Fated to Her Feral Mate Read online

  The more that I try not to think about the man from the subway, the more I find myself doing it anyway. I especially can’t get the memory of how intensely he stared at me out of my head. It was like he was looking straight into my soul. Who looks at another person like that? Especially a stranger?

  When I get to Chelsea market, I’m delighted. This is everything that I was hoping for. It’s the perfect place for me to set up a booth to sell art. The market is filled with stands, tables, little booths, and small eateries. I spend a long time poking around and talking to some of its vendors. Everyone seems pleased with the set-up here, and a nice girl points me in the direction of the market’s manager so that I can find out about renting a space for myself. This market is hip, expensive, and renting a space will likely cost more than what I will be able to afford. But since I’ve kind of already adopted the “go big or go home” attitude, I’m going to give it a shot.

  I speak to the market manager, a nice young girl who seems much too trendy and upbeat to have reason to take a chance on me, but she does. I’m able to sweet talk her into letting me snag a small spot to set up at the beginning of the month. She shakes my hand when I go to thank her, unlike my dubious landlord. Now I just need to find some pieces to upcycle and turn into cool eclectic art to fill my booth. By the time I leave Chelsea Market, I’m filled with excitement and an eagerness to get started, so I head straight for some of the city’s best vintage and thrift shops to start looking for raw materials and unique pieces.

  But as luck would have it, I cross paths with that same man from the subway again. He is walking out of an Irish pub and looks much too sober to have spent the entire time that I was at the market drinking. This guy is a bit of an enigma, and it’s definitely getting odd that I keep running into him on my first day out and about in New York.

  I guess it’s true what they say—it’s a big city with small town vibes.

  He looks up at me and as soon as he recognizes me, our eyes lock. I spin around on my heels as quickly as I can and walk in the other direction. I’m not sure why, but this guy makes me anxious.

  I’m unnerved that I’ve run into the same guy three times in a single day—which would be alarming for anyone. I hope he isn’t some sort of weird stalker. Granted, I am not the most street-smart person, but I hope that I’m clever enough to spot a psychopath heading my way. But the other part of me isn’t so much worried as filled with a different kind of nervous energy, an excited kind that I can’t remember ever feeling about a man before. I remind myself not to get distracted by this handsome—although rough around the edges— guy, and I keep walking toward a vintage shop that I can see just a few doors blocks ahead.

  I duck into the store and start poking around the shelves, hoping that he has given up on trying to follow me.

  “What are you doing?” a voice asks from behind my shoulder.

  No way.

  I turn around, and there he is again, standing right behind me.

  Now I definitely feel like he’s following me. I muster up my toughest “leave me the fuck alone” voice.

  “You need to back off and stop following me,” I say. “Otherwise, I’m going to tell the store manager to call the cops.”

  He looks at me as if I have three heads, then lets out a loud and amused chuckle.

  “What are you talking about? You’re the one that’s bumped into me three times already today. All I’ve done is ask you a few questions after I helped you out on the subway.”

  I guess he’s not wrong. But still, he did follow me in here.

  “Okay, you’re right, sorry,” I say. “But why are you here now? I saw you across the street, so you definitely followed me inside this store.”

  “Yeah, I was at the pub meeting some friends and I saw you. I thought it was strange that we crossed paths again, and so I came over to see what you were doing. We seem to keep bumping into each other. Maybe it’s fate.”

  “Maybe,” I laugh, trying to make myself not sound like such a bitch anymore. I expect him to laugh too but he doesn’t; instead he has a rather serious look on his face, as if he believes that could it really could be fate. “So, I told you my name, but I don’t think I ever got yours.”

  “Rory,” he says. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  I guess he can tell by the look on my face that his invitation comes across as pretty forward, because he shrugs and downplays his eagerness.

  “It’s just across the street at the Irish pub,” he says. “I promise I’m not trying to abduct you or anything.”

  “You do know that’s exactly the kind of thing a stalker would say, right?” I try to joke again. My jokes are really not coming out right, and I feel like crawling under a rack of clothing to hide in embarrassment.

  “Well, the universe obviously keeps dumping us in each other’s paths,” he smirks. “So we might as well have a drink and chat about it. What do you say? It’s just right across the street, just one drink.”

  I shouldn’t.

  I know that I shouldn’t. I’ve told myself at least a dozen times today that I’m not going to get distracted. I need to stay right here and look for some materials to use for my art. Going somewhere with a strange man that I’ve just met in a new city is against my better judgment. And yet I’m finding myself too tempted to refuse.

  “Okay,” I say. “Just one drink.”

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. I walk back out of the vintage shop as Rory holds the door open for me, and then follow him across the street to the Irish pub.

  I try to tell myself that this is just something fun to do with someone new that I’ve met in the city on my first day. I’m sure he’s harmless and since I’m broke, a nice cold beer will be a treat.

  The first thing that I notice when we walk inside the pub is how quaint and dimly lit it is. It’s super authentic, with brick walls and a round, dark wood bar that looks like someone plucked it right out of the Irish countryside.

  The second thing I notice is how every eye in the place turns to look at us. Mainly to look at me. All of the guys sitting around in the pub seem to stare at me as if I’m a fresh piece of meat, and it’s more than a little intimidating.

  “Let’s sit over here,” Rory says as he motions his hand toward a booth in the corner.

  I walk a little closer to him as we head toward the booth, suddenly feeling like he might be the safest person in this place. And although I realize that it is probably my imagination, I think I hear the sound of a low growl coming from some of the other men in the pub as they watch us sit down.

  4

  Rory

  I ignore the growls and stares of everyone in the pub. McClarty’s Irish Pub is a well-known shifter hangout. And since this is not my territory, there are several other rival wolf packs and their shifters in here. There are also a couple of the rival alphas still lingering here from the meeting that I just left. I’m sure they’re wondering what I’m doing back, and curious about the new shifter with me. From the looks of it, it doesn’t seem as if any of them have crossed paths with Nessa yet. One thing about wolf shifters is that they tend to be territorial, and they don’t take kindly to strangers, mostly because they can’t tell whose side they’re on. It makes it better that they don’t know her yet—I like to keep the rival alphas wondering.

  I pay them no attention and focus on Nessa. I want to get to know her better.

  The bartender comes to the table and sets down two frothy, dark ales in front of us, then leaves without saying a word. Everyone working in this pub is human, but they all know about the shifters in their midst. That’s why we come here, and also why there is no menu. They already know what we want.

  “Did you want something else?” I ask when I see Nessa eyeing the ale suspiciously.

  “No, this looks delicious. I was just curious about how he knew what to bring us since we didn’t even order drinks yet.”

  “I was just here,” I say. I’m used to thinking quickly on my feet in order to act like a huma
n. The lies come effortlessly to me now. But it feels weird to lie inside McClarty’s since we are all shifters here except the waitstaff. Even Nessa is a shifter, so why do I feel so uncomfortable being myself around her? I’m more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it.

  “You said you just moved here, but where were you before you came to New York City?” I ask.

  “The mountains,” she answers, being purposefully vague.

  “The mountains sound lovely. I bet there were beautiful paths to hike.”

  “I guess,” Nessa shrugs. “I’m not much of a hiker.”

  “What do you like to do then?”

  She pauses to think for a minute before answering.

  “Well, I guess that’s what I’m here in New York trying to figure out. But if you mean what did I like to do in the mountains, I guess I liked to run.”

  I nod as I imagine what it would feel like to run in wolf form through the wilderness of the mountains. I bet it feels exhilarating. Here in the city, there are limits to when and where you can run.

  “It must be nice to feel soft soil against your paws,” I say. “Here, it’s mostly only concrete roads—unless you count Central Park. It’s fun to run in there.”

  “My paws?” she laughs as she lifts the heavy glass to her lips to take a sip.

  When she sets the glass back down on the table, there is still some froth on her upper lip that I reach up and brush off with my fingertip. For a second, my finger lingers there at the corner of her mouth, and I feel as if I can see the innocence in her eyes. How can she have lived all these years without ever discovering what she truly is? Even being raised by human parents shouldn’t have been able to stop her from discovering it herself. And yet, here she is, clueless.

  “You truly don’t know, do you?” I ask her in a quiet and awed voice.

  “Know what?”

  “What you are.”

  Her silence and the confusion in her eyes answer me better than words ever could. I don’t know what to say to her. I can’t fathom how it could even be possible that she doesn’t know she’s a shifter. But it is beyond clear from everything that she has said and the way she acts that she considers herself to be fully human. Even if she was raised by humans her whole life and was never exposed to another shifter in whatever place she lived before, I would have thought that she would still feel her true nature inside. I don’t have any idea how to break it to her. The discovery that you are something completely other than what you have spent your whole life identifying as will surely be jarring.

  I try to drop hints with a few remarks that will hopefully bring her to the conclusion herself, thinking it will be easier on her if she discovers her nature on her own without being “told.”

  “You know that feeling where you want to run so badly it makes you wish you had more than just two legs?” I ask, trying to tap into her more primal urges.

  “Yeah,” she laughs. “Actually, I do. It’s funny because you’re the only other person I’ve ever met who can relate to that.”

  “I bet I can relate to a lot of things,” I say. “Try me.”

  “Okay,” Nessa smiles timidly. “How about when it’s freezing outside, and you feel like you’re so warm and toasty on the inside that you don’t even need a coat?”

  “Yep, I know how that feels too,” I answer. “Almost as if you have your own fur.”

  “Your turn,” she says. “You tell me some weird quirk of yours and I’ll see if I can relate to it.”

  Game on. Except I want to cut to the chase now.

  “How long has it been since you’ve turned into something else?” I ask.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, like anything else—a bird, a flower, a wolf?” I can’t be any more blatant without flat-out just telling her that she is part canine.

  “Oh, do you mean like cosplay? I don’t really do that anymore—not since college.”

  I simply can’t believe that this thirty-something year old woman has no clue what she is. I try to wrap my head around it but can’t. And even though I’m determined to help her find and unlock her true nature and natural instincts, which must have been suppressed all this time, I’m not entirely sure that here and now is the best time for it. Still, like a dog with a bone, I’m not going to let her go on thinking that she is just a mere human. After all, I’m going to be taking her as my mate, so she will need to know that she is a shifter soon.

  For the moment though, since we are in this pub surrounded by rival packs, I try to play it cool—something that is exceedingly difficult for me since I’m more straightforward than subtle by nature.

  I change the subject and ask her what she thought of the public market, which she happily goes on about for a while. One drink turns into two, and Nessa and I end up having a good time together. She’s smart, and driven, and aside from the fact that she doesn’t know what she is, she’s a remarkable woman.

  I watch as she twists her dirty blonde hair around her finger and stares down into her drink with wistful eyes, and I have to fight the urge to just reach out and kiss her. I don’t know if it’s the mated recognition that is hijacking my feelings and instincts or if it’s just her, but something is making me feel angsty and untethered.

  After we leave the pub, we exchange numbers before getting off at the exact same subway stop in Queens. If she only knew that I was the alpha of the Queens’ pack, I could tell her that she’s safe, and I’ll protect her, but she doesn’t have any idea that world exists yet. We go our separate ways, with no immediate plans to see each other again. She probably thinks that I won’t ever use the number that she put into my phone. But little does she know that our lives are intertwined now, whether she likes it or not.

  That night, as I lay in my bed looking up at the blank ceiling that I wish was an open sky filled with moonlight, I find that I can’t stop thinking about Nessa. I’m up all night thinking about her, seeing the image of her face and those endless blue eyes in my head.

  Finally, I get up out of bed and pace my apartment like the caged animal I am. I decide that there isn’t any time to waste, especially not with the new threat the packs of New York City are facing: random attacks on shifters. I need to show Nessa what she really is before she inadvertently ends up in harm’s way.

  5

  Nessa

  I spend the next few days working on artistic creations and trying to get my market table set up. I have a few pieces made already, and I’m trying to get the aesthetic of my little rented space to reflect the mood of my artwork. I’m standing on the corner of a very unsteady table, balancing on my toes, and trying not to take the whole both down if I fall, as I hang up a strand of white twinkly lights overhead. I want the booth to have a whimsical feel, something light and airy and fun. Something that will hopefully make people feel like spending their money on my work.

  Then Rory shows up and catches me off guard. Granted, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him for weeks. But I refused to text him, just like I refuse to fall off the edge of the table now. Both times I was teetering on the edge, precariously close to giving in. His appearance now startles me.

  “How did you find me here?” I ask.

  “You talked about your booth over drinks, remember?” Rory reminds me.

  I remember talking about it, I just didn’t think that he was actually listening or that he would remember it and show up here. Most people talk about random things over drinks, and nothing ever comes of it.

  “I just figured that this is where you would be,” he says.

  “Yeah, I need to get everything ready because it’s almost the first of the month and that’s when I get to open my business here.”

  Rory just stands there looking at me without saying anything, and then offers me a hand when I go to step down from the table.

  “Why did you come here to see me?” I ask. I’m half expecting him to ask me out on a date, and this time I’m going to make myself be firm about not allowing any distractions. No m
atter how much the idea intrigues me, I’m prepping myself to decline. But Rory doesn’t ask me anything. Instead, without any warning, he does something that shocks me.

  His eyes flash a bright golden yellow and the pupils narrow as if he has suddenly put on costume contacts—which he hasn’t. I jump back in shock and wonder if I’m imagining this, or if I had too much caffeine this morning and am seeing things in the changing light of the market. Maybe it’s the twinkling lights casting shadows and playing tricks on me.

  But no, there is no denying the fact that Rory’s eyes suddenly look very different than they did a minute ago.

  “What happened to—?”

  He takes a step closer to me before I can finish my sentence and I find myself almost pushed up into the corner of my booth by his close proximity.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I can’t risk anyone else here seeing.”

  “Seeing what?”

  Rory takes a quick look around, and then transforms.

  I want to let out an ear-piercing scream when I see a wolf standing there before me in the same spot where Rory was just standing. A few seconds ago, he was a man. And now this stranger—this guy that I bumped into three times in one day a few weeks ago, is a wolf. And not just any wolf, but a massive, powerful looking beast with large eyes and a mixture of gray and chestnut fur. I’m so confused and terrified that all that comes out of my mouth is a gasp that nearly gets stuck inside my throat.

  I don’t know what to think at first—is he a man? Or a wolf? Is he a werewolf like in those books I used to read? I don’t know whether to look at his soft coat of fur and give in to the feeling of wanting to touch it or look at the sharp teeth in his open jaw and cower in the corner out of sheer horror that he could snap my neck in an instant.