19. Gabriella
Gabriella
No one ever talks about what it feels like waking up after your Alpha mate—oh my God, I can’t believe I am even thinking that—spent half the night knotted inside you.
And can I just say…
Ouch.
Not bad ouch. More like every step comes with a very vivid reminder of exactly how I spent last night—and who I spent it with.
Apparently, I am now the kind of woman who smiles like a complete idiot while remembering smexy fun times with a certain hot as fuck Viking Wolf.
Fantastic.
“Gabby! Ticket thirty-three has been sittin’ here ten freakin’ minutes!” Frank yells from the kitchen window.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!”
I walk over to grab the bag, stepping gingerly because of the newfound soreness between my legs.
I don’t have it in me to be pissed at the boss today. Seriously, I’m in too good a mood. He can yell all he wants.
As for my achy bits? My other nature is already healing things just fine, and honestly? The discomfort isn’t entirely unwelcome.
It simply makes me think of him.
Rowan.
Mine.
I bite my lip as I grab the ticket and check the order.
When am I going to see him again?
Which is a ridiculous thing to ask myself because I already know the answer.
Later.
Five o’clock.
He told me so himself.
Still, my entire body seems painfully aware that he isn’t here. My other nature is worse. She’s been restless since the second he left, stretching beneath my skin and reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.
Him.
I swallow hard.
Because last night wasn’t simply good sex. God, I almost wish it had been.
Almost.
See, good sex I could handle. Great sex? Hell yeah.
Mind-blowing, never-knew-my-body-could-do-that sex? Okay—maybe that would take a minute to process, but I could still put it in a neat little box labeled One Wild Night with the Viking Wolf and move on with my life.
Except that isn’t what happened.
The first round was a combination of unmitigated need and lust. Two people who’d spent weeks circling each other finally crashing together.
But later? By round three, well, let’s just say that everything had changed.
We moved slower. Together. Like we’d somehow learned each other without ever being taught.
And I have never felt so deeply connected to another person before.
Not physically.
Not magically.
Certainly not emotionally.
The memory makes warmth crawl up my neck. Because somewhere between Rowan whispering Honey Girl against my skin and me saying his real name like it belonged on my lips, something happened.
Something I can’t pretend didn’t.
The matebond.
Even now I can feel the faintest echo of him.
Warm.
Golden.
Like firelight flickering somewhere far away.
I don’t know if that’s how Wolves experience a mating bond. Hell, I don’t even understand how a Wolf and an Avian Shifter are capable of forming one.
But it’s there.
And I chose it. I chose him.
That’s the part that keeps knocking me sideways.
I chose Rowan.
He told me what knotting meant. Told me what his Wolf believed I was to him.
His Omega. And then that huge, possessive Alpha male gave me an out.
But I didn’t take it. Instead, I marked him.
My hand stills on the paper bag.
“Oh shit,” I whisper.
Because Rowan has absolutely no fucking idea. Those scratches I gave him across his back and hips?
Those weren’t just passion.
That’s how Avian Shifters mark their mates.
Instinct took over before my brain caught up. And Rowan Cross is walking around somewhere on this mountain right now, carrying my marks.
The very thought has my panties growing moist and my heart skipping a beat.
My mate.
I swallow.
Oh shit. I have a mate. I slap the receipt onto the bag and stare at it.
How the hell did this happen?
Two days ago I was convincing myself I could have one night with him.
One.
No emotions. No expectations. No complications.
Apparently the Fates heard that and laughed their fucking asses off.
“Gabby!”
“Coming!”
I grab the order and hurry it out front.
Well, as much as I can muster myself to hurry today.
A fire called Rowan away before we could really talk about what happened. One minute I was curled against him trying to understand how my entire life had changed overnight, and the next, his phone was going off.
Duty.
I understood. I didn't like it. But I understood.
Before he left, though, he kissed me.
And I mean he kissed the hell out of me.
Not one of those frantic, desperate kisses from last night. This one was somehow worse.
Slow.
Deep.
The kind of kiss a woman spends the rest of the day touching her lips and remembering.
Then he pressed his forehead against mine and growled, “Pick you up later for Gia’s birthday dinner, Honey Girl. You and Matteo be ready by five.”
Like that was it. Settled.
The three of us were going together.
I nodded. And now? I’m watching the clock like a teenager waiting for prom.
Pathetic.
I called Megan, the other waitress, and begged her to come in early so I’d have enough time to run home, shower, and change.
Then a text came from Rowan. And that one text somehow turned into me taking the entire weekend off.
Because I’m in a relationship now, and if I’m in one, then my son is in one too. So, yeah, apparently Matteo and I are spending the whole weekend on the mountain with Rowan. In his cabin.
I’m thrilled. And terrified.
I might actually throw up.
At first, my biggest worry was Matteo. What if he doesn’t like Rowan? What if spending an entire weekend with him is too much? What if my son realizes before I do that I’ve made a terrible mistake?
Except the second I mentioned spending the weekend at Rowan’s cabin, my child practically levitated.
“On the mountain?”
“Yes.”
“With Havoc?”
“Yes, Sweetheart. Is that okay?”
“Can I bring my dinosaurs?”
“Um, yeah. Of course.”
“Whoopee!”
So apparently I’m the only one having an existential crisis. My son is already packing and waiting with Mrs. Donnelly at home.
I hand the next customer his to-go order, and he nods his thanks.
“Have a good one.”
“You too, darlin’.”
The chime above the front door rings.
I look up automatically with my customer-service smile already in place.
It disappears.
I recognize the woman walking in. It’s the Bridezilla-to-be from Dick’s.
Lindsey whatever-her-last-name-is.
Two of her bridesmaids trail behind her.
“Oh my God.”
Her lip curls the second she sees me.
“Does this skank work everywhere?”
Wow. Good morning to you too.
“Um, can I help you?”
I refuse to take the bait. I’ve dealt with snarky bitches—male, female, whatever, bitches be bitches—most of my life. It comes with the territory when you’re working in the service industry.
Then I notice her face. My irritation evaporates.
Lindsey is sporting a black eye. A bad one. Purple bruising spreads beneath it, poorly concealed by makeup, and something cold slips down my spine.
Because I know what that looks like.
I know what it feels like to stand in front of a mirror and figure out which concealer covers fingerprints.
Ethan gave me more than my fair share of bruises when I lived under his rule with the Suicide Cliff Wake.
Suddenly, Lindsey isn’t just the bitchy bride from last night. She’s a woman somebody hurt. And no matter how nasty she’s been to me, I can't look at that bruise and feel nothing.
“Just get me a diet cola already!” she snaps.
I blink. My other nature rises, irritation starting to outweigh sympathy.
“Hurry up!”
Okay. Compassion only stretches so fucking far.
“Sure. Will there be anything else?”
“Ugh! Will somebody give this person our order. I don’t have time for this!”
One of her friends gives me a semi-apologetic smile and shakes her head.
“Coffee for me, please.”
“Same, and some fries,” the other murmurs.
Lindsey stomps toward a booth.
I watch her go.
Something feels wrong. That strange feather scent I noticed last night clings to them again.
Still faint beneath the perfume and hairspray. But definitely there.
My other nature stirs uneasily.
Vulture.
I stiffen.
No.
Lots of Avian Shifters exist. The Suicide Cliff Wake doesn’t own the entire fucking species.
And these women aren't Shifters. They just smell like they've been around them.
Still, an uncomfortable prickling starts between my shoulder blades.
I take their order, then glance at the clock. Megan should be here any minute.
Thank God.
I want to go home.
Now.
I want Matteo. And suddenly I really, really want Rowan.
The thought stops me.
Because yesterday danger meant running. Today, my first instinct is to find him.
My mate.
I don't know how I feel about that yet. The kitchen finishes their order just as Megan walks through the door.
Thank fuck.
“These are the drinks for table six. They got fries coming out in a minute. Thanks, Meg.”
“Sure thing, Gabby,” the younger woman says and smiles.
I start grabbing my things. Then Lindsey’s voice carries across the restaurant.
“Not you! I want her to bring it to me!”
I close my eyes.
Of course she does.
Frank looks up from behind the counter.
“Gabby.”
“I heard her.”
“She's a paying customer. Bring her the fries,” he says and drops them on a red plastic tray.
I glare at him.
Asshole.
“Fine.”
I grab the tray and add some paper plates, and I carry them over.
“Here you go.”
I set everything down.
“Enjoy.”
I'm already turning away when fingers close hard around my wrist.
My entire body locks.
Every survival instinct I possess explodes awake. I look down. Lindsey is holding me.
“Let go of me.”
“You think you're better than me, don't you?”
“What?”
Her eyes are bright. Too bright.
Angry, yes.
But beneath that?
Humiliation.
Fear.
Pain.
I force myself not to yank away hard enough to hurt her.
“Look, Lindsey, I don't know you.” I keep my voice low. “I'm sorry for whatever you're going through, but it has nothing to do with me.”
Her fingers tighten.
“Yeah, right.”
One bridesmaid shifts uncomfortably.
“Linds—”
“Shut up!”
The woman immediately does. My stomach clenches. Lindsey looks back at me.
“It was fine until the night at the bar.”
My pulse stutters.
“What was?”
“He said I smelled like someone he remembered.”
The restaurant seems to get quieter around me. Or maybe I just stop hearing it.
“What are you talking about?”
“Then he did this! Now we have to postpone the wedding.”
She points at her bruised eye. My stomach drops.
“Who?”
Her face twists.
“The man I'm marrying!”
Cold creeps through me.
“He did this because of you!”
I jerk my wrist free.
“What?”
“He kept smelling me after I got home. Like a fucking animal.” Her voice cracks. “Wanted to know where I'd been. Who I'd been around. He hurt me,” she whispers in a voice that sounds broken and haunted.
Feathers.
Her man talking about a scent.
My hidden nature slams against my skin.
No.
Lindsey is breathing faster now.
“He said there was a scent on me he hadn't smelled in years.”
My blood turns to ice.
No.
No, no, no.
“He said the woman with that scent ran away with his son!”
The room tilts.
Matteo.
My baby.
Every instinct inside me starts screaming.
Lindsey's bruised face blurs in front of me as memories I’ve spent years trying to bury tear free.
Running.
Hiding.
Nando.
Ethan.
The Wake.
My hand curls instinctively over my stomach even though the person I need to protect isn't inside me.
He's at home. Away from me. Exposed.
“He hurt me because of you!”
“Who did?” I ask, but really, I don’t want to know.
“He said he was going to find out where I’d been. Who I’d been around. It has to be you!”
I pull back in horror.
“You're wrong. I-I don’t know you.”
My voice barely works.
Lindsey laughs bitterly. But I’m already shaking my head.
“You know who I’m talkin’ about. You’re trying to steal my man,” she says angrily.
“You're wrong. I don't know what you're talking about. And I don’t want your man.”
Part of it is a lie. I know. Fuck, I know exactly what this means.
And for the first time since Rowan left me this morning, that warm flicker of the mate bond inside my chest doesn't feel romantic.
It feels like a beacon. A desperate flare sent into the darkness.
Rowan.
Because the past I've spent years running from hasn't just found Ember Hollow. I think it found me.
And I think I have to tell Rowan. As soon as possible.