Page 88 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
Sera’s eyes are glassy now, her fists clenched at her sides. Our roles reversed. She is fully in charge.
“I can’t do this right now,” she says, voice cracking.
Then she turns and walks away—toward the firehouse, toward her Rambler, toward anywhere that isn’tme. Her scent lingers in the air—embers and defiance—and it chokes me more than smoke ever could.
I just stand there, fists clenched, chest caving in, breath ragged. Watching her go.
So much for building a pack.
Now my best friend and my fated mate are both gone.
And just like always, I’m alone. A lone wolf with nothing but my own damn guilt for company.
And Marcus... Marcus is about to turn. I can’t let him leave, even if part of me wants to run too.
Chapter twenty-seven
Poking the Wolf
SERA
Bode’s eyes light up when he sees me walking toward the campfire like I belong there. I can feel the glow of his memory pulsing—he still believes the enchantment I brewed into that beer. Believes the bonding was real. That we shared something deep and primal and permanent.
Good. Let him.
I walk right up to him, lean into the performance, and kiss him like I mean it—slow, open-mouthed, heated. His growl rumbles in my chest like satisfaction. He cups the back of my neck with a possessive squeeze, and I let him. Just long enough.
"I missed you," I murmur, loud enough for nearby ears to catch. His pack watches us closely, but their gazes shift away once they’re sure he is safe.
He wraps an arm around my waist and introduces me to everyone around the fire like a prized possession. His daughter—icy and sharp, her mate beside her like a sentinel, watches me warily. Then there's her son, Bode’s five-year old grandson, young and curious, eyeing me like he’s trying to place where he’s seen me before. I hold his gaze just long enough to earn his respect. Then my eyes land on someone I didn’t expect to see here.
Marcus.
He’s lounging like he belongs, his arm draped around the same pretty crew member I saw him flirting with at the bar and later in a more intense conversation at the coffee shop. My stomach knots. I zero in, scanning his face. His scent. His energy. Has he hunted yet? I don’t see the signs, but something’s off. Something deep under the surface.
I work harder to sell the act—letting my body stay close to Bode’s, my expression loose and smitten. I seal off my thoughts with a block so tight it gives me a headache. No one here can know what I’m really thinking. Especially not Marcus.
When he catches me alone refilling my drink, he saunters over. His voice is low and sharp. "I told Noah he couldn’t trust you."
I take a long sip and meet his eyes, calm as glass. "That’s rich. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"
"What are you doing here?" he asserts.
I wink in Bode's direction, hoping I'm not over-selling it. "What areyoudoing here?"
"You're going to break his soul." He stares me down. I can feel the menace and distrust of his wolf.
“Does he have one?” I counter, walking off before he can say another word, my pulse hammering behind my ribs. He’s notwrong. Not entirely. The secrets I’m keeping for Noah’s sake might be the very thing that destroys us.
I stare into the fire for a moment too long, willing my focus back. Now’s not the time for doubt or guilt or love. Now’s the time for strategy.
The evening stretches on with Bode’s crew gathered around the fire, swapping stories laced with werewolf lore. Some of them are silly, some chilling. I laugh when expected, ask just enough questions to appear curious. I learn more tonight about werewolf hierarchy and protocol than I ever did from FBI files.
Bode stays close to me, brushing fingers over my skin, his wolfish possessiveness on full display. I let him. Every move I make is calculated.
And when he finally guides me back to the cabin with that glint in his eye, I go.
Right on schedule.
