Page 4 of Jace's Mate
“It’ll make you look civilized,” she insisted, as though draping a piece of fabric over his shoulders would somehow hide the wolf-shifter side of his personality that always seeped out when he interacted with the human world.
Jace had already surrendered—grudgingly—to tailored slacks and dress shirts in place of his beloved jeans and flannel.But a jacket and tie?That was where he drew the line.
Being Alpha meant setting an example, sure.But there was no way in hell he’d subject himself to the torture of formal wear.
Striking a balance between appearing human-friendly and not sparking mass panic over a pack of wolf-shifters walking around Baltimore was about all Jace was willing to endure.Commanding respect was one thing.Wrestling with a tie was a battle he refused to fight.
“Not going to happen, Lisel,” he called back, glancing over his shoulder at the petite woman.That’s when he noticed she was clutching the jacket to her chest, her eyes following Ragnor as he strode past her desk.Longing softened her features.
Lisel—cute, short, and curvy—was a wolf-shifter with an undeniable crush on Ragnor.Jace had noticed.Hell, anyone with eyes could see the way she looked at him.
But he also knew the unspoken truth: they weren’t mates.
The delicate exchange of scent—so crucial among wolf-shifters—never shifted between them into that fated spark.
Lisel knew it, too.For all her sighs and stolen glances, she understood.If fate had paired them, the pull would be magnetic.Irresistible.
Mates bonded for life.It was instinctual—a supernatural gravity that could never be faked or forced.Wolf-shifters might be attracted to others, might even try relationships, but nothing lasted until they found their mate.
Pushing aside his assistant’s heartache, Jace paused and pulled out his phone.“The bailey needs some repairs.Do you have a good contact for that kind of work?”The coded message was clear.
Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he turned to Lisel.“I’m going out.Cancel my afternoon meetings.”
Lisel opened her mouth to respond, but caught the look on Jace’s face.Without arguing, she snapped her lips shut and nodded.
She didn’t bother hiding her irritation, though.She turned and pointedly rehung the jacket in the closet.
Ever hopeful,Jace thought, a flicker of amusement curling through his brooding mood.
Chapter 2
Anikkaglaredatheruncle, making no effort to mask the hatred simmering behind her dark eyes.
“For dinner tonight,” Uncle Wilton announced, striding into the cramped kitchen like he owned the world, “you’ll prepare that beef dish you made for last month’s feast.”
This was their third rental house in less than a year—another creaking, dingy box with peeling paint and flickering lights.A symbol of instability.Of being kept off-balance.The tension crackled through the air, like static in a storm cloud, fed by Wilton’s foul temper and constant need for control.
Anikka fought the urge to ignore him.She longed to tell the man—no, theparasite—that she wasn’t his servant.Wasn’t his blood.Wasn’t his anything.But instead, she stood still, outwardly calm.
Wilton wasn’t even her real uncle.Just the man who’d taken her in when she was a child.She remembered that day with uncomfortable clarity.There had been something unnatural about him—his voice, in particular.A slow, syrupy tone that had wrapped around her thoughts and made itimpossibleto disobey.Even as a little girl with more fight than sense, Anikka had felt something tightening inside her whenever he spoke.Like invisible hands pulling her strings.
Now, his smug grin said he knew exactly what she was feeling.
He lifted his chipped coffee mug and chuckled softly, already amused by the fury burning in her eyes.He didn’t see it as a threat.He saw her reaction as entertainment.
Despite his portly frame and receding hairline, there was something slippery and unsettling about Wilton—like an oil slick in human form.His calm wasn’t real.It was a mask, hiding the sadistic joy he took in her silence.In the illusion of control.
One day,she thought.One day you’ll see how wrong you were to think I’d never fight back.
But today was not that day.Today, she waited.
Wilton took a long sip of his coffee—and hissed in pain.
“Damn it, Anikka!Is it too much to ask for coffee that isn’t boiling hot?”
His voice tore through the kitchen, sharp and cruel, thick with disdain.Anikka held her ground, resisting the impulse to bow her head.She knew the other staff could hear him, and she knew they feared him.But her pride refused to yield.
The cup exploded against the wall.Ceramic shards rained onto the tile like jagged hail.Coffee and cream splashed the dirty white paint and dribbled down to the floor in sticky rivulets.
