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Fuck Ian Gray.
Fuck them all.
I should have skipped the stupid dinner altogether and taken Jules straight back to my place. Then I could have dragged her upstairs, peeled off that gorgeous red dress, and spent the rest of the evening worshipping her lithe little body.
Instead, I probably ruined everything.
The worst part is that Jules is right. Ian Gray and the type of men who attend those functions are completely detached from reality, and I’m no better. My people make charitable donations on my behalf, and I never even see the money.
I’m rich and entitled and everything she hates. That’s what hurts the most.
A low growl rumbles up my throat. My skin itches with the urge to shift, but I won’t let my wolf take control. To shift would be to escape from all this — to get some temporary relief from the soul-deep pain of knowing that I just cost myself the one person I might have actually been able to love.
Not that it matters.
Jules could never love me. At least, not all of me. Even if she could see past my failures, there’s no way she could accept the other half.
The wolf. The monster. The beast that rages inside me every hour of every day. The beast that longs to sink his fangs into her flesh and claim her body and soul.
My mate.
My mate.
My mate.
Slowly, that refrain seeps into my consciousness, overpowering my own self-loathing. Maybe it’s the booze, or maybe I’m just so tired that the logical part of my brain has decided to call it quits. Whatever the reason, I suddenly have this deep sense of knowing that pervades every cell in my body.
Jules is my fated mate.
That’s why my wolf rises to the surface every time she’s around — why I have this insane urge to mark her as my own.
Jules belongs to me.
The low-ball glass slips from my fingers as the realization hits me, soaking the carpet in hundred-year-old bourbon. I grew up hearing about shifters and their fated mates, but I always thought it was some kind of fairy tale.
I’ve never actually known another shifter to find his one true mate. Most of us mate the way mortals marry —for love or for money.
I thought that I was falling for Jules, but this is so much more than that. Jules and I are soul-bonded, and trying to leave her is the surest way to send my wolf over the fucking edge.
Go to her, he growls in my head. And for once, I listen.
“Sorry, Hugo,” I mutter as the old man appears to clean up the mess I’ve made.
“Not at all, sir.”
“Please. Let me.” I move like a drunk man as I take the rag from the lounge manager and sop up the booze I spilled. Hugo probably thinks I’ve lost my mind, but I’ve never felt more clear.
I leave The Ponderosa with a sense of purpose I’ve never experienced in my life. I fly around each curve at a breakneck pace, hoping and praying Jules hasn’t left by the time I get back.
Lights are on inside when I pull through the gate, and I let out a breath of relief when I see Jules’s van half buried in a snow drift.
I burst into the house through the side door, my wolf rising to the surface. I no longer feel that nagging urge to shift, but I’m more animal than man as I storm down the hallway, searching desperately for my mate.
Jules isn’t downstairs, but her scent is everywhere — teasing me from every corner. I take the stairs two at a time and thunder into her room without bothering to knock.
It’s empty.
Confusion and desperation claw at my insides. It’s almost midnight. She should be in bed. She certainly shouldn’t be cleaning at this hour.
