Page 27 of Heroes & Hitmen
I don’t hesitate to follow my little rule-breaker, pausing at the edge of the sand and glancing around. Nobody else is out here–just the two of us and the sound of the waves lapping gently against the shore, the wind sweeping a cold chill off the lake. Miley makes her way over to a patch of shadow and drops down onto the sand, pulling her knees up to her chest and staring out at the lake. The breeze ruffles the hair around her face, coaxing the strands out of the dark hood of her sweatshirt. She looks so small. So still.
The sand crunches beneath the soles of my boots as I stride out to join her, but she doesn’t look up. Which only confirms that she’s been aware of me following her this whole time.
“Still stalking me?” she asks as I approach, voice flat but laced with that dry, razor-edged humor I’ve grown so fond of.
I chuckle and drop down to sit beside her, the beer bottles clinking faintly as I settle in the sand. “You say stalking, I say checking in,” I drawl, shooting her a smirk as I pull a beer from the cardboard sleeve and thrust the bottle in her direction. “Have a drink with me?”
Her eyes drop to the beer, nose wrinkling in distaste. Plush lips part, as if her refusal is on the tip of her tongue, but then she hesitates, gaze lifting to collide with mine.
“Why not?” she remarks with a shrug, taking the bottle from my hand and popping the cap.
A victorious grin splits my face as I pull another beer from the six-pack for myself, popping it open and taking a swig. A comfortable silence settles between the two of us as we sip our beers, watching the lake lap lazily at the shore ahead. In the distance, a police siren wails and fades, but out here, the city feels far away even though it’s right at our backs.
Eventually, I ask, “So, you gonna tell me what happened today?”
Miley’s content expression immediately dims, brows drawing together until a little crease forms between them. She doesn’t answer right away, taking another sip of beer as she pulls her knees tighter to her chest, eyes fixed on the dark water.
“I had my procedure,” she finally responds, her voice so soft it’s barely audible.
“What procedure?”
“The serum extraction. For my pairing.”
I jerk back, her admission landing like a slap. “The fuck?”
She heaves a sigh like she doesn’t want to explain, but I’m not about to let her off that easily. My mind’s spinning, brain struggling to rationalize what she’s saying.
Mate bonds are sacred in shifter culture. They can only be formed beneath the light of the full moon, sealed by exchanging bites to release and deposit the mating serum that bonds wolves as mates for life. If Miley’s saying what I think she’s saying– that her packextractsthe serum andinjectsit– then that goes against the fucking laws of nature. It strips our wolves of the most important choice they’ll ever make.
“Do I really have to spell it all out?” she mumbles bitterly, tipping back the rest of her beer.
“Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m gonna need you to tell me exactly what the hell that means, because it sounds fucking insane.”
Miley huffs out a breath, dropping her empty bottle into the sand. “Gonna need another drink, then,” she says, turning at the waist and holding out a hand in demand.
I’m quick to pull another beer from the cardboard sleeve and hand it over, my pulse thrumming harder with every beat of silence that persists. She takes her sweet ass time twisting off the cap andtaking a sip, throat bobbing with a delicate swallow as she swipes a thumb against the corner of her mouth.
“Matings here are just as regimented as everything else,” she begins, her voice strained. “Alpha has complete control over them, from sanctioning who will mate with who to when it’s done. We have quarterly pairing ceremonies to seal bonds. There was trouble in the past with getting some wolves to cooperate, so our scientists found a way around the traditional method of sealing mate bonds. Extracting the serum, then swapping it.”
“You’re joking,” I sputter, shaking my head. “That’s not how mate bonds are supposed to work.”
“Welcome to the Windy City Wolfpack,” she mutters.
My stomach twists. “So theymanufacturemate bonds here?”
“It’s more facilitated than manufactured,” she replies dryly. “Clean and efficient, exactly how Alpha likes it.”
“What about fate?”
“What about it?”
“If the Alpha justpairspeople, how do they find their fated mates?” I question, my inner wolf rioting at the thought of those bonds being severed before they can even form.
Some humans believe in the concept of soulmates, but for shifters, that kind of connection is real, written in the stars by fate. For those stars to align, a few things need to happen– we need to be in wolf form, under the light of the full moon, and within scent proximity. If that occurs, then fate will pull us together like gravity, solidifying the bond the moment our eyes meet.
Miley snorts a laugh, waving me off. “Fated mates are a fairytale.”
“No they’re not,” I scowl.
