Chapter 3
Torin
Irace through the dark forest as fast as my four paws can carry me. The lodge isn’t far. A few minutes at this pace.
Usually I’d enjoy the run—heck, usually I’d be on the trail of a late-night snack.
But tonight I’m too busy replaying the last fifteen minutes.
Of all the things I expected to find in my territory tonight, my mate wasn’t one of them.
My mate.
Even thinking the words feels fucking unreal.
After all these years, all the wondering. After watching my younger brother find his mate, and trying not to think too hard about whether mine was out there somewhere.
And then I find her because Orson runs her truck off the road.
Hannah.
My beast says her name over and over.
I knew before we touched. The instant I got close enough to scent her through the blood and the stink of the airbag and every other smell clinging to that truck, my bear went fucking crazy.
Mate.
Then she put her hand in mine, and I felt it right down to my bones.
And yet, she arrived in a wedding dress, carrying the scent of East Ridge with her. Smoke, booze, dozens of shifters—all mixed together. But beneath them, one scent clung to her more strongly than the others.
Male.
She’s still untouched. But something bad happened to her today.
That much is obvious.
I want to know who the male scent belongs to. I want to know why Hannah is on the run in that dress, and I want to know why the mention of East Ridge frightened her more than finding a naked shifter beside her wrecked truck.
Mostly, I want to turn around and get back to her.
Ten minutes ago, I didn’t know she existed. Now the thought of leaving her alone beside that wreck is driving me fucking crazy. The lodge appears through the trees ahead, and I pick up speed.
Orson’s already here. I catch his scent before I reach the clearing.
At least he had the sense to come straight home after nearly killing someone.
Nearly killing my mate.
A growl tears out of me.
Right now, Hannah is sitting alone beside a wrecked truck, probably wondering if I’m actually going to keep my promise and come back for her.
I shift at the edge of the clearing and head for the back door.
The kitchen is dark when I step inside. If Orson’s hiding in his room, hoping I’ve forgotten what he did, he’s shit out of luck.
He’ll still be here in the morning.
I drag on jeans and a shirt, shove my feet into boots and head back to the kitchen.
My keys are hanging beside the door. I grab them and glance at the clock above the stove. I can make it back inside twenty minutes.
I keep the headlights dipped and drive down the track that leads away from the lodge.
For the first couple of bends, I drive too fast. I know this road well enough to take it almost blind, but the irony of wrapping my own truck around a tree while going to rescue her isn’t lost on me.
I ease off the gas.
My mate.
The words hit me all over again.
A grin spreads across my face.
Fuck me.
I have a mate. She’s human.
My grin gets wider. My bear doesn’t give a shit, and neither do I. I’ve spent years wondering who my mate would be, trying to picture a woman I had no way of knowing yet. Now she has a face.
Long brown hair. Big blue eyes. A stubborn little lift to her chin when she’s scared and determined not to show it.
I don’t know her yet. But now I know who I’ve been waiting for.
And somebody hurt her.
I keep seeing the way she jerked away when I caught her arm, like she’d learned to be afraid of a man grabbing her. The way she froze when I mentioned East Ridge.
I don’t know what happened there tonight. I don’t know who put her in that white dress, whose scent is all over it, or why she was driving into the mountains alone.
But I know enough about East Ridge to make some ugly guesses.
Was she supposed to mate one of them?
My beast surges hard, and I grip the wheel tight, forcing it back.
Easy.
I take the next bend, and the wrecked truck comes into view.
For one terrible second, I can’t see her. My heart kicks.
Then I spot her sitting on the tailgate.
She’s changed out of the white dress. She’s wearing jeans and a dark shirt now, with a backpack beside her. I slow as I take that in. Clothes packed in the truck. A destination already programmed into her phone. Somewhere she knows she can get into when she arrives.
Whatever happened tonight, Hannah had already planned to run.
Now I need to know why.
Hannah looks up as I pull alongside her.
The relief on her face hits me square in the chest.
She waited for me.
My bear purrs.
“Got everything?”
She adjusts the backpack over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Come on.”
She hesitates, just for a beat, then opens the door and climbs into the passenger seat. I leave the windows down, figuring she’ll feel better without me sealing her inside a truck with a strange man.
“Show me where you’re going.”
She hands me her phone. The blue dot marks a spot just outside our territory, on human land that doesn’t belong to any clan.
“I know it,” I say, handing the phone back.
Hannah looks surprised. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
The tension in her face eases.
“You want me to put it in the holder?” she asks.
“No need. I know these mountains.”
She peers out at the wilderness. “Were you… were you raised here?” she asks uncertainly.
“No. My brothers and I moved here a few years ago.”
“What brought you here?”
I glance at her. “Long story.”
“Ah.”
“Not a bad one.”
That earns me the faintest smile.
She looks back at the wreck. “What about my truck?”
“We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
“Okay.” There’s a flicker of relief in her eyes. She was hoping I’d say that. The poor girl is beyond exhausted.
She fastens her seat belt, and I pull back onto the road.
Hannah keeps the backpack on her lap, both arms wrapped around it. As we drive, I notice her checking the road against the route on her phone, watching every turn I make. I don’t blame her.
I glance at her. “Sorry I was a couple of minutes longer than I said. I’ve got a habit of being optimistic about timing. That’s what my brothers tell me anyway.”
“Not like I had anyplace else to be,” she replies.
When I meet her gaze, there’s a small smile on her lips. My heart lifts, and I smile back.
I wonder what she’s like when she isn’t scared out of her wits.
What makes her laugh for real instead of giving me that little almost-smile.
What pisses her off. Whether she’s always this stubborn.
What she does when she has a whole day to herself, and nobody needs anything from her.
What she orders at a restaurant every damn time.
What song she turns up when it comes on the radio.
What she secretly hates but pretends to like.
What she could talk about for hours if somebody cared enough to listen.
The things everybody knows about her, and the things hardly anyone does.
All the little pieces that add up to Hannah.
Sooner than I’d like, I turn onto a narrow track.
Hannah sits straighter as a log cabin appears through the trees. She checks her phone. “This is it, right?”
“Unless you know somebody else hiding a cabin at these coordinates.”
She gives me a look.
“Yeah. This is it.”
It’s small—human-sized. One story, tucked beneath a stand of pines, with a gravel driveway and a narrow porch running along the front. The shutters are closed, with no light showing behind them.
I pull into the driveway and switch off the engine.
“Who owns it?”
“A friend,” she says hesitantly.
“Someone you trust?”
She gives me a long look. “More than anyone else in my life.”
The ache in her tone goes right through me.
Hannah picks up her backpack and climbs out. She winces when her feet hit the ground.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
I follow her toward the cabin. Pine needles have gathered along the porch. A row of neglected flowerpots sits beside the front steps, the plants yellowed and drooping over the rims.
I reach the porch first and try the handle.
Locked.
Behind me, Hannah sets down her bag and pulls out her phone.
She scrolls for a second, reading. Then she goes over to one of the old flowerpots beside the steps. She lifts it and retrieves a key.
I step aside and she unlocks the door.
A smell of dust and old wood rushes out. A house that’s been shut up for a while. I pick up the scent of an older human male, but he hasn’t been around for a long time.
Hannah steps inside and finds a light switch. Warm yellow light fills the space.
From the doorway, I take in a small living room with a sofa and armchair. A kitchen beyond.
“You’re good,” I tell her.
She gives me a questioning glance.
“No one’s been here for a long time.”
“You sure?”
“Yup.”
Her shoulders loosen.
Under the porch light, I get my first proper look at her injuries. Her nose is swollen, dried blood streaks her face, and she’s moving carefully, like every step hurts.
I want to go inside. Get her some ice. Find out where else she’s hurt and make damn sure she’s okay.
But she already told me she doesn’t want to be alone with a strange man. So, I stay where I am.
“You need anything before I go?”
She seems surprised by the question. “No. I’m good.”
“Okay. You’ve got my number if that changes.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Huh.”
I consider that. “That does make it less useful.”
The corner of her mouth twitches.
I grin.
She hands me her phone, and I add my number before giving it back.
“Get some rest.”
“I’ll try.”
“Okay.” I turn and walk back to my truck—
“Torin.”
I look back.
Hannah is still standing in the doorway, but whatever small amount of ease had crept into her face is gone.
“Don’t tell anyone I’m here.” Her fingers tighten around the edge of the door. “No one. Please.”
My chest tightens. “I won’t,” I say. “I promise.”
She watches me all the way to the truck.
I drive away slowly, watching until the little cabin is out of sight.
My beast lasts almost a full minute before starting.
Go back.
“No.”
Go back to mate.
“No. She doesn’t know she’s my mate yet, and I’ll just look like a creeper.”
Go back.
I sigh.
This is going to be a long night.