Page 3 of Rejecting his Mate

The moon is still high in the sky, and I lift my face toward it as Mama grabs our bag. The moon calms me, even as it makes my skin prickle. Our kind draws strength from the lunar cycles, and as young as I am, I still feel its power over me.

Mama takes my hand once the bag is on her shoulder and we hurry across the parking lot toward the main office.

The small space is dirty and unpleasant. The man behind the counter smells funny, and I don’t like the way he looks at me, but he gives Mama a key after she hands over the money.

She rushes me out into the cold air and toward the rooms on the parking area level. Outside number three, she stops and unlocks the door, her gaze darting around before herding me inside.

The lights come on, and the room is flooded with brightness. I squint against it as she shuts the door behind us, securing it.

“Coat off, baby,” she says as she goes to the window and peers out over the parking lot. She doesn’t findwhatever she’s looking for because she closes the curtains and turns back to me, a smile painted on her lips.

I remove my coat and drop it on the small chair in the corner. My hands tremble as I do.

“Go and use the bathroom.”

Mama drops the bag on the floor, and I do as I’m told. I need to pee as soon as she tells me to do it. I don’t shut the door fully as I do my business, scared Mama might disappear if I do. I don’t know what’s happening, but I won’t risk losing Mama.

As I’m washing my hands, I hear Mama’s voice.

“…need you here,” she murmurs so low I can barely pick out the words.

It’s rude to listen, but Mama isn’t telling me anything, so I turn the faucet off and put my face to the crack in the door. My senses are heightened, so I catch every word even if she's being quiet.

She looks strange, silhouetted against the nightstand lamp. The light it casts makes the room look even more shabby from this angle, the furniture old and battered.

Mama is sitting on the bed, her back to me, her phone pressed to her ear. Her red hair is loose as if she’s removed the tie to drag her fingers through it.

I have the same red locks, the same unruly wave to them. I always liked that I share that with her, and one of my favorite things is when we sit and brush each other’s hair.

“You owe me this.” I don’t know what is being said on the other end of the phone, but Mama’s words areclipped and sharp. “I can’t shake them, Adeline. I’ve tried.”

As if sensing my presence, Mama turns to the door and I jump back as if scolded by fire. “I’ve got to go. Be here.” She ends the call. “Halle?”

Knowing there’s no use hiding, I slip out of the bathroom and come to the bed. Mama is watching me, her brow pinched, her expression tight.

“You shouldn’t listen to adult conversations,” she chastises.

I shouldn’t, but how else am I going to find out what’s going on? “Sorry, Mama.”

She blows out a breath and moves to the bed to pull the covers back before I climb in and let her tuck the blankets around me. Teddy finds his way under my arm as I snuggle into the pillows.

Something catches my eye. A cut on Mama’s hand. It spans the length of her palm, and I wonder what caused it. Without thought, I press my fingers against it and draw on that light that exists inside me. The cut starts to knit together until it is gone, and the skin looks normal again.

Mama stares at her palm, curling her fingers into it. I open her hand up. There’s no sign any injury existed. “It’s gone now,” I say.

The kiss Mama presses on my forehead seems to last longer than normal, and I feel the emotion in it. It makes my tears want to fall, but I keep them locked away. “You can’t do that when we’re around others,” she warns.

“I won’t.”

“Try to sleep, my precious girl.”

My eyes are gritty and tired, but I’m too alert to sleep. I close them anyway, listening to the sounds of Mama moving around until I finally succumb to the pull of slumber.

Voices pull me awake, and I blink, trying to claw at consciousness. The room wobbles before coming into focus.

Mama is standing in front of the window, a blonde-haired woman in front of her. I can only see the back of her, but both their bodies are tense. A discrete sniff of the air tells me the other woman is a wolf, the very thing Mama told me to run from, but Mama doesn’t look scared or like we should escape, so I don’t panic either.

But she is angry.

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