Page 12 of Heir

She was absolutely stunning.

I’d hit the fucking jackpot when it came to mates.

“What the fuck are you staring at, Pooh Bear?” she asked.

I blinked. I still didn’t understand this “Pooh Bear” reference. Was it from television? I never watched television. “You, my mate,” I simply said, bunching my fists at my side to keep myself from reaching for her. She told me not to move.

“You keep calling me that, and I don’t know what the fuck that means.”

“We are destined to—”

“Yeah, I heard that, but what does it mean? Who are you? And who do you think I am?”

I straightened. Crap, I was going about this all wrong. “My apologies.” I bowed. “I am Prince Zandren Thorne, of the Pacific Northwest Bear Shifters. What shifter clan are you from?”

Both women’s mouths dropped open.

“Yeah, I’m gonna call the police,” her friend murmured, pulling out her phone.

But my mate stopped her red-haired friend with the hazel-green eyes. Her gaze shifted to me, curiosity gleaming in her gaze. She didn’t look at me with fear the way her friend did. “What happened when the lightning hit you?”

My cheeks grew warm. “I, um . . . well, I hate to admit this—”

Her friend’s phone buzzed. “That’s the Thai food,” she said.

“Crap,” my mate muttered. “Fine. Come in. But you stay far away, okay?”

I nodded and followed them inside the spacious, loft-style apartment. Loads of big leafy plants filled the space, making it feel like a jungle. I liked it. It reminded me of a tropical forest. I met a sun bear shifter once who lived in a forest similar to this.

I moved to the far side of the room near the sliding glass doors for the balcony. My mate, wearing loose-fitting jeans, rolled at the cuff, and a black T-shirt with a skull adorned by purple roses on it, went to the other furthest point of the space. She never took her eyes off me, but the longer she watched me, the more her gaze softened. Did she feel the pull too?

A knock at the now closed door pulled away her friend for a moment, then she returned, bringing with her the scent of Thai food. My bear growled and my belly rumbled.

“Did you hear any,” my mate paused to gather her words. “Chorus chanting when you woke up?” she finally said.

“Woke up?”

“Did you not black out when you were hit by lightning?”

I shook my head. “No. You did? Are you okay?” I took a half-step toward her, but she lifted the mace and I moved backward again.

“CT said no brain bleed or concussion,” her friend said. “But she claims to be hearing people’s thoughts.”

Shifters didn’t hear people’s thoughts. The only species that could do anything remotely like that were the demons. And they infiltrated people’s thoughts and manipulated them. They could sometimes read their emotions, and if they were powerful enough, they could hear their thoughts—but usually only the extreme ones, like fear.

Was my mate half demon?

“So you didn’t hear anything after the lightning struck?” she asked.

I needed to know her name.

“What is your name?” I asked.

Her green eyes formed thin slits as she contemplated telling me. “Omaera,” she finally said.

I rolled her name around on my tongue. The perfect name for my perfect mate.

“Omaera,” I finally said out loud. “What did you hear?”

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