Mate.

When he says it, I picture David Attenborough in some documentary, guiding me through the wolf mating process. The image switches to birds, ruffling their feathers to impress a female.

What could Blake mean by that? He's not about to show off his fur coat, is he? Pee on the floor and stake his territory?

Suddenly, a word hitches in my mind. Soulmates. Somehow, the context of the word mate becomes clear. Between the shimmering rope and the idea that werewolves apparently exist, I know this is what he means by mate.

And somehow, it's almost less believable than the whole transforming-into-a-literal-wolf thing.

I snort, laughter rolling off my tongue before I can help it.

"Okay," I say. "Now I really know you're joking. How did you do it? Special effects? Is this one of those joke TV shows? Because you got me."

"Clover," Blake says. My name on his tongue makes me immediately shut up. "You know we're not joking. You saw it. You can feel it. I know you can."

I frown. He's right. Logically, it makes no sense, but somehow, I know he's right.

There's something unexplainable about it all. About the way I feel when Blake looks at me. About how badly I want to touch his skin. About this feeling inside of me—like something has changed.

Something has grown.

"When I saw you in that diner," he begins, "I felt it, but I didn't realize what it was. Not until you were bleeding out in my hands. Your heart had stopped, and I felt the bond. The soulmate bond. I did the only thing I could think of. I bit you and brought you here."

"You saved me," I say, blinking.

He looks away. "Saved? Or changed you, against your will?"

"My heart had stopped. I would have died without you," I say. "I can't even believe I'm alive right now."

He still refuses to meet my eye. Leyla steps forward and rests a hand against my forehead.

"Werewolves heal faster," she explains, "but the transformation from human to wolf is tough. Many die from it. You'll have to get your strength back up before the next moon. I should know. I was human, too."

"You were?" I ask. She nods, a soft smile on her lips.

"Thomas and I both were," she explains. I look at Thomas who nods with a gentle look on his face, though it's hard to take him seriously with him standing there naked.

"We'll help you," he says, smiling. "Right, Blake?"

Blake glances at me, those blue eyes sharp as always. I feel my pulse quicken under his gaze. The string between us hums to life, shining a bright silver.

And then he looks away.

"No," he says. "I'm busy."

And with that, he leaves the room, taking the glittering string with him.

The room is silent for a tense moment.

Something about Blake leaving the room makes my heart sink. No, worse. It feels like my heart has been crushed into pieces.

I want to crawl out of bed and follow after him.

I almost scoff at myself. Get a grip, Clover. Just because he's my mate doesn't mean I have to grovel over him like this.

"Don't worry," Leyla says, disrupting the silence. "He'll come around. He's just upset that he had to bite you."

"But he saved my life," I say, frowning. "Why would he feel bad about that?"

She shrugs. Thomas steps forward and pats my leg.

"Don't worry," he says. "We got through the change. We'll help you too. Get some rest for now, okay? We'll be back in a bit for dinner."

I nod. Leyla fills another cup of water and places it on the nightstand before turning and leaving with Thomas.

Left alone with my thoughts, I decide to pretend this whole day hasn't happened.

I don't want to think about the fact that I have a mate—and that he doesn't want anything to do with me. I don't want to think about the ache in my chest, not only from the literal knife that stabbed me, but from that image of Blake walking out of the room, leaving me behind.

No, I shove all of that out of my mind.

Instead, I shut my eyes and drift into a fitful sleep.

***

I wake up with one word on my lips.

"Blake," I whisper, blinking my eyes open.

It's dark. For a moment, I think I've slept the whole day away, until I realize that someone has drawn the curtains shut.

I sigh, pressing a hand to my face. It was all real. None of it was a dream. I run my fingers lower until they brush over the teeth marks on my neck. I touch the spot lightly, shivering at the feeling that runs through my body at each poke and prod.

It's then that I realize the room isn't completely dark.

A silver string juts out of my chest, shining.

I turn, following the rope to find Blake sitting at my bedside.

He's asleep. One arm rests on the nightstand, his head tucked into the crook of his elbow as he breathes deeply.

I sit up, staring at him for a moment.

It's hard to believe this is the same Blake from the diner—the same wolf from the forest. Here, he looks so peaceful. Defenseless. That permanent furrow in his brow smoothens with sleep.

I want to reach up and touch him.

My arm moves on its own accord, fingers extending towards his forehead.

I freeze, inches from his face.

My hand hovers in the air. I hesitate, watching. Waiting.

I don't know how he'll react if I touch him. He seems to hate it, judging by the way he keeps away from me. I remember the way he ripped his hand away from me when his knuckles brushed my skin—the way he left me when Thomas said they'd help me.

But now Blake is fast asleep, and that thing inside of me is bursting to touch him.

I release a breath and keep moving.

My fingers brush his hair first, pushing a few loose strands from his forehead. And then, my fingertips bump his skin. I keep moving until my hand is buried in his hair.

The feeling it gives me—it's indescribable.

The rope between us shines silver. Goosebumps rise on my skin.

Is this what being a mate is?

Blake must feel the same way, because he sighs quietly, his body sagging with relief. And then his eyes are bursting open and he's stumbling away.

I gasp, ripping my hand back and holding it to my chest.

"Sorry," I sputter. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He blinks at me, eyes wide and wild. For a moment, I can see the wolf inside of him. Then, he shakes his head.

"No," he says, running a hand over his face. "No, it's fine. I didn't realize I fell asleep."

"I don't know why but I always feel the urge to be near you," I say. He catches the unspoken question at the end of my sentence.

"That's the mate bond," he confirms. "Our souls want to be close. It's when our wolves work best."

"So, you feel it too?" I ask.

He looks away and my heart drops, feeling rejected. Of course, he doesn't. What would a man like Blake want with me? I haven't showered in days, my hair falls in knotted clumps over my shoulders, and I have nothing but a few dollars to my name. I'm quite literally homeless.

If he's a wolf, I'm a stray puppy.

He surprises me when he stands. I think for a moment that he's about to storm out again, but instead, he sits on the edge of the bed.

The mattress sinks with his weight, causing my body to shift closer towards him. He leans over me, one hand lifting to stroke the side of my face.

"Of course I do," he says. His eyes are so soft as they look at me, holding that same peacefulness he had when asleep. The silver rope is tight between us, illuminating his face.

Slowly, his fingers draw a line down to my neck, where his bite mark indents my skin.

"I did this to you," he murmurs. "In four weeks, you'll change, and there's no way to stop it. You'll never be human again."

I purse my lips, my gaze flickering between his eyes. There's something sad in them. Something inside of me can sense it—shame, or guilt. It's subtle, but it's there, a twisting in my gut.

I rest my hand on his and smile.

"Life as a human wasn't so great anyway," I say. "There's a reason I was in that diner late at night."

He frowns and I get the sense that he's about to ask a lot of questions that I really don't want to answer right now. I decide to change the topic.

"What does this mean anyway?" I ask. "Being mates, and all that."

His expression wavers. His touch softens and trails back up to my face. He holds it there for a moment and I lean into it, resting my cheek against the calluses of his palm.

"It means the Moon Goddess chose us for each other," he explains easily, like this supposed Moon Goddess is a totally normal thing to be talking about. "Everyone has a mate, but not everyone finds them. You only get one chance at a mate."

With that, he drops his hand and tears his eyes away from mine. He steps back with great effort, and I feel the loss of his touch severely. It stabs through me.

Instinctively, I reach for him.

"You have to get your strength up," he says. "You have to. Okay?"

He says it with such urgency, it sends a strike of fear through me. I nod.

"Promise me," he says, not satisfied with my silent agreement.

"I promise," I say.

He looks away, satisfied. Before I can say anything else, the door bursts open and Leyla strides in. Her eyes drift past Blake, like she's not surprised at all to find him here.

He takes this chance to slip out behind her, and that shimmering rope vanishes again.

"Dinner's nearly ready," she says, busying herself with folding the blankets down, revealing my bare legs. "Thought you might want a shower before eating."

"A shower sounds amazing," I say honestly.

"Great." She opens the wardrobe and pulls out some folded clothes. "You okay to stand?"

I nod, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I felt weak before from lack of food, but now I feel like I'm fading away. My muscles strain with movement and it takes all my effort to get my legs to move.

My feet plant on the floor and I force myself to stand.

"Careful," Leyla warns, watching me wobble.

I chuckle awkwardly. "Still recovering from being dead, I guess."

"Just take it easy," she says. I nod, focusing as I move one foot in front of the other.

She leads the way out of the bedroom, and I realize this isn't a regular house. This is a cabin. We're literally in a cabin in the woods. The thought gives me some comfort.

Bianca will never find me here. I could start a new life here, with the pack—with my mate.

I feel a sense of hope that I haven't felt in months—years.

The cabin is large, but strangely empty. No one else is here but me and Leyla. Judging by the disappearance of our silver rope, I figure Blake is gone too.

Doors line the hallway, so I suspect there are other bedrooms in here. Leyla takes me to an ajar door and pushes it open, revealing a surprisingly modern-looking bathroom.

"There's the shower. Everything you need is in here." She nods down the hall. "Just come out to the kitchen when you're done. Shout if you need help. Okay?"

"Got it. Thanks, Leyla."

She smiles and turns, shutting the door behind her.

A hot shower is exactly what I needed after almost dying.

I take my time in there, letting the room fill with steam and scrubbing my whole body clean of dirt. My hair is knotted with dried blood and soil from the forest, so I spend time carefully untangling that too.

Finally, I dry myself off and pause in front of the mirror. I haven't seen myself in what feels like forever.

I've lost weight since leaving home. My face is gaunt, my cheeks hollow. Dark bags stain under my eyes. My lips are as chapped as I imagined.

My hair, finally detangled, falls in dull, brown strands over my shoulders. I don't know when's the last time I got a trim.

Looking further down, I see the angry red scar on my chest. I prod it gently, feeling the mangled skin and the stabs of pain that come with each touch.

Above it, on my neck, the bite mark stares back at me. It's not as red as the scar on my chest, but it's bigger. I can see exactly where his teeth have marked me.

I sigh, turning away to put on the clothes Leyla laid out for me. Once dressed in the too-big-t-shirt and shorts, I find a new toothbrush wrapped in plastic sitting on the counter and I assume it's mine.

Once I'm feeling fresh and clean, I leave the bathroom. Leyla waits for me in the kitchen, two steaming plates of roast meat sitting on the table.

"It's fresh," she says, grinning. "I hope you're not a vegetarian."

"I'm not," I confirm, taking my seat. I've never been a huge fan of meat, but suddenly it's all I want. I think I scarf the whole plate down in three bites.

"Don't mind Blake," Leyla says quietly as I practically lick my plate clean. "He'll come around. He's always like this when there's a new Omega."

"Omega?" I echo. "What's that?"

She laughs to herself. "Oh, right. You have no idea. Werewolves have ranks in the pack. You know: Alphas, Betas, and Omegas."

"Right," I start slowly. "The Alpha is the leader, right?"

"Yep. Exactly. Most werewolves are Betas. They follow the Alpha and live as part of the pack. They hunt, cook, and clean. All that stuff. They live as a community."

"And Omegas?" I ask. "Where do they fit into the pack?"

Leyla's gaze shifts uncomfortably to the table. "Well..."

Before she can finish her sentence, Thomas bursts into the room.

"Leyla, come quick!" he shouts. We all turn in his direction. He stares at us, eyes wide and frantic. "The pack has sensed Clover's presence. Blake's talking with them now."