Page 10 of Marked
I have a fated mate.
The strange thing about trauma is how it can make it difficult to accept when good things happen. Thisshouldbe a good thing. It’s what I’d always dreamed of.What was it like to actually believe in happily-ever-afters?
I’ve been reeling since I returned home last night, but for the first time in a while, it wasn’t painful memories that kept me awake most of the night. It was mental images of how the moonlight clung to Iver’s naked body as the bond between us snapped in; the earnestness in his blue-eyed gaze when he said that he wants this. That he wantsme.
I have a fated mate, and he’shere, gently rapping his knuckles against the wooden door of my cabin. My inner wolf sensed the moment he arrived, so I’m already waiting on the other side, my heart beating a riot in my chest as I reach for the knob and twist. Part of me wasn’t sure he’d actually show up. Part of me wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to.
A swarm of butterflies erupts in my stomach when I pull the door open and see him standing there, looking far more gorgeous than any man has a right to be. His eyes are kind; hissmile is friendly. Everything about him is warm and inviting, drawing me in like a moth to a flame.
“Hey Chey,” Iver greets, his grin widening to cheesy proportions.
God, he’s so freakingcute.
“Hey yourself,” I breathe, miraculously not sounding half as jittery and nervous as I feel. Pulling the door wider, I step aside to allow him entry. “Wanna come in?”
His eager expression says that he does, but he doesn’t step forward, pausing to tilt his head in consideration. “Is that alright?”
“I wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t,” I reply with a coy smile, waving him inside.
While the idea of being alone in a room with Iver at his packhouse was anxiety-inducing, this is different. This ismyspace, where I have control over the environment. I know where the exits are–front and back doors– and where the weapons are hidden–under my pillow, beneath the couch cushion, in the knife drawer. Javi’s cabin is nearby, and I know he’d come running at the first sign of trouble. This is a safe place.My safe place.
“First things first, I need your phone number,” Iver drawls as he crosses the threshold into my home.
“I don’t have a phone,” I deadpan.
His brows shoot up. “What? Seriously?” he questions, blinking in confusion until he reads the teasing smirk on my lips. His own pull into a grin as he points a finger at me. “Ah, you almost got me there,” he chuckles.
My smirk deepens as I extend a hand toward him, palm up. “Give me yours, I’ll program my number in.”
He digs it out of his pocket and hands it over, closing the door behind him as I make quick work of adding my contact to his phonebook and shooting off a text to myself so I have hisnumber, too. Then I return his phone with a shy smile, those damn butterflies taking flight once again as he smiles back.
I turn away to hide my blush, wandering toward the nearby sofa. “Wanna come sit?”
These cabins on the fringes of the old ski resort aren’t very big, but they’re cozy. The open-plan layout is great for someone like me who hates feeling closed in, and compared to some of the places my nomadic pack holed up in over the years, this cabin is the pinnacle of luxury.
Iver responds in the affirmative and follows me over to the couch, both of us sinking down onto the worn cushions and settling in.
“So, what now?” I ask as I swivel his way, tucking a leg up underneath me.
“Well, you could start by telling me your life story,” he suggests.
I snort a laugh. “There’s not much to tell.”
He arches a brow in challenge and I heave a sigh, carding my fingers through my hair.
“I’ve been on my own since I was six, literally raised by a pack of wolves,” I say, winking. “Javi’s the closest thing I have to family, and we’ve been through a lot together over the years. Our pack moved around often, so no place has ever really felt like home, but it never bothered me that much. I feel like it just made me more adaptable to change, ya know?”
I shrug a shoulder, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. “Of course, that also means I couldn’t really hold down a regular job, so I started doing freelance photography gigs here and there. My camera’s the only thing I own that’s worth anything, Javi bought it for me.”
“So you’re a photographer?” Iver asks, hanging on my every word.
“Amateur photographer,” I clarify with a soft laugh. “I’m still building my portfolio, but what I’ve got so far is enough to pick up jobs here and there.”
“Damn, that’s really cool,” he replies with another one of those charming grins. “I’d love to see it sometime.”
There’s no hiding the blush that rises to my cheeks this time around. “Sure.”
“So, what do you do when you’re not taking pictures?” he asks, shuffling a little closer.
