Page 26 of Midnight Mate
Clint’s fingers tingled around the key fob. Definitely not scared. Just, you know, bracing for sudden cardiac arrest.
“You really don’t remember me,” Vaughn said, like he was talking to himself, or whatever deity managed the “are you kidding me” hotline for supernatural drama.
Bayne just glared at him. “Not gonna say it again.”
Vaughn’s smile went brittle. “All right. But I’m not walking away because you say so. I owe Zeppelin. And I owe you, brother, even if your brain’s scrambled eggs right now.”
“Not interested in your IOUs.” Bayne’s shoulders tensed. “My mate is standing behind me, which means you’re a threat. If you don’t back away, you’ll regret it.”
Oh, sure. Just drop that word at random. Mate. Clint blinked. Twice. Then decided to file a complaint with whoever was in charge of information sharing, because apparently “mate” was a big deal, and someone, namely Bayne, had decided not to bother mentioning that detail.
Vaughn actually looked…pained, for a second. Like someone had cut him straight through the ribs. “Three nights ago, Bayne. Zeppelin sent you to do recon on the drug house by the mill. You didn’t come back. That’s why I’m here. You belong to Zeppelin Mafari’s pack, and your name is Bayne Farina. We’ve been packmates for decades.”
Clint looked at Bayne, who didn’t even twitch. For someone who’d allegedly shared seventy years with this guy, he didn’t have so much as a “hey, you seem familiar” to offer.
Whispers never worked in movies, but he tried anyway. “Bayne…maybe we should listen. He seems like he’s telling the truth.”
Bayne shook his head. “It’s possible to find out things, even if you’re an enemy. You just need enough motive. Step toward us and you die.”
Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, but you’d better believe Zeppelin will keep looking. The pack will. They care about you, Bayne, even if you don’t remember it. You’re not alone. And your mate? Don’t worry, I’m not looking to start something with him. We’re just here to help.”
Mate. There it was again. Clint wanted to pause the scene and call for a time-out. Maybe grab the dictionary. “Mate,” as in…partner? Soulmate? Homicidal life partner?
Bayne didn’t give Vaughn another look. He motioned for Clint, who managed not to drop his keys from sweaty hands, and hustled him into the truck. The doors closed with a muted thud. Bayne’s hands choked the steering wheel like it owed him money.
No one said anything for a minute.
Out in the parking lot, Vaughn just stood there, hands at his sides, not moving. Just watching with an expression on his face that no one in any veterinary medicine textbook had ever warned Clint about. Hurt, resignation, hope, and a truckload of other feelings, all mashed together like someone had given his emotions a blender and no instructions.
Bayne didn’t look back. He slammed the truck into gear, a little harder than necessary, and had them peeling out of the lot before Clint could swipe his own sweat off his brow.
When normal humans had a bad day at work, it usually involved spilled coffee or a missing stapler. Not bare-knuckle threats in the parking lot with someone claiming to be your wolf’s long-lost brother-in-arms.
“So…” Clint ventured, picking words out of the horror show in his skull. “That, uh…that was intense.”
Bayne didn’t say anything at first. His jaw worked, like he was chewing tough steak and blaming the chef. Finally. “He was lying.”
“About all of it?”
Bayne’s fingers flexed on the wheel, tendons jumping. “Enemies will feed you any story if it gets them what they want. If there’s a real Zeppelin, he’ll come to me personally, not send one of his goons.”
It didn’t seem right. The scene outside—the way Vaughn’s face had registered Bayne’s refusal, the regret, the way his hands shook and then steadied—stuck with Clint. The guy hadn’t even postured, hadn’t lunged or barked orders. He’d just tried to be heard, and it didn’t land.
Clint remembered the way animals acted when you cut them too deep or left a bandage on too long. That look of betrayal and baffled pain. Vaughn had worn it, for a moment, before putting his mask back on.
“You ever get the feeling,” Clint said, staring out at the trees flying by, “that you’re missing something huge and everyone else already knows the rules?”
Bayne just grunted, which was an improvement over more threats of murder.
The drive settled into silence. Neither of them had much to say, and for once, Mabel wasn’t available to break the tension with a well-timed furball on the carpet.
“About this mate thing,” Clint tried, “is that, like, being married? Or is it just a shifter word for ‘dating’ and I’m reading too much into it?”
Bayne’s hands tensed on the steering wheel. He looked as if he’d rather have the truck catch fire than have this conversation. “It’s not like marriage. It’s more. Permanent. If a shifter meets his mate, that’s it. It’s instinct, locked in. His whole life changes, and it doesn’t matter what came before.”
So, no pressure.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t leave,” Bayne added, his voice hoarse, “especially if it’s not what you want. It means you’re the only thing that matters. You feel it in your bones.”
