Page 29 of Destined Mate

Theo dipped his mozzarella sticks into marinara sauce. “Who’s up next again?”

“Hudson. Raven sleeps during the day, remember?” Wesley answered carefully. Then his gaze snagged on something—no, someone—familiar across the street. “Shit.”

“What?” Keith asked immediately.

“Anya Frost of Blackwater Ridge is about to walk in. What are the damn odds?” Wesley hadn’t expected to see her until the challenge.

If she was here this early, it meant she took the competition even more seriously than he’d thought. Wesley both admired that and found it alarming.

“Think she’ll recognize you?” Duncan asked, glancing at the door.

Wesley nodded. “Most likely. I looked up everyone. No reason to think she didn’t.”

“She’s by herself,” Theo noted, casually craning his neck to see through the window.

“Or wants us to think she is,” Keith said around a mouthful of burger.

Anya entered, scanning the room, then her gaze locked onto Wesley, and he saw surprise flicker across her face. That pleased him. He noticed that she approached them with the assured stride of someone who feared no one and nothing.

“Wesley.” Anya dipped her head slightly in respect to another alpha.

“Anya.” Wesley returned the head bob.

“You’ve made it to San DeLain after all. Wasn’t sure you’d show,” Anya said.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Quite the coincidence meeting you here.”

“Isn’t it?” Anya grinned.

Wesley motioned to his pack. “This is Keith, Theo, and Duncan.”

All three nodded at her, careful not to make eye contact for long.

“Brought help, huh?” Anya mused, eyeing them.

“Brought pack you mean,” Wesley said so softly no human could hear what he said.

Anya frowned.

“Why not join us?” Wesley suggested, ignoring the warning look Keith shot him.

She hesitated briefly before sliding into their booth with the confident ease of someone accustomed to taking any seat at the table—and holding it.

“How do you like San DeLain so far?” Anya asked as she sat down, sweeping her dark hair behind her shoulder.

“It’s not so different from San Diego,” Wesley said carefully.

“I suppose not,” Anya replied as she signaled a server over, ordered a drink, then turned back to them.

Wesley settled into the meal that was no longer relaxing. As they talked, each question felt like fencing—thrust met with parry, neither offering more than necessary but each trying to read between every line spoken.

Through it all, Wesley watched her carefully for any hint of weakness but saw none. Instead, he found himself respecting her more than he wanted to admit. She was clever and calculating—a formidable rival, indeed.

“So, which leader did you ingratiate yourself with this morning?” Anya asked suddenly.

He didn’t flinch at how close to home her words hit. “Elder Kage,” he admitted freely.

“Ah,” she said softly.

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