Page 38 of Mated Exile

As she turns towards the doors and heads out into the parking lot, stepping into the sun, I follow at a distance. My eyes fall down towards the space between us, and I shift the clothing bags towards my elbow, reaching for my sunglasses.

Something glimmers in the sunlight, thin but undeniable, and my heart skips a beat. Then starts up again, hammering so fast I nearly stumble forward into Delilah, and have to right myself.

"What, did you trip on a sidewalk crack?" She turns towards me with a teasing grin, oblivious to what I'm seeing, her eyes flying up towards my face. "I guess being tall isn't all it's cracked up to be. Falling from that height looks dangerous."

"Yeah."

I swallow, unable to concentrate on her words as I follow her out to the car.

It was only visible for a few brief moments, but there's no denying what I saw.

A mating thread stretched between us, glowing golden in the sunlight, thin and tremulous but undeniable.

A sign that fate is cruel and tricky—and whatever else I might think, I'm not in control here at all. No matter what I say or do, there's a good chance I'm about to fall headfirst into unavoidable tragedy. It's one thing to resist my childhood love when she was an impossibility, a woman who I'd kill by mating, someone meant to be with my best friend. Resisting her as fate tries to draw us together will be impossible.

If I lose my heart to Delilah Glass, I won't regret it for a single moment.

Even as it breaks into a thousand jagged pieces.

Seventeen

Delilah

Though I planned on getting to know the new Juniper better once I'd finished with my errands, it turns out that most of the businesses I used to know are gone or different. The pancake house, row of family restaurants, and dance hall are all under new ownership. I wanted to familiarize myself with the pack again so I could find my home among them, but that'll be impossible when the place I'd usually go to hang out with the pack is now a parking lot.

So I turn to the person who I know is most likely to be able to help me socialize: Finn. Thankfully he's up for the job, and more than happy to take me to the local bar and hangout spot.

Cat watches as I pace through the kitchen, hand on my phone, wearing the third outfit I've changed into this evening. She situated herself on a chair against the kitchen table and has an amused grin lighting up her face.

"So, you've picked one to start dating, as your wardrobe changes make clear."

"It's not a date." She raises a brow, and I relent. "Itcouldbe a date. But I don't know if it is one."

The grin grows. "Finn will turn it into one, whether you'd planned on it or not." Grabbing an orange out of the basket of fruit on the kitchen counter, she tells me, "Feel free to stay out late. Or even overnight. I can entertain Bastian—he's watching sitcom reruns right now, and he's sure to have a few questions about the ways in which the world changed."

I roll my eyes at her. "He's been gone for ten years. I'm sure he knows all about electricity and running water."

"But does he know about dating apps and going viral?" She shoots me a mischievous look that makes me wary of her plans. "As I've discovered, he grew upveryoff the grid. And apparently he's very willing to do the latest video dance trends. Shirt optional."

"Cat, if you take advantage of that puppy of a man—"

"I was onlyjoking." Huffing, she shakes her head at me and peels the orange with a sharp thumbnail. "We both know I'm not going toactuallygive any one of those delightfully handsome young men of yours a lap dance. I just enjoy watching the way you squirm when I suggest that Icould. It's completely obvious that you're attracted to Bastian."

My eyes shoot to the living room, but thankfully the glow of the television and warm sounds coming from it confirm that the man in question is too wrapped up in watching television for the first time in a decade to pay attention to our conversation.

"You're wicked," I tell Cat, just as I hear footsteps creak on the front porch, followed by a knock at the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't approve of."

"So nothing, then."

"That's the spirit."

Opening the door, I'm struck first by the familiar scent that washes over me. Coconut and vanilla, tinged with a light musk that must be cologne, and beneath it all the warmth of a werewolf male. I have to look up into his face, all six feet and some-inches of him, his thick black brows drawn down in amusement over his hooded eyes.

His brown skin is bathed in the warm porch light, and he's wearing semi-formal clothes for the first time since he started working on the house, his silken black button up stiff at the collar but open in a V shape towards his chest. An embroidered dragon curls over the left side of the shirt, gold and red thread glinting, while shiny black shoes stick out from under the hem of his pressed black slacks.

I'm eternally grateful for my third outfit change, when I chose kitten heels, a black sheath dress with drop shoulders, and a slim red blazer with cuffed sleeves. Anything less formal would make me look like a slob next to Finn—who of course, has chosen to bring it despite the fact that his leg was thoroughly broken just the other night.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" I ask, concern twisting in me even as I grab my purse off the hook near the door. "I don't want you pushing yourself. Roarke said you need to rest and let the bone heal."

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