Page 13 of The Wolf's Mate

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that he didn’t come to bed. Which is fucking crazy because I just met him, and our meeting wasn’t ideal. If Rip thought he was getting a docile and even-tempered wife, he’s sadly mistaken. After ex-lovers and friends have used you one too many times, you eventually learn how to stand your ground.

I push myself out of bed. Grass raises his head as if asking, What are you doing? I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing, but I’ve never been good at staying in one place for too long. It’ll be morning soon, but for now, everyone must still be asleep. Which hopefully means I won’t have to face my mate yet.

Last night, I dumped my only bag on the floor. I crouch down and rifle through it, finding two pairs of jeans, a bra, some panties, socks, and three shirts. I dig my way to the bottom, grasping for the coat I know is there.

“There you are.” My hand grips the coat, and I pull it out. It’s more of a cross between a sweater and a coat, one my mom sewed for me a few years ago. She was so proud of it too. She made it in my favorite color, a deep, beautiful red, because she knew how badly I wanted the red coat from one of the few clothing shops in Grym Hollow. We couldn’t afford it though.

I was moody and stupid back then and made quite the scene that had both me and my mother crying by the end of it. We didn’t speak for three days, and on the third day, she came in with this new coat in her hands, saying she made it with love and hoped I liked it.

It’s the best gift she ever gave me. And now it’s the only memento I have from her.

Tears sting my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. Maybe one day I’ll be able to think back to my family without wanting to curl up in a ball and cry myself senseless. Today just won’t be that day. I’m sure my mother and sister are going through their own mourning, but in time, they will come to accept and hopefully even thrive in their new life.

I take the coat and a fresh pair of panties into the bathroom. Just like the bedroom, it’s far too neat and sterile. Is Rip a clean freak? Because, if he is, this relationship is doomed before it even starts.

There’s a small vintage clawfoot tub you might find at an ancient grandma’s house, passed down from her mother before her. The toilet is in a semi-private alcove, and exposed pipes run up the walls and through the ceiling. I’m not sure how their plumbing works, but as long as I don’t have to piss in an outhouse and bathe in the river, I don’t care.

I take care of my business, freshen up, and, for good measure, flick water onto the otherwise pristine mirror.

There. Now it looks like someone uses this room.

When I walk out of the bathroom, putting my coat on, Grass is waiting for me by the door, doing that thing dogs do when they have to go to the bathroom. He whines and scratches at the door, begging to be let out.

No one told me I had to stay in my room, and even if they did, I’m not starting off my time here as a prisoner locked away in a cage. “Let’s go, Grass. No peeing on the floor.”

Grass all but barrels past me when I open the door. He bolts down the hallway, nearly knocking into a glass vase full of flowers. “Grass!” I hiss, jogging to follow him down the grand staircase. I half expect to run into someone asking me where I think I’m going in this giant house, but no one’s around.

When I finally reach Grass and open the last barrier—the front door—he sprints past me and shoots directly into a grassy area, finally able to relieve himself. Grass is going to love having so much room to run around in and live his best doggy life.

The air is frigid, made worse by the lack of sun. The town is still sleeping, and I’m eager to see it in the light again. Maybe Tallie can take me to the shops so I can build up a warmer wardrobe and make Rip pay for it all. He’ll probably ignore me like he did yesterday, which is fine. I don’t have to like the man; I just have to marry his ass.

I start to seriously regret not packing heavier clothes when Grass barks, turning my attention to him. He stands deadly still, growling low in his throat. Grass isn’t a vicious dog, not by a long shot, but he won’t hesitate to defend me when I’m around people he doesn’t like. At least that’s how he acted in Grym Hollow. Here? He seems to befriend everybody, so I’m not sure how much defending he’ll actually do.

Maybe he senses a squirrel. I hope he’s just sensing a squirrel.

“Grass? Come here, boy.” I whistle, but he ignores me. “Grass!” I call louder, but to no avail. If this dog is seriously going to make me go to him…

Just as the thought crosses my mind, Grass takes off at an alarming speed, heading straight for the woodsy area ahead. “Dammit!” I hate running, but there’s no way in hell I’m losing Grass—my one connection to home.

“Grass—fuck!” My foot slips out from underneath me, and I nearly fall on my ass. The ground is so damn slippery with dew, and I’m not in the proper shoes to go gallivanting through the forest. I use the trees to keep me upright as I chase after Grass.

I’m not a runner. Never claimed to be. I’m hardly athletic. Drinking and smoking don’t exactly make me the best candidate to be chasing after this damn dog, but I will not lose him.

Just as I think my lungs will give out and I’ll keel over, Grass comes to an abrupt stop a few feet in front of me. He’s not acting like his normal self. Grass is a happy dog, but you wouldn’t know that by looking at him now. He’s crouched low, tail straight up in the air, emitting a deep growl: a warning not to get too close.

“What’s wrong, boy? What’s going on?” I finally reach him, crouching down to get on his level. I don’t fear Grass will hurt me. He’s never so much as bitten me, and I’ve had him since he was a puppy after my father did maintenance on the neighbors’ house. There’s just something wrong with him, and I don’t know what it is. Maybe passing over to Mescos has finally got the better of him.

“Beautiful canine you have there, Red.”

I jolt, falling on my ass. The deep baritone voice seemingly comes out of nowhere. Was I followed? Would Rip have people spying on me?

A low chuckle snaps my attention to a figure in front of me. The stranger is partially hidden in shadows and a thicket of trees, nearly blending into their surroundings. They’re easy to miss, which explains why I didn’t see them before.

“My name’s not Red.” Out of everything I could have said, that should have landed low on the list. My brain is still frazzled from his damn jump-scare. I take way longer than I like to admit he probably called me “Red” because of my coat. Very clever.

The branches crack as the figure moves toward me. I quickly stand, and Grass moves between my legs, still growling at the stranger and protecting me the only way he knows how.

My breath hitches as a man emerges from the bushes. Deep brown eyes, nearly black, stare back at me, and I can’t help feeling like a mouse caught in a trap. The man is large, maybe even larger than Rip. He’s only wearing pants, so his muscular, russet-brown skin is on full display. He doesn’t seem affected by the chill in the air.

---