A Mate's Denial (Ozark Mountain Shifters Book 1)

There she was. After months of hunting, at last he had her in his sights. All he could see was the back of her honey brown head through the café window, but he was certain it was her. His wolf could sense his mate no matter how far away, but this close he could, ever so faintly, catch her scent. The fresh smell—like evergreens and cherry blossoms—made his heart thunder, his pants tighter, and everything under his skin come alive.  

Damn wolf. Now was not the time to get excited. He needed to stick to the plan. If he went charging in there like a testosterone ridden He-man, it could mess things up. He needed to be patient. Had to keep the wolf at bay for a little while longer.

Trager sat back in the seat of his motorcycle and turned the engine off. He couldn’t get a good look at her from his vantage point, but he didn’t necessarily want to get closer. Too risky. He’d just wait her out. She’d have to leave sometime. Then he’d get a look at her.

His shades made it possible for him to spy on her in broad daylight, but unfortunately, there was only a bobbing head to be seen. He would’ve given his left nut for a view of even her profile. Waiting this long left him feeling desperate.

The amount of time he spent outside the café was measured in units of torture. By the time she left the place, he was dying for even a hint at what his mate looked like. A hint other than the color of her hair. Which was fucking awesome. In his experience, brunettes were always hotter.

Trager didn’t own a watch, and he didn’t feel like digging his phone out to check the time, but if every bob of his mate’s dark head was the equivalent of a second, he sat there for almost an hour before she finally stepped out of the café.

Anticipation made his breath catch in his throat—

A truck whizzed by, obscuring his view for more seconds than he could possible tolerate. Fisting his hands, he waited, heart thundering…

Finally, he got a look at her, and the first thing he noticed was what she wore. Khakis. A pale pink polka-dotted shirt, sensible shoes, and khakis.

He was appalled, but then a grin inched one side of his mouth upward. He’d like to get her out of those drab clothes. Peel every stitch off slowly, revealing her luscious body one centimeter at a time, until there was all skin and zero fabric.

Trager swallowed hard. His smile slipped and he gripped the handle of his bike to keep steady as familiar dread washed over him.

She was going to reject him. It had been prophesied by the Elders when he was still a pup, that his mate would deny him, that he would never find love, that he would never have young.

A single foretelling that rendered him useless to the pack. A male who couldn’t secure a mate? One who couldn’t produce offspring? Even though he’d been too young to do much more than simply survive pack life, he was the weakest link and therefore expelled. Or as he liked to think of it, tossed on his ass. 

He’d spent so much of his life hoping the Elders were wrong. Now, he needed them to be. And not because his mate was beautiful beyond words, with a body he’d love to spend a lifetime learning to master. No, he needed them to be wrong because his pack—the very ones who’d betrayed him—was in danger.

And she was the only one who could save them.

His plan had to work. There was much more at stake than the future of his love life.

Her scent drifted over to him, a thousand times stronger than it had been when she was still inside. His wolf shuffled under his skin, wanting out, because he knew Trager wasn’t going any closer to her. Wolf wanted to get cozy, and Trager wouldn’t mind either, but he had to take it easy.

He gripped the handle of his bike so hard, it squeaked.

His mate paused by the door of the restaurant to dig in her purse, her long hair falling to shield what he knew now was full round cheeks, big oval shaped eyes, and a mouth that formed a perfect puckered bow.

Time to go. He needed to regroup, rethink. Some place her scent wasn’t clouding his mind.

Trager revved his bike, preparing to escape her presence and find a way to calm his wolf. But at the first sound of the engine, his mate’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing, her gaze lasering on him.

His mouth dried, at the look on her face. Shock, anger, concern. He couldn’t understand why she looked at him like that, with her already big eyes widening.

Attempting to ignore her, he turned the wheel of his bike to pull into the lane, narrowly missing a minivan. But that wasn’t the real trouble….

 It happened so fast all he could do was react, and deal with any consequences later.

 The pop of a chain snapping, the rush of collective gasps, the whoosh of something falling fast enough to do a hell of a lot of damage when it landed. He had the smallest fraction of a second to make sure his mate was out of harm’s way.

When he realized he was the one in danger, not her, he dove from his bike, rolling across the road, thankful for a break in the traffic. Before he’d even come to a stop, a crash that sounded like a bomb exploding, sent dust and debris skittering into the road. He jumped up, and lunged at his mate, shielding her from any possible shrapnel.

Their surroundings erupted in commotion. A disturbing combination of sirens wailing, people yelling, and horns honking. But Trager hardly noticed any of it. Not with his mate pressed so close to him he could feel her heart pounding like the fluttering of a tiny bird’s wings. Up close, she was even more delectable, her lips parted slightly. His body surged with adrenaline, breath heaving with the effort to keep his wolf in check. He wanted to put his nose to the soft skin of her neck and sniff, until her scent was all he knew.

Her brow furrowed, forming a tiny line between her eyes, before she pushed at his chest. “Let me go!”

A command. He immediately stepped back, releasing her. She wobbled on her feet, but when he reached out to steady her, she jerked away from his touch. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. And so it begins.

Trager cleared his throat—twice—before he could speak. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Fine. You?” Her voice sounded angry rather than concerned.

“I’m good. My bike might not be though.” Staring back over his shoulder, he could see the dust was clearing. A crowd of people gathered around his crumpled motorcycle. Some stared his way, pointing, their lips flapping a story about his narrow escape.

Trager’s gaze went upward, to the heavy machinery working the nearby construction site. It appeared a steel beam had come loose and fallen on his poor ride. Damn. Just… damn.

“Perhaps if you weren’t so careless,” his mate huffed.

Wait, what? Careless?

He turned back to her. “Excuse me?”

She bent to retrieve her purse where it had fallen on the ground, and came up brushing dark strands of hair from her face. “Careless. Reckless. I don’t know who you think you are, but you almost caused an accident right before your… accident. You should be more careful. Karma can be a bitch.”

Trager narrowed his eyes. “Are you really suggesting that I could have prevented a steel beam from falling on my bike if I’d been a tad more careful?”

She raised a dark eyebrow. “Yeah, pretty much.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, I’d love to hear this. Please, enlighten me.”

“Sure,” she snapped. “If you had been watching where you were going, you wouldn’t have almost hit the van. They wouldn’t have slammed on their brakes, causing traffic to slow. You could have carefully pulled into the lane, and the beam would have missed you altogether. By seconds, of course, but yes, this could have been avoided. But you’re just like all bikers, utterly careless of anyone but yourself.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. So, his mate had an axe to grind.

Trager cocked his head to the side, searching her face. There was fire in her eyes, but also something else. She’d been hurt. Vitriol like that could only be born from pain. Something inside him stirred. A feeling of protectiveness. He wished he’d found her sooner. Maybe he could’ve prevented whatever had hurt her.

Whether she was right about the accident or not, he wanted to make her feel better. Reassure her. “You know what, you’re right. I should be more careful.”

Her eyebrows went up in surprise, before a mask of indifference covered up her reaction.

“In the future, I will be. Lesson learned.”

She nodded. “Right. Okay, then. Looks like they need you over there.”

Trager glanced over his shoulder to see a policeman talking to several workers in hardhats, but his wolf wanted answers from his mate.

Who had hurt her? He’d kill them.

What was her name? He was drooling for the chance to say it.

Where did she live? No, that one was better left unknown. If he knew where she lived, he’d be too tempted to go to her. Bad enough, he knew where she worked.

“What’s your name?” he asked, just as she turned to walk away.

Her gaze was calculating, but finally she answered. “Sam.”

“Sam, who?”

“Sam Adams.” Sam. Short for Samantha? Pretty name.

He smiled. “I’m Trager. Trager Rowland.” For some reason telling her his name felt so… intimate. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Great. Nice to meet you, Trager.” She smiled tightly. “I should be going now.”

Yes, he needed her to go. His wolf was rumbling at her nearness. But he didn’t want her to. He didn’t want any distance between them. Not even the few feet difference from where he was to where she stood.

“Excuse me, sir.” The officer had come to take his statement. Trager glared at him, and when he turned back to tell Samantha bye, she was already out of earshot. Sam Adams. It was only then, when she vanished around a corner, that he realized she’d given him the name of a beer.