Page 1 of Hunted Mate
CHAPTER 1
Calista
“They’re real. They’re real and I’m going to prove it.”
I mutter to myself. I have in my arms the evidence I need to put together the final pieces of my exposé on a subject that is going to blow the minds of every person in the world. Aliens are nothing on what I know to be true.
Hart Press
I carry a stack of boxes under the red sign that has been there for well over a hundred years. I am the last in a long line of newspaper men and women, the sole heir of the Hart fortune.
Some people think that makes me lucky. It doesn’t. Others think it makes me rich. They’re right about that. I technically own this paper, and a whole lot more besides, but I don’t run it, and most people forget I matter at all.
That’s how I like it. I am not trying to draw attention to myself. I grew up getting more than enough of that. These days, I focus onmy research. My mission. I have known something that the rest of the world thinks is a story for years now. I have seen things that people simply refuse to believe when I tell them. But I’m going to prove once and for all that were?—
“Argh!”
My foot hits something I didn’t see behind the big stack of stuff I was attempting to get into the building. I trip forward, file boxes flying out of my hands as my papers fly up in a cascade of evidence and chaos, filling the air with a torrent of intel.
“Easy, tiger!” Before I can hit the floor along with the rest of my things, I am caught in the strong arms of Gray Walkirk. He’s thirty-five years old, has thick, dark curling hair. deep blue eyes, and a broad smile that makes every woman’s heart flutter.
He’s the editor of Hart Press. I was on the committee that hired him a year ago. I assume he’s been doing a good job since then. Print is a hard business, and journalism is curling up on itself like a dead spider. But Gray has managed to keep the lights on. Now he’s managed to save me from smashing my face into the polished concrete floor, too. What a versatile hire.
He smiles at me with laughing eyes. I blink the tears of humiliation I reflexively feel out of mine. It’s one thing to embarrass myself dropping things and having to scrabble around picking them up. It’s something even worse to cry like a toddler who fell over as well. I remind myself that Harts are strong, and the urge to whimper evaporates.
“You’ve got to be careful, Ms. Hart,” he says.
“Call me Calista,” I say, flustered. He’s handsome, and more than ten years older than me.
“Calista,” he says, straightening my blazer for me, giving it a quick shrug down my front. “Are you okay? Nothing twisted?”
“No. Please, could you help me pick up these papers?”
He crouches down with me and helps me collect my documents. I stuff as many as possible into the boxes that are on the floor and I hope that not everything is out of order.
“Still doing your unicorn research, Calista?” Gray asks me the question indulgently, almost like he’s talking to a little girl. I think he’s doing it on purpose. Everybody knows about my pet project. Most of them have the grace to not mock me directly to my face.
I look into his eyes and see a teasing smile on his face. He is messing with me, and he’s looking hot as hell doing it. He has dimples on prominent display as he gives me that charming grin.
“It’s not unicorns. It’s werewolves,” I say quite seriously. I know he thinks it’s a joke, but it isn’t. I have to be serious about this, so other people take me seriously. “There are people who have a genetic mutation that allows them to take animal forms. Wolves, specifically. It’s a story that’s been told thousands of times over thousands of years, in hundreds of cultures. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s actually crazier to not pay attention, if you think about it.”
Gray smiles at me in a way I can only describe as indulgent. He doesn’t interrupt me, or roll his eyes. He thinks I’m crazy, I know. Or eccentric. You get to be eccentric when your parents die when you’re thirteen and leave you an inheritance that includes multiple companies and bank accounts with more zeroes than most people will see in a lifetime.
“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” he says. He glances down at his watch. He’s still wears a watch. That’s old-fashioned as hell. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hart. I have to get to a meeting.”
He hands me a sheaf of paper. “Here you go. Be careful going down those stairs, okay?”
I think he’s chuckling to himself and shaking his head as he walks away. For a minute there, I thought maybe there was a crackle of chemistry between us. He’s devastatingly handsome. And he is smart. There’s just something about him, even in his tidy suits… it’s a kind of animal intensity that makes me feel drawn to him. Or maybe it’s just the way his biceps are clearly visible under his suit jacket.
It’s just a stupid crush, I tell myself. He’s not interested in me. Men like Gray have everybody from the tea lady to newsreaders lusting after them. He’s spoiled for choice, and I’m just the mousy, bookish little heiress with the weird fixation on imaginary creatures.
When men are rich, women chase them. When women are rich, most men feel inadequate. Except for the obviously predatory ones and I’m smart enough to stay clear of guys who want to date for financial reasons. That means I don’t date anyone.
Blushing, and entirely embarrassed, I get all my stuff together and make my exit. Most people head for the elevators and go up to their offices. I take the stairs at the side that most people wouldn’t even notice, and I go down to the basement.
It’s better this way.
Though yes, my mom was the paper’s editor before me, and yes, my name on the building carries weight, I haven’t kept up the vibes expected of a Hart. I should be wearing a powersuit of some kind. Shoulder pads, maybe. My mom always wore shoulder pads, long after they went out of any kind of fashion. She toned them down, but she kept the style.
