Page 25 of The Alpha’s Chosen Mate

Her gaze flicks to where my biceps bulge against the sleeves of my T-shirt. Okay, so maybe I intentionally picked a slightly too tight shirt because I knew I’d see her today.

Can anyone blame me? I think about her more and more with each day that passes. No she-wolf has ever captured my attention like she has. Emily is… she’s everything. Smart, kind, resilient. Beautiful. There’s a pull to her I can’t resist. Even with the distance she keeps—the distance I respect because I’d never do anything to hurt her—I’m drawn to her. Her smile, her wit, her empathy. Her scent. Goddess, her scent. It becomes more fragrant each time I see her.

I’ve told no one—not even Brad—but I’m confident she’ll be my mate when she turns twenty-one in two years. I’m desperate for that reality, and my lycan is as convinced as I am that fate will work in our favor. That she will be my mate. My luna.

“Okay. I’ll wear your shirt.”

It’s a simple, quiet response, but it’s everything to my lycan and me. If she walks back into the packhouse with my shirt on, every male will know to stay away from her. They already give her a wide berth as it is. She’s close with Stephanie, and they know Stephanie will kick their asses if they hurt her friend. But my shirt—my subtle, unofficial claim—will deter them even more.

We reach a small clearing on the side of the lake opposite the main grounds and the packhouse. The water is barely visible through a gap in the trees.

Emily pivots, scanning the clearing’s circular edge before she finally faces me. “How do I do this?”

Gone is the confidence she’s gained over the past year. In its place is the vulnerable, scared version of Emily I saw on her last birthday. She hugs her chest and curls her shoulders inward, like she’s protecting herself from an invisible blow.

“Just relax, open yourself up to your wolf, and let her do the rest.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Yes.” I don’t lie. There’s no point. She’ll realize I lied as soon as the first bone cracks, and she’s been lied to too many times. “It will hurt. But it won’t hurt as badly as last year when you couldn’t shift. You’re stronger now. You’re ready.”

She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth, then sits in the middle of the clearing.

Smart choice. She’d drop to her hands and knees anyway if she stayed standing.

I turn to gaze at the slowly darkening sky to give her some privacy. I’m still unsure where our relationship stands beyond me training her. Yes, she accepted my shirt to wear after her shift. But while I see it as staking a claim, she may see it as simple politeness. Me doing my duty as the future alpha.

The stars dot the sky, peering out from behind the thin clouds until the heavens glitter. The temperature drops steadily, made colder by a slight breeze weaving around the trunks.

I hazard a glance at Emily. I haven’t kept close track of the time—I don’t wear a watch—but it’s been at least a few hours since we left the packhouse’s back deck. Emily hasn’t said a word since she sat on the ground, and I haven’t looked at her since I turned away.

She sits with her knees to her chest. Her body trembles, either from nerves or the cold or both, and she avoids my eyes. A tear drips down her cheek and falls onto her kneecap, adding to a growing wet spot on her sweatpants.

I take one step towards her. “Em—”

“Please don’t, Harrison.” She stands abruptly, backing away from me. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t.” A sob cuts through her words, and she shakes her head, the movement becoming frantic as the tears pour out of her. “I need to be alone.”

Fuck that. She may be upset—embarrassed even—but there’s no way I’m leaving her alone. “Is that really what you need right now? To be alone so you can drown in your emotions? Or do you need a friend?”

“Harrison, please. I—”

“Don’t be stubborn, Em.”

She snaps her mouth shut, teeth clenching against her protests.

“Let me comfort you.” My lycan urges me to cross the distance and take Emily into my arms, but I don’t. I wait for her to make the first move.

She releases a frustrated groan that echoes off the tree trunks, and then she’s across the clearing and in my arms. I wrap her up tight and let her cry into my chest as the night wears on. I’m not worried about how long we’ve been out here or bothered by the tears and snot she leaves on my shirt.

It’s been almost a year since the last time I held her in my arms. Seeing the difference in her musculature is one thing, but feeling it? A year ago, I was terrified I’d crush her with my strength. Now, I can actually embrace her the way I want to—unrestrained, without fear of breaking her ribs. She’s secure in my arms, locked up tight where no one can hurt her.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you.” Her words come out muffled, trapped between her face and my shirt.

“You could never disappoint me.” The fact that she even thinks she could is proof of how epically I’ve failed at training her. “If anything, I should be apologizing for disappointing you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I did though, Em. I failed you. I thought you were ready, and I was wrong. That’s on me, not you.” I take her face in my hands, ensuring she witnesses the sincerity of my words. “But I promise you, by your next birthday, you will be able to shift.”