Page 24 of The Alpha’s Chosen Mate

Chapter Twelve

HARRISON

19 years old, December 27, 1991

“Happy birthday, Em.” I hold the cupcake with a candle on top of it out to her. “Make a wish.”

She scrunches up her face as she thinks, her hands clasped beneath her chin. Then she leans forward, pursing her lips, and blows the candle out.

The thoughts I have as I watch her lips are not at all related to training. She takes the cupcake from me, swiping her finger through the buttercream frosting. As she sucks it off her digit, I’m forced to stifle a groan.

Training, Harrison. We’re supposed to be training today. And she doesn’t think of me like that. I’m just her teacher, whom she only interacts with when we’re working out. She has her own group of friends—Stephanie and some pack members she met in her culinary classes—and that group does not include me.

I clear my throat and shove my jealousy and despair into a locked box, where they will stay for the rest of our time together. Hopefully.

“I think you should try to shift again today.”

Her finger pauses mid-frosting swipe. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“I don’t know…” Her eyes flick to the candle and then up to my face, telling me without telling me that what she wished for was a successful shift today.

Even at nineteen, she clings to the belief that her wish won’t come true if she tells me.

Adorable. She’s so adorable with her gray eyes and her two braids and her perfect bow-shaped pink lips. My lycan nods his agreement as I mentally continue to list off all the things I find adorable about her.

Shit. Did she just say something to me?

“Um…”

She angles her head to the side, eyes assessing and sharp. “What makes you think I’m ready?” she repeats, slowing down her words to make sure I’m listening.

“You’re stronger. You barely get winded when running. You can defend yourself when someone attacks you by surprise. You can mindlink.” I could write an entire book of reasons, but I stop there. “You’re ready.”

She turns towards the lake, taking a bite of her cupcake as she processes my certainty. I wait patiently while she eats and thinks it all through, even though I’m itching to get her into the forest so she can shift.

The curiosity of what her wolf will look like has been eating me alive since we started our training almost a year ago. I know she’ll be beautiful no matter how she looks. I don’t care if her fur is white, brown, black—or lilac. I just want to see her, run my hands through her fur, and chase her through the forest.

“I don’t want to do it here.” Emily drops the cupcake wrapper into a trash bin. “I want to do it somewhere safe, quiet, and private.”

“Of course.” My reply comes without hesitation. This is her day—her moment. I’ll do whatever is needed. Whatever she wants. “If that makes you more comfortable, then we’ll go into the forest and find a spot.”

She nods, then leads the way into the trees.

It’s a chilly day. A light dusting of snow covers the grounds, left over from a mild storm a few days ago. Clouds block the sun, and as we enter the forest, the temperature drops several degrees.

It’s nothing to me. My shifter genes keep me comfortable. But a tiny shiver passes over Emily, and I have to resist the urge to wrap my arms around her or carry her deeper into the cover of the trees. I’d keep her safe and warm if she were cradled against my chest and under my chin. But she’s determined to do this on her own, and I have to respect that.

We walk for about five minutes when Emily stops dead in her tracks.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She glances at me sideways, worrying her lip. “I don’t have spare clothes.”

Oh. Right. If—no, when—she shifts, her clothes will rip. Or she’ll have to strip first and stand around naked while waiting for her wolf to come out. And I know she doesn’t want to do that.

“I’m sure there are spare clothes tucked away in a hole somewhere.” We always keep spares stocked throughout the forest in case someone needs to shift in a hurry. “Or you can wear my shirt back to the packhouse when we’re done.”