He had to be the presence I sensed behind me.
When I wheeled around, ready to greet my phone friend, ready to smile at him for the very first time in person, I saw only werewolves fighting, scattered everywhere. Some gawked at us.
My father was in an intense, violent conversation with Logan’s dad. Hands and arms were gesturing, spit flying. Thunder boomed above, lightning spearing through the sky, having its own celestial fight.
My eyes went back to my mate. He was there, his lips swollen—my kiss had done more damage than the game there. My mark of possession, my territory.
Stephen, his lashes looked fake. Dark blond but thick. And his skin was as soft as rippling muscles and rocks could possibly be.
The weird thing was, he had this look on his face that I couldn’t quite decipher. He was studying me intently, as if he expected me to turn into a witch and fly away on an imaginary broom. I followed his slowly rising hand, the bulge of the muscle flexing as he scratched his neck. His markless neck.
When he opened his mouth, only silence and a cloud of breath came out. Then he closed it again and took a deep breath from his nose, his chest gathering air and courage. And once again, I got lost in noticing every detail. I wished I had a tape measure to check the circumference of his pectorals, or maybe how much his sculpted chest expanded when he breathed. For medical reasons!
My mind was whispering something to me, but in my mate-fuelled daze, I couldn’t hear it. It was the sparks’ fault—and that of the dominant presence of the creature in front of me.
But where is Rudolph?
“Lucien?” I called using his real name, peering behind my mate.
Again, there was no answer. There was no one.
“Lucien is the name of my wolf.”
My eyes finally fell on my mate when I heard that voice. The voice that had pestered me and bothered my sleep cycles for weeks. Except now, it was tight and controlled, like it was holding back a storm.
When sparks exploded in my hands, I looked down at them, my eyebrows arching. His rough but gentle hands had grasped mine, and he’d crouched down to be at my eye level.
“Yvaine…”
Rudolph was there again. Inside Logan’s mouth.
I foolishly grabbed his cheeks, flexing them. He had to be wearing a mask. But he wasn’t.
“I don’t understand.” My voice was calm, because surely this had to be a joke my old pal Rudolph had made up. But Christmas was still so far away!
Feeling a wave of irritation, I called for him again. “Come out now, Rudolph, it’s not funny anymore!”
I giggled nervously, involuntarily, though it sounded more like a dying duck than a genuine laugh.
“Yvaine.”
I shifted on my feet as chills ran down my spine.
“Listen, we need to talk. I?—”
Anger flooded me, drowned me. Every inch of my body was mad.
I slapped his hands away as if he had hissing vipers instead of fingers.
“No, I have to find Rudolph. He’s hiding somewhere!” I began to cry and shake all over, but it quickly subsided into mad chuckles. “Because…because you can’t be him. You just can’t!”
Something clicked, then. It all made sense.
It always had.
For a moment, I cursed my family for the good values they’d instilled in me—for how naïve I had to be to trust people this way. I had no time to doubt people, especially the new, mysterious friend I made over the phone…or my mate.
My heart staggered to a stop. My breath caught in my throat as I lost myself in those gray depths swirling with red flecks. My limbs fell loose, my body completely numb.
