Page 24 of Mismatched Mates

Most shifters don't know it, but there's a split second during transformation when you're at your most vulnerable – not quite human, not quite beast. Father had drilled that into our heads since we were pups. "Boys," he'd growl, "learn to exploit that moment, and you'll never lose a fight."

I sure as hell wasn't about to lose this one.

With a roar that shook the windows, I barreled into Jason, pinning him against the wall before he could complete his shift. His eyes widened in shock and fear, realizing too late the mistake he'd made.

"What the—" he gasped, struggling against my weight.

I snarled, hot breath washing over his face. The house groaned under our combined mass as we grappled. With one massive paw pressing Jason to the floor, I shifted partially back, “If you think any judge will rule in your favor, you’re delusional. You won’t make it to court. The only reason you’re still breathing is because of Brandon and Lance. Unfortunately for you, I’ve become a man of my word lately. And this is one promise I intend to keep.”

He stared back at me, his chest heaving.

“Nod your head if we’ve reached an understanding,” I growled, my voice low and controlled.

His head bobbed reluctantly. I released him and he scrambled back, his half-human form trembling and pale.

Without another word, I strode out of Jason's house, slamming the door behind me with enough force to rattle the windows. The satisfying thud echoed through the quiet suburban street.

I drove straight to Jane’s house. She was waiting on the porch, looking relieved. The wind chimes tinkled softly, providing a weirdly peaceful backdrop.

“It’s done,” I stated.

"Oh, Grant," she said, searching my face. "What did you do?"

I met her gaze. "What needed to be done."

Jane held my gaze for a beat longer, then nodded slowly. There was something in her eyes—a mix of curiosity and acceptance—that told me she understood. She wasn't going to push for details, at least not tonight.

Sometimes, being the bad guy felt pretty damn good.

JANE

Isquirmed in the chair, my fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on my lap as I sat with my eyes closed in front of the vanity. When Victoria heard about the gala, she’d insisted on coming over and making sure I looked my absolute best.

"Hold still," Victoria chided gently, her expert hands wielding a brush with the precision of a surgeon. "I can't work miracles if you keep fidgeting."

"Miracles? Is that what we're calling this makeover?"

Victoria's lips quirked into a smile as she dusted powder across my cheekbones. "Well, considering your usual beauty routine consists of chapstick and a prayer, I'd say we're definitely in miracle territory."

"I feel ridiculous," I muttered, watching as she expertly blended foundation into my skin. "Like a kid playing dress-up in her mom's makeup."

Victoria's eyes met mine in the mirror, her gaze softening. "You're not ridiculous, Jane. You're stunning. And tonight, everyone else is going to see what I see."

I swallowed hard, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. When she’d first come to Pine River as Luke’s date—thenmate—I hadn’t been the most welcoming. As my older brother, and as a man whose marriage had already broken down once, I didn’t want him to be with anyone except his perfect person, and I hadn’t been able to imagine how this human woman could possibly match him. But I was wrong.

It was moments like these that reminded me how far we'd come - from wary strangers to something approaching friendship.

As Victoria continued her work, applying eyeshadow with delicate strokes, I found myself relaxing into the process. The gentle sweep of brushes against my skin became almost meditative.

"You know," I said quietly, "I never thought I'd be sitting here, letting you do... this." I gestured vaguely at my face. "Life's funny sometimes, isn't it?"

“It is,” she agreed.

At the time, I’d thought it was a bit of an assumption, maybe even an imposition, but seeing all the different brushes, pots, jars, tubes and colors spread out before me made me realize just how out of depth I was.

Sensing my discomfort, Victoria said, "They won't bite," her tone casual but layered with meaning. "Not the businessmen, not the wolves, not even Grant."

I snorted. "Grant might. He seems the type."

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