Page 31 of Destined Mate

The densely wooded landscape was both foreign and familiar, alive with sound and shadow. He felt the anguish of those present and heard wolves’ snarls getting more intense, reverberating in the night air.

He’d never seen this place, yet it tugged at his instincts. This felt like home.

He moved through the forest with a sense of helpless dread, the path to the stone circle becoming more worn as he drew closer. From the darkness, there were gazes fixed upon him that begged him to do something, to help them…to help him.

When he finally reached the stone circle, the ancient site loomed skyward. Shadows flickered menacingly around its perimeter from lit torches.

The air was thick with tension and desperation, the growling almost drowning out the ominous pounding of his own heart. He felt the need to challenge, felt the pressing need to dominate the alpha who stood in the ring, waiting for him. The alpha who would deny Wesley his fate.

Anger surged through him as he stepped into the ring.

Right before he shifted, Wesley jerked awake, his senses hyperaware. His heart was an insistent drum in his chest, and he lay still for a moment, trying to calm his body.

He got out of bed silently, careful not to wake Keith, and glanced through the window at the sprawling city lights. It was pretty, but it didn’t soothe him.

Turning away, he walked into the bathroom, grabbed a cup, and ran himself some water. These visions were unheard of and making him crazy. The upcoming trial preyed on his mind, thanks to them.

He didn’t fear the other wolves—he was more than capable. Plus, something told him he’d win. No, the worry—dare he say it? The fear—he felt wasn’t about facing other wolves.

It came from the pain and panic in that damn gaze that was quickly coming to haunt him. He couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong, but he had nothing to base that on outside of a damn dream. A dream he shouldn’t be capable of having.

He took a deep breath and went back to bed—hopefully without the dreams this time.

WESLEY AND his small pack sat down with Hudson and his Right Hand, Conrad, in a sunlit office, the morning light casting long shadows across the polished wooden table. Their conversation flowed easily.

Feeling reassured, he left the meeting with a renewed sense of purpose. Later that night, he met Raven, Lady Annabel, and a soldier named Felix at the Black Rose Café, which Raven owned. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped them.

Raven’s intuitive understanding of the challenges at hand offered Wesley a comforting assurance. As he departed, he carried with him a buoyant feeling of confidence, knowing both meetings had solidified his plans.

Saturday, Sunday, and Monday passed quickly. In the meantime, the rest of the alphas arrived. Every night, Wesley dreamed, and each morning he awoke more certain than ever that something was seriously amiss at Cross Creek.

By Tuesday, he was restless and agitated, pacing around the room as if the walls were closing in on him. His constant movement and jittery energy were beginning to fray his packs mates’ nerves.

He knew their patience was wearing thin as he fidgeted and muttered to himself, his presence a relentless whirlwind of unease that made it hard for anyone to focus or relax.

Wednesday was the challenge, but something whispered that waiting would be a catastrophic mistake, and he’d be too late. Too late for what, he didn’t know. Shit was going to hit the fan because of what he was about to do, but he no longer cared.

He was going to Cross Creek.

Chapter Nine

Jerome

THE LAST few days had been hell. Confined within the four walls of his room, Jerome paced endlessly, his wolf riding him hard.

The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of dust and desperation. His room had become his prison, stripping him of any freedom or joy. The isolation was unbearable, weighing heavily on his spirit.

He yearned for the open sky, the wind rustling through his hair, and the freedom to shift and roam as his nature intended.Those desires remained unfulfilled, locked away with him in his solitary confinement.

He might not have been able to leave that room, but he’d seen plenty out of his bedroom window, and none of it was good.

Clyde and Albert were nothing more than bullies, which he’d already known, but seeing them in action and being unable to help his pack hurt Jerome even more than he’d expected.

Their antics seemed almost orchestrated to break him. They had taken full advantage of his confinement, and their tactics were ruthless. They made a mockery of what it meant to be pack.

Jerome had to sit by and watch them disrupt everything. It pained him to let their cruel games go unchecked, to see the others suffering under their tyranny.

It was a test of patience, like nothing he’d known before. They were power hungry and greedy, but worst of all, they delighted in the misery they spread. Jerome’s mind screamed in frustration as he observed his pack fraying under the strain.

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