Page 4 of My Elusive Mate

In almost two years of living in Middlemarch, she hadn’t suffered through a storm like this. The tiny hairs on her neck bristled, and her ears pricked as she struggled to hear every sound.

“It’s just the storm,” she whispered. “It will pass.”

Edginess forced her to move, and she stalked a circuit of her house, checking every room and inspecting the roof and windows for signs of water leakage. Her cottage sat on the side of a hill, and trees surrounded it, which gave the building shelter, but still, uneasiness filled her. Her tail swished beneath her full skirt as she returned to the kitchen, her slippers scuffing against the cream floor tiles. The kettle switched off as she entered the room, and she poured the boiling water into her thermos and tightened the cap before setting it aside.

Perhaps a cup of tea would settle her nerves. She grabbed a coffee mug and plunked a tea bag inside it. Soon, a piquant mint fragrance rose, and she inhaled, savoring the invigorating scent.

Lightning flashed, the bright light illuminating the valley and the distant river. In that glance, she noted the raging water had escaped the channel and flowed into the paddocks. A massive boom had her jumping, and apprehension crawled across her skin. That had been close. Lightning flickered almost instantly, a pungent chemical stench filling the air. Another bolt came, seconds after the first, the crack of thunder on its heels. The world seemed to pause, to take a breath, then the entire house shifted, shoving her off-balance.

Hot tea spilled on her wrist, and she dropped her cup as she struggled to stay on her feet. The floor moved and jerked to a stop, throwing her off-kilter again. She couldn’t save herself and fell, striking her head on the countertop as she tumbled. Pain sliced through her, stealing her breath, and blackness closed over her.

Marcussloggedthroughthewater, and the icy liquid that sloshed over his boots chilled his feet to the bone. Overhead, lightning forks blasted across the black sky, beautiful but deadly. The accompanying thunder had his blood pumping and his wolf whining. Marcus didn’t like this much, but he had to confirm the old woman’s safety. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to retreat and drive home without knowing she was safe.

A flash of lightning showed him glimpses of the cottage perched on the side of the hill. The tempest sat directly above, and rain lashed him, finding its way through his coat and soaking his clothes. Like his wolf, he hated this storm. A nasty chlorine bleach odor filled each breath, and he increased his speed.

Another whip of lightning forked across the sky, striking a tree. A boom of thunder drowned out the crack as a branch crashed to the ground, taking other limbs with the force of its fall. More lightning. Thunder. Then a breath of silence before an ominous rushing sound. Marcus froze, cocking his head. Then his surroundings brightened with lightning, and horror swamped him.

Landslide!

He heard the roar and surge of earth. The slide of mud and rocks. The crash of toppled trees. A second burst of bright light showed him the house, and it was gliding down the hill. It moved slowly at first before gathering momentum. The building crashed into a gigantic tree with a girth twice his size. A loud screech rent the air, the collision of timber against timber. A mountain of dirt and mud flowed after the dwelling. Then the lightning faded, leaving pitch black darkness.

Marcus cast out his senses. Was old Mrs. Hunter even there? If she was sensible, she might’ve joined a friend. He pictured the woman and rethought. No, Saber had told him she was independent. He peered through the gloom and picked his way through the debris and deep puddles of water and mud. When he reached the house, he discovered it lodged against two massive trees. The trees seemed deep-rooted, and so far, they kept the cottage in place and stopped it from sweeping farther down the hill. But how long would they hold?

A tree blocked the front entrance, so Marcus skirted the building and slipped around the back. The storm hovered overhead, with regular lightning flashes brightening the murky sky. His clothes clung to his clammy skin with each step as he leaned into the forceful wind. No rear entrance. Strange, but the cottage wasn’t large. He checked the windows and found one cracked open. He applied his weight, and the frame squeaked a protest as it moved inward.

Marcus called out. “Hello? Anyone there?” He cocked his head, listening, but heard nothing above the wail of the wind, the whip of lightning, and the clap of thunder.

He hesitated before deciding he’d prefer an elderly lady cranky at him for breaking into her home rather than failing to help someone in need. And—he and his wolf both brightened—they might gain a clue as to the owner of that beautiful, decadent scent.

Mate, his wolf growled.

Marcus didn’t respond but shoved at the window until it gave with a grumpy squeak.

“Hello,” he shouted.

Still nothing.

He continued pushing and scowled when the latch would move no further. It was gonna be a tight squeeze, and he’d end up forcing or breaking the mechanism to get inside. The frame gave way with a crack, thankfully drowned out by a timely boom of thunder. Marcus shoved through the resulting gap and found himself in a laundry. At the doorway, he glanced at his boots and winced at the mud trail. Frowning, he slipped his feet free and then rolled off his socks, as they were as muddy and wet as his outer footwear. One further step into the kitchen, and he froze in position, every one of his senses alerted.

That scent.

It was everywhere.

It filled his lungs, and his wolf’s growl rumbled through him, low and husky and full of need.

Marcus swallowed because his mouth had turned dry as an arid desert. Was his mate someone who was living with old Mrs. Hunter? And heck! He had to stop thinking of her as old. While it was true, he’d hate to blurt it out if his mind went blank. With tension writhing through his muscles, he started a systematic search of the cottage interior. The earthy smokiness filled each room and had an unwelcome side effect. Thank Hades his coat was a long one and hid many sins. He scanned the homey lounge, which was tidy, although a few books lay on the floor along with a smashed vase. Probably had happened when the house had slid off its foundation. Nothing in the first bedroom he checked. He moved onward, down the passage where the enticing scent was more potent.

Marcus paused in the kitchen doorway and cursed under his breath when he spotted a still form. It wasn’t the old woman since this person wore a skirt that had rucked up to display shapely limbs.

The entire house shuddered without warning, and Marcus took two giant steps toward the still woman. He crouched, searching for a pulse. He didn’t like how the house was moving and needed to get them out before the building surged down the hillside.

A pulse beat beneath his fingertip. At least the woman was still alive. He leaned closer and caught the scent of blood along with the more enticing one that had first captured his attention. A feline shifter, his brain supplied. It was simple to find the blood source—a wound on the back of her skull. She must’ve struck her head when she’d fallen.

He checked for broken bones before carefully turning her onto her back.

The house jerked, and something crashed against an outside wall, making the floor shudder. That was it. They had to leave before the enormous trees gave way.

Marcus searched for something to cover her and keep at least some of the rain off. Another thought occurred, and he checked the front door. If possible, it’d be easier to exit that way rather than squeeze the woman through the window.

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