Page 62 of Howl You Doin?
I stare down at my lit-up screen, wondering what could be keeping him. Scared shitless would be an apt and accurate description of my current state. The skin on my forearms prickles at just the thought of her, and I’m growing worried at how deeply this is going to impact me if it all goeswrong.
My footfalls clip hurriedly along the marble floors as I make my way to the study. I can feel some kind of mateship forming, and I have no idea how to stop it. The signs are all there, and the idea is becoming less fucking ridiculous by the second, but what if Whitley doesn’t accept it? Worse still, what would happen if she learns of what I am and bolts in fear?
My mate would have to know, as I wouldn’t be able to hide it.
Whitley doesn’t seem like the kind to be all accepting of the strange and paranormal. She spooks at just the animatronics in the castle.
A light comes on as I enter my study and close the door behind me, illuminating Frank as he sits at my desk, staring down at his laptop.
“Hello, Doyle.”
Dammit. The last person I want to see right now.
I bet Whitley’s scent is all over me, and by the way his eyes move with me as I enter the room, I can tell he’s suspicious.
I doubt the big idiot has learned his lesson after Vlad. If not, he knows how vicious I can be if he tries to intervene, like the bullshit he pulled with Aubrey. He may run hot and have a fiery temper, but I have a nastier bite and claw.
That still doesn’t settle my worry for if he finds out.
“What are you doing, Frank?” I ask, not waiting on him to answer as I make my way to the sideboard for a drink.
How he got into my study in the first place is a mystery I can’t be bothered investigating; Frank has his ways.
“Oh, this and that,” he mutters.
I open the mini fridge and ice clinks together as I toss a couple cubes into my glass. The audible pop of the brandy stopper punctuates the tension in the room, and I pour myself two fingers, remaining silent.
“You smell like the chef, Doyle,” he says, a sly grin pulling across his lips. “Have you been tupping your employees?”
Our gazes meet and I cock my head while pouring him a drink as well.
“So what if I am?” I ask, walking over and placing the glass in front of him. “I’m a horny lad and the town is an hour away. Leave me be.”
He lifts an eyebrow, and leather squeaks as he leans back in the chair.
“It’s all fun and games until you mate someone,” Frank intones, finally wrapping his thick fingers around the glass. “After what happened with Vlad, I’m worried you’re going to let a little human get to you.”
“Fuck you,” I say, rolling my eyes to hide how they are widening.
He chuckles, and the sound is odd and hollow, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “You’re covered in her scent, and she yours. Fortunately for you, all you have to do is keep her from seeing you when you’re on one of your little nightly runs. I don’t care who you fuck, so long as you don’t reveal what we are and foolishly mate with them. I think she’d run off scared, and then you know I’d have to intervene.”
Unsurprised by how Frank has been monitoring my movements, I pale at the thought of any female seeing my other form. If Whitley saw me...
It’s something I was already fearing, but the fact Frank thinks it’d spell trouble is even more concerning. He has a good eye for people, true, but he also wants me to keep it a secret. How any immortal could keep that side of themselves a secret from their mate would be, essentially, impossible.
“Can you imagine?” he continues. “Now that would be a disaster.”
“You don’t find anything about her unusual?” I ask, before I can stop the question. Her scent grates at me in so many different ways, and I’ve never heard of a mortal being able to do that.
Frank is more magic than man, and can literally see sorcery as it’s happening—a rare ability. If he noticed anything different about Whitley, it could explain why I’m reacting this way.
“She’s a human.” His voice hints that he finds her species tedious and revolting.
I breathe out slowly and sink down into the chair across from him.
“I was told I would never have a mate, so you don’t have to worry,” I say, unsure of how true that is.
I know what I’m feeling with Whitley, but what if it’s not the real deal? Frank had his potential mate taken from him, and I don’t want to end up like this depressing sack of stitched skin.
