The Mates of Monsters

Chapter 13

You want me and I know.

Of course he knows—we're mates. That is how mates are supposed to be. So if I'm aware of this, then why am I flustered? What is so shameful about desiring one's ideal match? Maybe it's just me. I know very well that my sober, defensive self would rather die than face this conversation.

"It's just how I feel," I say softly.

"Well, you know there's no need to feel embarrassed. What happened to all of that fire? You're stubborn, Brigette, but undeniably determined."

"I don't know. I know what I should and shouldn't do—according to that fiery girl—but now I just feel lost. If I'm not that girl, then I don't know who I'm supposed to be. I really thought that's who I was. Maybe it is. Maybe I just drank too much wine."

David comes over and sits beside me. "Maybe you just need some rest. By morning things should clear up."

That girl would never let me be here with him now. She would never entertain conversations like the one we had in the hallway. "Then I don't want to fall asleep," I murmur.

"What do you want?"

"The same thing as earlier, as yesterday and the day before, and the day I first met you," I tell him, unsettled. "But I'm scared of what will happen now, in this moment, if I say it."

David swallows and looks away from me. He's thinking, and I wish I could study his face for a clue concerning what about. Doing as he did earlier, I hesitantly place my hand on top of his, simply enjoying the feel of him. "I've never loved anybody," I confess, "in any way. I've been told that those things are sacred, that the bond is sacred. If I can't be that girl, then maybe I can be what you need instead."

"Brigette—"

"I know I've been a horrible mate, but maybe I can start being a good one. Please—look at me."

David faces me with that same waning restraint. My heart fills to its brim and pulsates violently. I can't help but lean into him. He watches as I lift up and breathe in his air; the temptation of our closeness is irresistible, and without a second thought, I touch my lips to his. My hand falls on his thigh as I stabilize myself, needing to push further into him. It is a short, soft kiss, and I move back just far enough to see his reaction.

Every drop of blood flowing inside me rushes to my face and neck and fingertips. The sound of my thoughts swimming and drowning in my head nearly challenges the thump of my heart, so I push off of the bed and move away from him, wondering if distance will calm the storm brewing within. David follows behind me, saying things that I can't quite comprehend. I head out of the room, down the steps, and through the hallways into the kitchen. He's can't stand another minute of my silence, so he grabs me and makes me look at him.

"Let's go," I propose with no context.

David—chest rising and falling with stifled fervor—asks, "Go where?"

I look back to the doors that open to the porch. "Out there. Outside. I just—I need release. I can't go on my own, so come with me."

"You want to run?"

"Yes," I breathe.

He considers this—all of the possible outcomes of having me shift and run at such a time, all of the possible consequences. But he's the Alpha. He's bigger than me, faster than me, and although he previously stated his lack of enthusiasm for chasing after me—it wouldn't be that long of a chase. I can see it on his face. He wants to know how badly I yearn for freedom, that is, if I still do.