Page 9 of Villainous Fate

I’ve never understood why someone would want to pledge loyalty to a group of people who would turn on you if the power dynamic changes. The only loyalty I needed was Grace’s.

Grace knew me. She understood all of the little idiosyncrasies that made me tick, and she could predict my responses with eerie accuracy. It’s because of this connection we have that I believe she will end up as my Mate. There is no one better suited for me. While my eighteenth birthday is just six weeks away, Grace won’t turn eighteen until late April, so we won’t know until I return from my internship in June.

Time could not pass fast enough.

The one constant in every pack is the belief that The Fates set our destiny. First, they assign our wolves when we’re Awakened, usually around ten years old. They provide power levels that determine the strength and command capabilities, which give status and rank in the pack structure. Wolves born from two Alphas are almost always Alphas. Wolves born from one Alpha can go either way. Wolves born from strictly Beta wolves are usually Beta wolves, though occasionally there is an anomaly, and an Alpha is born from lower-ranking wolves. Wolves born from mixed matings, humans with shifters, are always shifters, but their rankings are all over the place.

Once we’re ranked, The Fates decide our Mates. No one knows how that matching works, but only about one in every ten wolves ever finds their Mate. They could be from their pack, a neighboring pack, or the other side of the world, and you won’t know until you scent them.

Sounds like bullshit to me.

I know who I’m supposed to be with. I know who I’m destined to spend my future with, and The Fates, they can get on board or fuck off.

Arms slide around my waist, hugging me from behind, and I hear Grace's audible intake of breath as she takes my scent in.

“Wanna go for a run before we head over?” she asks, her voice vibrating against my back.

“When have I ever said no to chasing you, Tails?” I reply, light humor in my tone. I reach over, grab the helmet sitting on the back, and pull it down over her pigtails, using the motion to bring her lips to mine as I buckle it under her chin before continuing. “ButwhenI catch you, I’m not letting you go.”

“Promises. Promises,” she responds with a giggle, pushing away from my chest and allowing me to swing my leg over the seat before she mounts behind me and wraps her arms around my waist.

“Hold on tight. It’s going to be a rough ride,” I say over my shoulder, thinking about the way I’m going to make her beg and scream my name.

“Just the way I like it,” she responds as I rev the engine and pull out of the lot.

Chapter 5

Grace

Present

Justknowinghe’slookingfor me has my heart racing. We split up at the street, and he told me I had a one-minute head start. I love it when he chases me, but tonight, after finally getting to punch asshole Greg in the face, my body is a live wire, and the anticipation is humming across my flesh.

I continue deeper into the trees, circling the trunks occasionally before doubling back. He may be faster and stronger, but I’m smart, and I use what I can to my advantage—scraping my shoulder onto the right side of an oversized pine tree to leave some fur in my wake.

Rustling from behind me tells me he is hunting, and my time for games is up. Taking off in the opposite direction, I sprint at full speed, narrowly avoiding an upended trunk, roots dangling in odd directions. I chance a look over my shoulder as I steer right, making a large oval pattern, hoping to make it back to his motorcycle first.

Or maybe, hoping I don’t.

Only twice have I been able to make it back before him, and if I was guessing, those times were only a way to keep me playing the game.

I’d play it anyway.

The best part is always when he catches me. The tension from hiding, sneaking, and working to win always fills my body with need. The number of leaves I’ve had to pull from my hair after a run could fill a forest.

Not that I’m complaining.

Movement off to my left pulls my attention, and I dart behind a large rock, curling in place to hide my tail beneath me and attempting to make my frame as small as possible. Fighting to remain still, I lift my nose, scenting the air for any trace of him. The silence in the air is eerie and highlights the danger he presents. Insects, small animals, and even the wind cease making noise as he stalks after his prey.

After me.

The waiting is the hardest part. I want to run, but I know it will all be over if I move too soon.

Instead, I focus on my hearing, closing my eyes to give all my attention to the sounds of the forest surrounding me. To my left, off in the distance, I can hear car engines on the highway, a stream to my right barely moving with the subtle splash, and what sounds like faint crunching, but I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from because it’s subtle.

Deacon: Boo.

My eyes open.

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