us sheep when I go home. I love these little guys,” she says, scratching one behind the ears. “They look like angry cotton balls.”
“Careful,” I warn. “They can be—”
BONK.
A ram lowers its head with the precision of a professional linebacker and slams her straight in the butt.
She flies forward, lands flat on her face in the straw, and pops back up like she’s on a trampoline.
A bolt of protective fury shoots through me—irrational, feral, and specifically directed at a sheep who now topped my personal Most Wanted list.
The sheep sensing the rage crackling from my body, turns and bolts away full speed.
“I’m fine!” Violet chirps, brushing off hay. “That was basically a hug.”
I nearly die.
Before I can help her out of the enclosure, my phone buzzes. I grab it from my pocket. My father’s name flashes across the screen, and impatience surges through me. Anything that distracts me from Violet is an irritant.
I swipe to answer.
“Yes, father?” He and my mother are in Kentucky, visiting her pack.
“Son.” His voice is the usual blend of formal, solemn, and mildly disappointed in everything. “Your mother and I have received an answer to the inquiries we put out.”
“Inquiries?” Alarm bells start ringing in my head.
“We believe we’ve found a potential mate for you.”
My eyes snap to Violet, who is now scratching another sheep under the chin and telling it it’s a “handsome gentleman.”
“One minute,” I say, and I quickly jog away so she won’t overhear me.
“A mate,” I repeat, trying not to choke on the word.
“Yes. A perfect match. Excellent trading partners. Strong lineage. Located in California.”
I turn away from Violet, lowering my voice. “Can you maybe… put that on hold?”
“No,” he says impatiently. “We cannot. She’s a very desirable match. She just turned 21. She won’t be available for long.”
In the background, my mother yells, “She’s from very good stock and has child-bearing hips!”
Me, mating with another woman? Yesterday I would have accepted this match without question. Today, I nearly fling my phone across the grassy lot. I spin around, praying Violet didn’t hear a word of it.
Not that it should matter. I can’t actually claim Violet as my mate.
The Everpeak pack would not provide us with any political or trading advantage at all.
And who knows if her father would even accept it?
He sounds like he wants to keep her wrapped up in cotton wool forever.
If shifters had nunneries, she would be in one.
But I still don’t want her to hear this conversation.
Fortunately, Violet’s not paying any attention to me at the moment. She’s climbed into the cow’s enclosure and she’s striding through the grass towards an angry, pawing bull.
Wait, what the fuuhhh….
“Violet?” I try very hard to keep the angry panic from bleeding through. I fail. “What are you doing?”
“Waving at the big guy!” she calls out cheerfully. “He’s so cute!”
Cute.
She means the bull.
The literal one-ton bull who has gored several of our pack members so badly it took them close to a day to heal.
My dad is still talking. “We’ll schedule a meeting. And son? This young woman is a rare opportu—”
“Father, really not a great time for this, talk to you soon, ok bye—”
I hang up mid-syllable.
The bull lifts his head.
Snorts.
Paws the dirt once, as he considers whether to spear her or fling her into orbit.
I launch myself over the fence without a second thought and bolt over to her, my heart thundering in my ears.
“Hi!” she says, waving at me as if we’re at a picnic. “Look at him, he’s so friendly! He’s coming over!”
Yes, he’s coming over, at a very fast pace. Most people would call it “charging.”
I grab her around the waist, hoist her up against my chest, and sprint. The bull lunges forward; I crouch down, jump, clear the fence, and land hard on the other side with her still in my arms.
For one breathless second, we just stare at each other. The bull crashes into the fence and we don’t even notice.
Her body is pressed against mine. Warm. Soft. Perfect. My heart slams so hard it could break ribs—hers or mine, I’m not sure which.
She swallows.
I swallow.
She’s nestled into my arms and I never want to set her down. Her scent swirls in my nostrils, and
Then she says, brightly “That was fun! Is the tour always this interactive?”
And I know I’m dead. Absolutely, completely, fated-mate dead.
“I have never carried another woman in my arms in that manner before.” That was not what she asked, but it is urgently important that I tell her that. She has to know that about me. She has to know that she’s different than any other woman, that she means more to me than any other woman, that…
I clear my throat and set her down abruptly. She stumbles a little bit and puts her hand on my arm to steady herself, and then she doesn’t let go. And I don’t move my arm away from her.
I must move my arm away.
I am physically incapable. How is that possible? I’m the strongest shifter in the entire territory, and yet I can’t figure out how to lift my arm.
We stand there perfectly still in the sunlight, her hand warm on my arm, the world holding its breath around us. Even the breeze seems too polite to interrupt whatever… this is.
The baa of a goat interrupts us. Stupid goat. Goat’s meat stew is delicious, isn’t it?
She drops her hand. “Goats!” she cries out. “I haven’t petted any goats yet! Look how beautiful they are. What kind are they?”
“Nubian.” I let out a long breath and follow her over to the goat enclosure.
Paul, whose clan owns the sheep and the goats, is making his way through the enclosure, scattering fresh hay.
“Heya,” he says, giving Violet a curious glance. “We have a visitor?”
“Yes. From out of town.” I give a short nod.
“I’m Violet!” she says cheerfully. “And I love your goats.” She knees down and pets one of the females.
Paul smiles at her. Then his smile fades and he looks at me. “Any more trouble with the Frostbanes? I heard two of their teenagers ‘accidentally’ ended up on the Shadowpine pack’s property this morning. A-holes.”
I grimace, and stress wraps itself my guts and squeezes hard.
My parents and their mating plans…the Frostbane problems heating up…and I can’t mate with Violet.
I can’t not mate with Violet.
Does she even want me? The way she let her small, warm hand rest on my arm…it felt like she did, but right now she’s practically necking with a goat.
“We should go,” I say tightly.
Violet glances up at me. “We should? Where?”
I don’t know. I just know that my wolf is so restless it’s about to burst out of my skin.
“There’s an ice cream parlor over at the dairy farm section. There’s half a dozen shops over there, actually. You can get a little shopping in.” I turn and walk away abruptly, because I want her so badly that I can’t even look at her right now.
Behind me, I hear her following, and I feel her hurt feelings wafting through the air. That’s a mate thing, isn’t it? I have been told that fated mates becoming attuned to each other’s emotions, especially when they’re intense.
I hurt my mate.
Glaring ahead of me, I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. And I walk even faster.