Mercenary's Choice

TWELVE - Choice

When they drove out of the Park, they didn't come in through the gate that Cyra had seen with Dorian. Instead, they went through a much smaller gate that Owen opened with a click of a button. Cyra assumed that this was his way of avoiding as many people as possible. "My house is up that way. No one ever comes to this part of the Park. So it's a private gate." He pointed up the other road that led to the gate. Cyra nodded, making a mental note that she wasn't sure she'd ever use.

    As they entered the deserted highway, Owen let out a long breath. "You know, most shifters dream of this moment."

    "What moment?"

    "The moment they meet their mate."

    "I thought we were past that moment." Cyra muttered.

    "The moment being the meeting and then the mating dance." Cyra scowled for a moment before catching herself. This was pack culture, she reminded herself. It had just been a while since she'd been around it. "Something about it upsets you?"

    "I think it's some bullshit that you get assigned some random mate, and then by chance, you might get to meet them one day. And when you do, it's just expected that your mate will drop everything for you and perform a 'mating dance' as you put it."

    Owen thought for a moment, clearly considering her words. She allowed herself to admire him for it, for at least taking the chance to think about what she had to say. "I think maybe it's a bit more nuanced than that." He said carefully. "I know it seems very random, but I think there is some sort of power and compatibility match."

    "Who makes that match?"

    "I—" Owen paused. "I don't know. It's just the way things are." He looked over at her briefly. "Do you not feel anything being around me?" His voice got hard, and she knew he was protecting himself from whatever she said next. The temptation to lie was overwhelming, maybe he'd just let her go and she could go find herself a new city, and forget about this whole business of Dorian trying to kill her and Owen being her mate.

    "I do." Cyra said quietly, unable to bring herself to lie directly to him. "I feel it when you touch me. And I feel a pull towards you." Owen reached out and gently brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. The sensation was overwhelming.

    "Like this?" She wanted to pull him close and never let him go. Get a grip.

    She slapped his hand away. "Yes, like that." Owen gave a self-satisfied smile.

    "You don't like not being able to control it." Owen observed.

    "Something like that." She murmured.

    "Tell me why you don't like it." He seemed genuinely curious about her response.

    "It feels like all agency of choice was taken away from me."

    "But you weren't seeing anyone right now." Owen pointed out.

    "That's not the point." Cyra sighed. "I just never—" imagined myself with anyone. I want to be alone. It's safer that way. "I wanted to make my own choice."

    "You can choose to leave." Owen said. "If you want to, you can walk away tonight. I can take you back to the city. I'll get you a car that we have stored there, and you can leave. I won't follow you." He was serious. He's actually insane. He would give me up. He knows what it's like for shifters that lose their mates, and he would do it.

    "Why would you do that?"

    "Because if it will really make you happy to not be with me, I won't make you stay. I'm giving you the choice to leave." Make me happy. No one ever tried to make her happy. "Think about it."