Page 52 of Bullied Pretend Mate
As I do, I realize I recognize the man in the dancing couple.
Sure enough, when I glance back, I realize it actually is Mr. Stone, his bushy eyebrows pulled down as he stares afterme. Of course, he’s actually here. And of course, he’s seeing Maeve run away from me, clearly upset.
But I can’t think about him now. All that matters is getting her back in front of me so we can talk this thing through. I turn and continue trying to work my way through the dance floor, the outskirts of the thing too clogged up with mingling people for me to easily find a path.
How the hell is she so fast in those heels? How is she weaving through this crowd easier than I, an alpha? I’ve done training in a burning-down building, groping my way through the dark with nothing but another teammate trying to hold on to the wall for me. And yet, here Maeve is, making her getaway at record speed.
When I get to the ballroom’s entrance, I’m breathing hard, trying to find her. Moonlight spills out over the courtyard and the hills rolling down to the parking lot, and I finally spot her, practically glowing in the moonlight, hitting the line of trees at full speed and not slowing in the slightest.
There’s no question.
I’m going to follow her.
Chapter 25 - Maeve
I’m running faster than I have in my entire life. Back in Los Angeles, I got into fitness and taking care of my body, not to lose weight but because my body deserved to be taken care of, too. I was no longer afraid of going to the gym as a big girl. I deserved to be there, getting stronger, like everyone else.
And I used to run laps in the morning, before weightlifting.
But not like this—not this fast. Not this hard. This is the fastest I’ve ever gone on two legs, including that night on the ridge with the other girls.
Maybe back then, in the middle of the night with those girls, I had no clue how serious the situation was. We were always sneaking out in the middle of the night. To the lake, into the woods, over to the school, where we’d pull a stool out of the bushes and use it to hike ourselves up and into the window, using our little meeting room on the weekends to work on our magic.
But that night was the first time we went to the ridge. Valerie, Phina, and I all knew it was dangerous. We’d grown up in Silverville and had heard the stories. Drunk teenagers getting too close. Rocks tumbling down. The cliffside eroded when people least expected it. People take their own lives by jumping and landing on the sand below, the lake lapping along peacefully, completely unaware of the carnage of their landing.
Back then, I should have run faster than I did. I should have run away—full stop. But I didn’t. I was frozen, watching. Maybe I was under some sort of strange, twisted spell, the kind of social contract between young girls that’s so tight, it feels suffocating.
Maybe back then, I wasn’t as strong as I am now.
Or maybe this—Felix coming after me, seriously asking me to stay in Silverville—maybe this is setting off my fight-or-flight more than even a daemon fire could.
Halfway through the ballroom, I pause for a second to slip my heels from my feet and run even faster, the shoes dangling from my hands. I race along the marble floors, my feet smacking loudly. When I get out to the parking lot, I don’t even feel the bite of the small stones, the gravel, against the soft flesh of my soles.
And when I hit the edge of the forest, I do what comes naturally.
I shift, my wolf form rolling over me, caressing me like diving into warm water. It happens mid-stride, my feet leaving the ground with ten toes and returning as paws.
It feelsdamngood to shift, to let loose of the human emotions rolling through me.
As I race through the trees, it feels like I’m running from my thoughts. Logically, I know that I started running because of what Felix said to me. That he loves me. That he wants me to stay.
He’s never taken anything seriously in his entire life, but it seems like he wants to take this thing between us seriously now. But I fell for him once, and it broke my heart. All it got me was emotional turmoil, which eventually led to that day on the ridge, crying and watching one of my closest friends go up in blue-tipped daemon flames.
So I know that I’m running away because of Felix, but I tell myself I’m running because of something else.
Because when Felix leaned down close to me, hugging me, I realized why that smoky smell in his hair was so familiar to me.
It smelledexactlylike Tara.
And there’s no reason he could smell like her if she’s dead. If that fire really burned her body down, reduced her to nothing but the fine, silver ash left behind after a daemon fire, her scent wouldn’t still be lingering.
Would it?
Could the fires still be carrying the scent of her, even if she’s not alive?
I have no idea how it works. Maybe I could talk to Felix about it, find out what he knows about the daemon fires, but I can’t even think about him without seeing that look on his face.
That expression, full of love. Reaching right to young Maeve inside me and squeezing away at her heart.
