Page 132 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

My wolf—my newest mate—is closest, his head resting on his paws, those astonishing eyes half-lidded but never fully at ease. His gaze meets mine briefly, a flicker of molten warmth that sends a flutter through my chest. Then he looks away, his eyes dipping to the ground as though that single moment of connection was enough.

Slowly, he lifts his head, giving it a slight shake that sends a ripple through his gray fur. Then he begins to crawl forward on his belly, like a hound who thinks he’s about to be scolded but wants to charm his way out of it.

His powerful frame shifts forward in careful inches, shoulders rolling smooth as syrup, ears angled back in a gesture that says,don’t mind me, I’m harmless. Then it happens—a moment so brief I might have missed it—the slightest tilt of his chin, exposing his throat in a purposeful gesture of deference, honoring me as his mate.

When he’s close enough, his muzzle dips, and I feel the tentative brush of his nose against my cheek. A soft exhale of warmth follows, and then his tongue—rough yet purposeful—grazes my chin.

I scrunch my nose, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Ugh, Tomas,” I mutter, my voice raspy in the quiet. The motion draws my attention to the salty, slightly metallic taste of blood lingering on my tongue. That’s new.

“Tastes like I’ve been licking Satan’s dirty ashtray.”

My wolf lets out a soft huff, his ears twitching, and for a moment, I think he’s amused.

I press my hand more firmly to my mouth.Blood.Was it mine? His? I can’t tell. The memories come in jagged fragments—heat, moonlight, the pull of the bond, the bite. And… something else. Something still hovering just out of reach.

Chasing.

I remember the rush of air against my skin—no, not skin—and the drumbeat of paws pounding against the earth.The hunt.The desperate need to catch something just ahead of me, its scent sharp and electric in my nose. Holy shit, did I shift? And if I did… what did I become?

I glance around but the stillness of the forest offers no answers. The others are curled around me in their animal forms, their breaths slow and even, their silence absolute.

Lifting my head slowly, I squint against the pale morning light, and take in the scene. Someone’s dragged the cooler here, its scuffed blue sides a jarring splash of color against the muted grays of the dawn forest. My clothes are folded neatly on top—a detail so absurdly thoughtful I almost laugh—but the idea of walking my entirely naked self over to grab them, of leaving this pile of warm bodies, is utterly abhorrent.

I sit up straighter and take a deep breath.Okay, if I shifted once, I can do it again. Closing my eyes, I will whatever part of me that might still be animal to come forward. After so many visits from Shadow, you’d think finding that part of myself would be as easy as pie.

Nothing.

I crack one eye open, peeking down at myself. Still me. Still human.

Oh, come on.

I let out a sigh, my shoulders slumping in defeat. Shadow stretches lazily, moving closer to Ben before curling back up, tail draped over their eyes as if to declare the morning sun an unwelcome and deeply offensive intrusion.

The faint sound of running water catches my attention, trickling through the trees like a gentle reminder that the world hasn’t stopped spinning, even though my head insists otherwise.

I tug on my clothes, shivering in the damp chill of the morning. My T-shirt and shorts are woefully insufficient, but Ben’s old flannel lies neatly beside my pile. I glance over at the cave bear snoring audibly nearby and can’t help but smile. He’s probably the one who dragged the cooler here and thought to leave me a shirt.

My fingers tremble slightly as I button it up, the familiar Christmas cookie scent of him wrapping around me and warming me far more than a simple scrap of flannel ever could.

A shiver rattles through me, and before I can stop it, a choked sound slips past my lips.

Shadow stretches luxuriously before shifting back into their human skin. They roll their eyes and grumble, “Are youtryingto become a popsicle?” Their voice is rough with sleep, and they’re stark naked, but they don’t seem to care. With a dramatic sigh, they grab the Pendleton blanket and drape it over my shoulders, pulling it tight around me.

“There,” they mutter, their fingers lingering at the edges of the blanket. “Now you’re warm. Your mates are useless.”

A laugh bubbles up, bright and unexpected. “You’re one of my mates, you know.”

“Exactly.” They smirk, their green eyes glinting. “The best one.”

A low rumble draws our attention. Ben’s cave bear lumbers toward us, his massive frame barely disturbing the underbrush. He pauses to scratch his enormous ass on a tree, the bark splintering under the pressure.

I snort, and Shadow rolls their eyes heavenward.

“See?” they mutter. “Useless.”

But I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. The sheerbear-ness of him is so fundamentally Ben that it tugs at me. He huffs, his breath misting in the cool air, then pads closer, his head lowering until his cold, wet nose bumps my shoulder.

Without thinking, I reach back with one arm, keeping the blanket snug around me, and run my hand over his massive skull. Dew clings to his coarse fur, cool and damp beneath my fingers.

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