Page 9 of Mysterious Mate

“Keeping you alive and safe is my job. I can’t do either if you refuse to eat.”

Willow looked up at him, her clear eyes clouding with suspicion. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I can eat, but you don’t need to be bothered.”

Cage offered her a small smile, hoping to put her at ease. “It’s no bother. You need to eat. I was going to make something for myself, so I may as well make something for you too.”

“What a charming invitation, how could I ever refuse?”

And Colby thought Cage would be surly. Choosing to ignore her sarcastic tone, he said, “Come on, then. Let’s see what we can find in the kitchen.”

They walked to the kitchen together, the silence between them filled with unspoken questions and tentative trust. Cage could sense her apprehension, but he also saw a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. He hoped that, in time, he could help her feel safe. And maybe, just maybe, they could figure out this fated mate thing together.

His cock hardened. And if that didn’t work, he could always just knock her over the head and drag her into a cave somewhere where no one would ever find them.

CHAPTER 5

WILLOW

The next day, Willow stood on the walk on the wall that surrounded the fortress, her gaze fixed on the waves crashing against the beach. The rhythmic sound should have been soothing, a natural symphony of nature, but it wasn’t. The sun was warm on her skin, the breeze gentle, but inside, she felt anything but relaxed. Her mind churned with worry and doubt, the tension inside her growing with every passing minute since they’d flown her to this place where no one spoke to her. No one except Weston, who seemed to only speak if he absolutely had to.

Willow knew she should be soaking up the rays in perfect harmony and relishing the beauty of the secluded location. Instead, she felt an ever-present unease, a constant reminder of the danger she was in. She didn’t feel safe and she was starting to wonder if she ever would again.

The soft sound of footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see Weston approaching, his expression as calm and composed as always. He stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his head slightly.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Carlyle,” he said politely. “Cook said you passed on breakfast again. I really must insist that you not do that. Would you like me to get you some lunch?”

Willow blinked, momentarily surprised by the offer. She hadn’t realized she was hungry until he mentioned it. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or annoyed. She was beginning to understand she really was just a job to these people. Last night when he’d fixed them something to eat, she thought he might talk to her like a human being. Instead, he’d made her a sandwich and then escorted her to her room as if he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough.

“I thought you were supposed to be pretending to be the butler. I didn’t know you were going to be my personal chef, as well,” she replied, hating how bitchy she sounded.

The butler’s lips flattened, which was a rare expression on the man’s usually stoic face. “I’m not, but you’ve taken to refusing anything the cook offers, so it falls to me,” he admitted. “Is there anything special you’d like?”

Willow thought for a moment, then said, “A grilled chicken salad with blue cheese and balsamic vinegar dressing would be nice.”

The butler nodded. “Very well. I’ll have it prepared for you shortly.” With that, he turned and disappeared back into the house, leaving Willow alone with her thoughts once more.

She sighed, turning her attention back to the ocean. The waves continued their relentless dance, crashing against the shore with a rhythmic persistence. She wished she could find some comfort in their constancy, but the fear and uncertainty gnawed at her. Would she ever feel safe again? Would this constant state of vigilance ever ease?

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The butler’s brief intrusion into the monotony in the midst of her turmoil had been a welcome change. If they thought nothing of trying to help her alleviate her boredom and terror, perhaps she’d think of something herself.

With Frank she had gone shopping, often never wearing what she’d purchased. But it wasn’t shopping she thought of as she considered Weston’s magnetic pull. She didn’t understand it, but part of the time she felt overwhelmed and nauseous in his presence, and other times arousal surged through her system, and she wanted to be underneath him, feeling him fuck into her hard and long, making her scream his name as she raked his back with her nails. She clung to the idea of that fleeting moment of almost palpable pleasure, hoping it could help anchor her in the storm of her thoughts.

Minutes later, Weston returned with a tray. He set it down on the patio table and revealed a beautifully arranged grilled chicken salad with blue cheese crumbles, pecans, and the balsamic vinegar glistening in the sunlight.

“Thank you,” Willow said softly, genuinely grateful.

Weston nodded. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

As he walked away, Willow took a seat and picked up her fork. The first bite of the salad was delicious, the flavors fresh and vibrant. For a moment, she allowed herself to focus on the simple pleasure of the meal, trying to push away the fears that lurked at the edges of her mind.

As she ate, she glanced around the patio and the surrounding area, taking in every detail. The lush greenery, the pristine beach, the clear blue sky. It was a beautiful prison, but a prison, nonetheless. She knew she had to stay vigilant, to be ready for whatever came next. But for now, she tried to find a small measure of peace in the simple act of enjoying her lunch one bite at a time.

Weston withdrew to a discreet distance. She wondered if he realized that he was rarely where she couldn’t see him. Maybe he didn’t think she did, and maybe he just didn’t care. The man was quiet, observant, and as handsome as sin. Willow couldn't help but notice that even though he was never far away, he was never intrusive. He moved with a grace and precision that made her think he could be a secret agent or, more disturbingly, an assassin of some kind. She didn’t think he’d been sent to harm her, but who could tell?

Willow wasn’t sure, but that element of danger was doing something strange to her. She found herself fantasizing about Weston, her thoughts wandering into places they had no business going. At night when she closed her eyes, it was him she imagined sneaking into her room, covering her mouth with his hands as he peeled back the covers, smiling when he discovered she slept in the nude. In her dreams, he was already naked, his cock hard and long, pulsing with life as she gazed at him.

Crawling into bed, he would cover her with his body, making a place for himself between her thighs, replacing his hand with his mouth before reaching under her to hold her steady before he thrust up into her. Willow moaned. She’d taken more than one cold shower to try and shake off his presence.

To distract herself, Willow finished her meal and then got up to wander through the main keep. It was decorated beautifully, with expensive furniture, antiques, and knick-knacks that belonged in a museum. She was used to wealth and the trappings that came with it, but this place was more than a display of wealth. It was a display of generational wealth and power. That was something her husband, Frank, had never had—the class that came with that level of wealth. It was something he aspired to but would never have, and he knew it.

---