My face screwed up with concentration.
I sat cross-legged on Chloe’s bed, staring at my hands and willing them to lengthen into claws.
I didn’t feel strong or powerful. I mostly felt annoyed.
We’d been at this for hours, but I was still unable to shift so much as an eyelash.
These hours of shifting practice were the only thing keeping me from being overwhelmed by the events of last night.
Despite my efforts, the memories bubbled to the surface.
Zack’s hand on my waist as he danced.
Whispering in my ear that I was his mate.
The bouquet wilting before my eyes.
I shook my head, trying to clear away the images, but they were burned into my brain.
I pictured Chloe’s wolf. I imagined my limbs growing, stretching into paws. My teeth lengthening, becoming fangs.
I was sleek and dangerous.
I was a born hunter with primal urges.
I was…
A perfectly normal-looking woman sitting on a bed in Texas.
I felt bad for snapping at Chloe, but it was hard having someone constantly chiming in.
Not that I could really blame her for being edgy. I couldn’t seem to arrange my own thoughts in any kind of meaningful order.
Keeping up this facade was like drowning in quicksand.
If Chloe was right, and Zachary Greyson was my mate—not hers—how was I supposed to go on pretending to be her?
He was seeing Chloe’s flawless figure and tanned skin, not Claire Hill’s mousy brown hair and chubby thighs.
Zack looked right through me that day in the coffee shop.
Mating bond or no—wouldn’t he be disappointed to find out that I wasn’t what—or who—I appeared to be?
That I was a fraud?
An imposter?
The distant ringing of the doorbell interrupted my thoughts.
I had to see her.
I walked down the hall of the Texas Pack House, heading toward the parking lot and the Lexus I’d been using when I needed to get around town.
My eyes felt heavy. I’d barely slept all night.
Every time I drifted off, I saw her face, smelled that intoxicating perfume.
Chloe Danes.
My mate.
How had I not met her before? I’d been in Houston for more than a year now, investigating disturbing rumors of a “traditionalist” movement.
I would have remembered her, that’s for sure.
I threw open the back door and stopped dead in my tracks.
The Lexus I’d been borrowing belonged to Eugene Harris, the Alpha of the Texas Pack and the man whose mating ceremony I had attended last night.
He and Maxine had left on their honeymoon this morning. And obviously took the car with them.
I groaned and pulled out my phone to begin looking for an Uber in the area.
Just then, an enormous, bright-red Dodge Ram pulled into the parking lot.
I looked up and smiled. I knew that truck, and the man who drove it.
“What’s up, Miles?” I called as an athletic blond guy jumped from the cab of the truck.
“Greyson! Good to see you, man. You’re still here?” Miles said, shaking my hand.
Miles was the lead recruiter for the Houston Howlers, one of the most successful football teams in the state.
He spent half his life traveling from college to college to scout prospective players.
We’d met a few times over the years, and despite his occasionally biting sense of humor, I liked the dude.
Plus…he had a truck. And I had to get across town.
To Chloe.
“Yeah, been trying to sniff out these far-right nutjobs,” I said, “but it’s proving more difficult than I thought.
“Where were you yesterday?” I asked. “You missed the mating ceremony!”
Miles shrugged. “Spring train’n in Dallas. Found a promising new quarterback. Kid has an arm like a tornado.”
I nodded with interest, though I couldn’t care less about football. “Hey Miles, I kind of need a favor?”
Miles raised his eyebrows.
My palms were slick as I turned the wheel of Miles’ pickup toward the highway.
I was surrounded by oversized trucks, driven mostly by equally oversized men as I followed the directions I’d been given to the home of Jefferson and Norma Danes.
And their daughter, Chloe.
My mouth went dry at the thought.
I clenched my hands tighter around the steering wheel, casting a look at the bouquet of flowers that sat on the passenger seat.
I’d noticed her scent as soon as I began playing the piano at Eugene’s reception.
A tingling ripple shot up my spine so suddenly that I nearly lost track of the song I was playing.
It had felt like taking a fall off my surfboard in rough waters.
Drowning. All of a sudden, I was drowning in her fragrance.
Except instead of rising panic, it had been a wave of instant, unstoppable desire.
I’d been to the Texas Pack dozens of times with Raphael, attended countless ceremonies and events.
It was part of the reason Eugene and I had become such good friends.
But I’d never caught this delicious perfume before.
Afterward, I followed the scent to the bar, where a breathtakingly beautiful woman sat stirring a drink.
My mate.
When she’d agreed to dance with me, I could barely stand not to touch her, to rip her clothes off and claim her as mine right there on the floor.
But as we swayed to the music, my nose buried in her hair, I’d noticed something—odd—about her scent.
Up close it smelled—muddled. There was no other way to describe it, and I’d given up trying during the past sleepless night.
I had to find her. To talk to her.
This was it.
I pulled the behemoth of a truck through the open gate that led to the driveway of a gleaming white mansion.
What sort of person lived behind these white stone walls?
Was my mate kind? Was she loyal? Clever? Funny?
Would she want to leave this opulent splendor and spend her life constantly on the move, at the mercy of Raphael’s whims?
This was the problem with werewolf mating bonds—I now found myself forever linked, heart and soul, to a woman who was a complete stranger.
The car door swung open with a squeak.
I ran a hand over my closely shaved head, trying to still the jitters running under my skin.
I walked up to the door of Chloe’s house and rang the bell.
The doorbell rang again, but I ignored it.
Everyone else was out of the house. It was probably just a delivery guy.
I groaned as I stood and headed down the hallway.
My legs were stiff from sitting cross-legged. I swung open the door.
I nearly dissolved into a puddle when I saw Zachary Greyson standing at my door.
He was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He held a bouquet of daisies in his hands.
His slightly sheepish smile made my heart thud.
“Sorry, I should have called but—” he trailed off, looking at me with those clear green eyes.
An awkward silence fell between us.
My whole body yearned to be nearer to him.
“These are for you,” Zack said, nervously extending the bundle of flowers toward me.
I reached out to take them, then pulled back, remembering the rose blossoms that had died at my touch.
“Thank you. Come in, I’ll find a vase,” I said instead, opening the door to let him inside.
Thank God none of Chloe’s family members were home. Zack and I would have some privacy.
That thought made my bones shake with lust, but there was an underlying voice that told me to be careful.
I was alone in a house with a full-blooded werewolf who believed that I was his mate.
I remembered the voracious sexual appetite that came along with a wolf’s animal instincts.
And judging by the tightening I felt in my breasts, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to control myself.
I felt like if he so much as touched the tip of my little finger, I would shatter then and there.
I had to admit, she was right.
Zack and I had known each other for about five minutes, and in the span of those five minutes we’d learned that we were irrevocably connected for the rest of our lives.
Zack followed me into the kitchen, still holding the bouquet.
What was I supposed to say to him?
It was a lot to take in.
Especially when I could barely keep a rational thought in my head as wave after wave of pulsing desire crashed through me.
I hunted for a vase, desperately trying to think of something to say.
I could feel his presence behind me; I wished I was wearing something more than a thin blue tank top.
Finally, my searching fingers finally located a crystal vase.
Thankful to have something to do with my hands, I began filling the container with water from the sink.
Zack stepped up behind me. When I turned to face him, we were only inches apart.
I froze, my heart thumping wildly.
But Chloe didn’t respond. Instead, I experienced a shuttering sensation, as if she had put up a mental wall, blocking our subconscious link.
All that was left were my own chaotic thoughts—and Zachary Greyson.
Whatever self-control I’d managed to hang onto crumbled into dust as I saw the burning heat in his eyes.
I barely knew this man. I didn’t know his middle name, or his favorite color.
But I understood, somewhere deep within me, that the link between us was real.
Zack stepped closer, and all the hairs on my arms raised.
He set the flowers down on the kitchen counter. “You’ll have to forgive me. I can’t seem to find the right words,” he said.
“The right words for what?” I breathed, my skin tingling.
“I can’t believe I found—my mate,” he continued in a husky voice.
“What happens now?” I asked.
Zack looked at me curiously.
Of course, I was supposed to be a werewolf. Chloe Danes would know exactly what was supposed to happen next.
He raised a hand and ran it down the curve of my jaw.
“Normally, this would be when I would mark you,” he said, his hand trailing along the skin at the base of my neck.
My eyes fluttered shut.
His other hand came to rest on my waist. “To let every other male know you were mine.”
“Do—do you want to mark me?” I managed to gasp as fire ignited in my center.
“Do you want me to mark you?” He responded teasingly, leaning closer until his lips barely brushed the skin of my neck.
My eyes flew open.
