Page 34 of Midnight Mate
A pause. Then, a voice said, “Zeppelin.”
Not a trace of nerves in the voice, just solid calm and the kind of confidence Bayne recognized from the mirror every morning.
Zeppelin Mafari.
Vaughn had mentioned that name. Alpha. Supposedly Bayne’s. He nearly snorted. The thought alone made his stomach knot. No way was anyone outside this door his alpha. That wasn’t how this worked. Even if the wolf in him responded with a flicker of recognition, Bayne could ignore it the same way he ignored spam calls.
Hand braced tight on the trim, Bayne kept his stance wide. “You’ve got ten seconds to get off my porch, Zeppelin, before I gut you.”
On the other side of the door, wood creaked. Zeppelin shifted his weight, boots scraping against the step. The scent rolling off him grew sharper, blue smoke over old leather, dust and pine needles stuck to denim. It shoved at Bayne’s resolve, as if the fucker wanted inside every molecule of air.
But there wasn’t any panic, not even impatience. Zeppelin spoke with the same, slow calm. “Heard you’d made it out of there alive. Good to know.”
Bayne watched his own hand flex on the doorframe, knuckles gone white. Control was a joke. The wolf in him wanted to rip the barrier off its hinges and end things in one clean snap.
Instead, he ground his teeth and kept his voice even. “I’m just fine where I am. Not interested in whatever version of the truth you’re selling.”
Clint’s voice, nervous but determined, sounded from just behind Bayne’s shoulder. “Maybe you should let him talk,” he said, not quite a whisper, not quite an argument. “He came all this way.”
Bayne didn’t dignify that with a response. Human logic had no place here. If anything, it made him want to dig in deeper.
Still, the last thing he needed was his mate getting caught in the crossfire. Bayne’s hand remained on the door, keeping Clint safely behind him.
Out on the porch, Zeppelin’s tone stayed measured. “I’m not here to hurt you or your mate, Bayne. I just want to bring you home where you belong.”
Bayne let go of the last shreds of politeness. “This is home now. You want to bring someone somewhere, try the stray dog shelter. Otherwise, get the fuck off my property.”
To his left, Clint made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a curse. “Look, I don’t know your history,” he said, stepping closer. “But you don’t have to slam the door on every old connection. Maybe you could listen, just this once. For me…please.”
Damn it. How could Bayne refuse his mate anything? Just staring into those beautiful brown eyes had him ready to comply with whatever Clint wanted.
I’m down bad.
Fine. If the universe was going to conspire against him, he could play along for a minute. That’s all Zeppelin was getting. One minute and no more.
Bayne drew in a shaky breath, lungs burning with equal measures of anger and the alpha’s scent worming its way in.
Fragments of memory danced around, just out of reach. He caught a flash: a night like this, porch light buzzing overhead, hands stained with blood, voices shouting from the dark. Another image, less vivid but sticky with fear—the sickly chemical tang of something being injected, the way it numbed his limbs and blurred the edges of time.
Bayne didn’t want to remember.
But his wolf did.
Out loud, he growled, “Last warning. If you walk away now, I’ll let you go with your pride intact. You make me come out there, I’ll bury you under the flowerbeds.”
“We don’t have any flowerbeds,” Clint whispered.
Bayne glanced at his mate, ready to glare at him but winked instead. Just because Bayne was ready to go to war didn’t mean he had to take out his anger on his mate.
Clint blushed. “Just saying.”
Zeppelin’s reply came steady. “I’m not leaving. Not until you remember where you truly belong.”
It was like talking to a stone wall. Bayne would’ve appreciated the stubbornness any other time. Now, it just made things worse.
Another glance over his shoulder found Clint with his hands fisted. So much for flirting. “Maybe you should just face him. Neither Zeppelin nor Vaughn came at you crazy, Bayne. If they were the enemy, they would’ve shown some kind of aggression, even if it was microscopic.”
Every instinct said this was a bad idea. Maybe the worst idea.
