Fated Mate: Paranormal Werewolf Romance (Fated Mountain Wolf Pack Book 1)

by Jessica Aspen

  After the first fifteen minutes, Gwynn knew she was going to die. It was all uphill. Even the short spots where the trail went down ended by going up, and her thighs ached with the strain. Her shoes, that she’d worn without socks, chafed.

  Drops of freezing rain inserted themselves in the collar of the poncho, slipping down her collarbone and into her shirt. In minutes her chic little spring ensemble that had been perfect for Denver was wet and cold. Her cute canvas tennies were wet and cold. Her fingers, nose, and toes were—wet and cold.

  And she knew, without a doubt, she was lost.

  She’d never been hiking. Somehow, she’d assumed a trail was a trail—you went up, you went down. But not this one. It was barely a trace in the dirt, and there were multiple offshoots that all looked the same. When she glanced back at one such split off, she realized she’d never find her way back through the maze of dirt trails and cutoffs. Where were her breadcrumbs when she needed them?

  Despondent, frozen, and exhausted, she trudged behind her rescuer, barely looking up until a leafy branch swung back and smacked her in the head.

  “Hey! I’m still back here!” She glared at the back of his head.

  He glanced back and grunted a barely audible, “Sorry.” He held the next set of branches back with a courteous gesture. “Is this better, my lady?” And drew his lips back from white, white teeth in a mocking, wolfish smile.

  The uneasy feeling she’d had when she first saw him butterflied in her gut.

  OMG, he’d be sexy if she were into dangerous men with mountains of muscles. But she wasn’t. Every cell in her body cried danger when she looked at this man. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  She grabbed the branch and kept moving behind him, tentacles of doubt uncoiling in her mind. Sure, he was sexy in a rough, craggy, way, but his muscles flexing under his T-shirt and jeans were also disturbing. Dangerous.

  They said all the best serial killers were attractive.

  And it was way too late to second guess her decision.

  She put her head down and focused on what she could control—walking.

  Time blurred one step into another. The icy rain continued its steady drip of cold down her neck. The cold, the aches in her legs, the exhaustion—all became one massive thing she fought against, moving her feet one after another, pushing through until it was all she could do. Step, slide, step. Trip in the mud, stumble, catch herself. Then step again.

  Just when she didn’t think she could take one more step, he stopped short. She bumped into him. The stranger turned around. His gray eyes flashed in the shadowy forest.

  The hair on her scalp and on the back of her neck began to rise.

  This was it. He was coming for her.

  His sudden lunge knocked her to the ground, stealing the scream from her throat. He landed on top of her, his big heavy body slamming her into the mud. She struggled for breath, her face mashed against his chest and the plastic poncho.

  The world flashed white. A blast of sound thundered in her ears and the fat slow drops of rain turned into a downpour.

  Gwynn scraped the plastic from her mouth and sucked in air. “What the hell was that?”

  “Lightning.”

  She shook her head. “Holy shit!” Every hair on her body tingled and the air was rank with the acrid smell of ozone.

  He levered his body off and jerked her to her feet. “Okay, no more slacking. You have to pick up the pace or the next lightning bolt might hit you.” Even with his lips close to her ear she barely heard his shout over the storm.

  Gwynn needed no second urging. She’d heard about lightning killing people, but she’d never felt this close to death.

  Skin prickling with static, she scrambled up the path, slipping and slithering in the torrential rain pouring down the mountain, turning everything slick. Gwynn’s foot mired in the sucking mud and she tugged it out, leaving her shoe behind as another bolt of lightning lit up the sky. She slid, her bare foot coming down hard into a puddle. Mud squished between her toes and she lost her balance.

  The stranger’s arm shot out and grabbed hold of her.

  “My shoe!” She turned back, catching sight of her shoe as it disappeared into the rush of mud and water.

  “Let it go.” But he held her tight in his grip hard and unyielding. “We need to get to shelter,” he shouted over the pounding rain. “Mountain lightning is a killer!”

  She nodded, barely able to catch her breath in the thick, cold rain.

  He let her go and headed up the miniature stream that had lost any resemblance to a trail. Gwynn moved after him, but without the traction of her shoe, her bare foot slipped in the slick mud. She went down again, slapping her head into a rock.

  She lay dazed, too exhausted to get up off the ground, water and mud cascading around her face. She shut her eyes against the flow. She didn’t even try to move. She knew she wasn’t getting up. She had nothing left. This was the end—she was going to be left behind and she was too tired to even care.

  Her arm was seized in a bruising grip and the stranger hauled her to her feet. “Move, damn you.”

  Gwynn moved, struggling uphill with each stumbling step, unable to see. All she could do was place one foot in front of the next, grateful for the fingers digging painfully into her arm keeping her upright. Finally, the water stopped and she saw wood planks under her feet.

  Her lungs burned but she still needed air. She pulled sodden hair away from her face, gasping for breath and looked around. They stood beneath the shelter of a small porch, walled in by cascading rain. She collapsed against the railing.

  Thunder boomed overhead vibrating through her bones.

  “Come on!”

  Despite her exhaustion, his brusque command had her moving through the door and into the cabin.

  She stood shivering in the dark interior. She blinked down at her single unshod foot and the water running between bare muddy toes.

  “I’m dripping on your floor.” Somewhere inside she understood the words were the last slow slide of her brain going into shock.

  AARON HUNG UP HIS EQUIPMENT and turned on the cabin lights. Wolf metabolism ensured he could go for hours and stay warm in almost any weather, even without the fur, and he was perfectly warm despite being soaking wet. His instinct was to strip off his clothes and stretch out in front of a hot fire to dry, but for the first time in months he wasn’t alone in his own house, and his guest wasn’t a wolf.

  He glanced at the blonde.

  She was a sodden mess of streaking mascara and wet hair. She blinked up at him, her large eyes blue pools of misery and exhaustion. A dark disturbed drop of water slid from her lashes down her face. She had one shoe on, one shoe off, and everything was muddy and wet down to her peppermint pink toenails.

  He kept his movements slow, so as not to startle her, and tugged off the poncho. It hit the floor with a wet slap. She shivered, and desire etched through him like fingernails.

  She fumbled with the zipper on her jacket.

  “Need some help with that?” Cautiously, he touched her icy cold fingers. When she didn’t freak he eased the zipper down and slid the jacket off, creating a surreal sense of stripping her for his pleasure.

  His breath caught.

  Her full breasts beneath the thin, wet T-shirt, were outlined by the shadowed lace of her bra, her hard nipples pushed out into rigid peaks. Pink? Peach? A deep rose? He wanted to know the details, and the urge to lift the shirt and glide his thumb over the nubs grew almost unbearable.

  Damn. He jerked away, scrubbing his hand over his face and blowing out a breath. If he had to keep her here for a week, it was better if he didn’t touch her.

  At all.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, his hand stole out and stroked her frozen cheek, moving a wet strand of hair away from her mouth. Her pupils grew round and dark.

  Ignoring his starter hard-on, he turned away. He had to be ruthless.

  “We need to get you into something warm.”
His voice came out much flatter and harder than he’d intended, and she flinched.

  Aaron closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and steeled himself to be gentle. It wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what his beast inside wanted. Both of them wanted to tear that shirt off of her and throw her to the ground, take everything from her that they could. But that wasn’t going to happen. Despite the lonely hollow inside his chest where his wolf paced needing contact, needing it so badly that Aaron’s control was pushed to a thin line, he would be good.

  The blonde shivered. Aaron’s responding shiver had nothing to do with being cold and everything to do with being too hot.

  He shook it off. “Come on.”

  It wasn’t her fault he’d been without a woman this long. Being ousted from the pack, it was tough to socialize, tough to keep his wolf under control. He was lonely and lustful, and this was a fine piece of woman, even looking like a drenched refugee. She pushed him to the edge.

  He led her out of the entry into the one-room cabin. Or thought he’d led her, but when he glanced back, she wasn’t behind him. Instead, she hovered by the front door, her soaking wet body racked with cold.

  Aaron’s protective instincts went into overdrive.

  “Sweetheart, I think you’re in shock.” He smothered his lust and prioritized. Grabbing the bottle of Jack and a mug, he poured a generous amount. “Come on over here by the fire and we’ll work on getting you warm.

  She stood swaying by the door, unmoving, a glassy expression on her face. He swore under his breath, took her arm, and led her over to the hearth. Whatever he was now, he’d been an enforcer, one of the elite wolves who acted as the police force for the Fated Mountain Pack. Handing her the mug, he guided it to her lips. Lips bereft of lipstick. Naked lips.

  The twitch of his dick didn’t feel protective.

  “A little of this and we’ll have you warm in no time.”

  She took a cautious taste, wrinkled her nose. “Yuck!”

  “It’s probably not your drink of choice, but it’ll get the job done.” He imagined she was a sugary drinker. One of those girls who liked the fruity, frosty pink drinks with lots of blingy umbrellas. He could picture her in a low cut dress, laughing with her friends, those full pink lips sucking on a straw.

  Fuck, Aaron, get a grip on yourself. He snorted, shaking his head. Yeah, that’s what he wanted to do, get a grip on himself. Later, he promised the ache in his pants. Right now you’ve got a job to do.

  He might not be an enforcer anymore, and he might be working for one of the bad guys, but inside, he still saw himself as one of the good ones. He just had to convince his dick and he’d be alright.

  He took a deep breath and made sure the blonde had a good hold on the mug before he left her. Grabbing a stack of towels and blankets, he got started on the fire. Crumpled newspaper and a few matches later, the kindling was burning and the room had started to heat up. He fed in a larger log, glancing back at his unexpected guest. She still looked out of it, but at his hard glare she took several, small, obedient sips of the whiskey. Good. She was starting to come around.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “G-g-Gwynn.”

  “Okay, Gwynn, I’m Aaron.” He stood up slowly, making each move obviously non-threatening. “Come on over here by the fire and we’ll get you warm and dry. “

  No response, just another teeth-clacking shiver.

  He sighed. If the cabin’s water heater lasted longer than two minutes, he’d put her in the tiny shower, but he was afraid that would leave her even colder in the long run.

  He knew what he’d do if she were a wolf. He’d strip her down, towel her off, and get her in front of the fire.

  A picture of her naked and wet, the light from the flames dancing over her skin, had him swallowing. This was a mistake. He knew it down deep in his soul. But he had no choice. He had to get her warm and dry, no matter how painful it was going to be.

  “Let’s get started.” He knelt down in front of her and untied the muddy laces on her shoe. “You’re going to have to help me, Gwynn. Okay, honey?”

  “O-k-kay.” She gave a slow nod, grabbing onto his shoulder as he eased it off of her foot. Huge blisters had formed water-filled bubbles on her heels, and the sight struck him deep inside. Orange-hot outrage pulsed through him and his wolf stirred.

  Did no one care for this woman? He growled. What kind of a father left his daughter on the side of the road to be sold as a hooker?

  He pulsed with the urge to run down the mountain and shake the man by his neck until every bone in his body shattered.

  Calm down, Aaron. This woman wasn’t a member of his pack. And even if she were, he wasn’t an enforcer anymore. He’d gone rogue.

  He closed his eyes and took the long, slow breaths needed to calm his beast. When he felt like he could breathe again, he opened his eyes, reached up, undid the fastener on her once-white pants, and pulled the zipper down.

  “Wait.” Her hands fluttered up to cover his. “I don’t think—” Her words trailed off, but her dark pupils and rapid breaths said it all.

  “Sorry, honey, it’s all wet. It all needs to go.” He curled his fingers into fists and rested them on his thighs, and waited.

  After a brief hesitation, she nodded and her hands dropped back to her sides.

  He nodded back, parted the flaps, and gripped fist-fulls of the wet fabric, working it off her hips. The shock was making her more compliant than he’d suspect for someone tough enough to hang onto that car like she had. Good. He’d take advantage of it. He worked the pants off her hips, exposing her white lacy panties underneath. One good tug and they all came down, pants and panties and he found himself face to face with her soft brush of hair.

  Her musky scent flooded his sensitive nose, and his cock turned stone-hard. He needed to plunge his face in. Inhale. Taste.

  He froze, shuddering with the effort of holding back.

  “Aaron?” Her soft voice stroked along his tension, easing him back from the edge. “I think I c-c-can help.”

  He blew out a breath. “Can you?”

  The skin of her belly was so close to his face it was all he could do not to kiss his way down that tender, soft slope...all the way down to the forbidden thicket between her thighs. Take his hands and open her legs, expose her secrets, expose her tempting center just within reach of his tongue.

  He swallowed and bowed his head, pulsing with lust—pure, unadulterated, lust.

  If this went much further he wouldn’t stop. He’d lose all control and he’d take advantage of her. He wanted to take advantage of her, take advantage of everything she had to offer. He wanted to rip the pants off her feet, spread her legs and plunge his face deep inside her pussy.

  God, what’s happening to me?

  Had he been without the stabilizing influence of the pack so long that he’d lost all sense of morality? This woman was a victim. He had to get control.

  Aaron rubbed his hand across his face, managing to hold still while she gripped his shoulder, wobbling unsteadily on one foot as she pulled off the first leg of her pants.

  He could do this. He might not be an official member of the Fated Mountain pack, but in his heart, he was still pack, still an enforcer. Still the kind of man who would do the right thing.

  Back in control, he averted his face and helped her work off the other leg. “You’re going to fall over, honey. Let me help.” He threw the whole mess to the side and made the mistake of turning his face back toward her tempting belly, just in time to catch sight of a wayward drop of water working its way through the goose bumps before getting lost in light brown curls. His pulse jumped and he leaned in, hands on his thighs, his mouth mere moments away from licking—

  Her teeth made a small chattering sound, jolting him right back to reality.

  “Fuck!” He shot to his feet and strode across the room to the kitchen counter, gripping it with both hands. He rested his head against the upper cabinet, his whole body throbbing.<
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  “Aaron? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He dug his fingers into the hard surface until they hurt.

  Some caretaker he was. If it were up to him and his dick, she’d freeze to death before he noticed because he’d be fucking her right now. She needed help, his help. It didn’t matter that somehow his body had decided he’d been too long without a woman, that underneath his skin his wolf panted with desire.

  He let the cold of the wood sink into his hot forehead until the edge of his need cooled, he could push his hungry wolf back, and he could finally think straight.

  He could do this. He could. He straightened up and turned around. Gwynn was watching him with those big eyes. All that was left was her white, wet shirt, leaving long legs, hips, and pussy exposed.

  His cock pulsed. Her gaze flicked down to his groin, then back up to meet his, long lashes fluttering wide in surprise.

  It all came back in a rush—his need, his hunger, his wolf.

  Christ, almighty. Maybe it would be wiser to walk away and let her freeze.

  But he couldn’t do that, could he? He wasn’t part of the Fated Mountain Enforcers anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a responsibility to take care of the community. And right now, pack or not, shifter or not, this woman was his community.

  “Give me that.” He reached for the mug of whiskey, noted it was about half gone, and took a quick swig. The burn slid down his throat into his gut, calming his need. “Okay, honey, the shirt’s next.”

  Obediently, she raised her arms into the air. He gripped the hem in his hands and pulled. The fabric slid over her body, and there they were—her breasts, waiting—lush and firm and full under their thin cover of wet white wet lace. He bowed his head, jaw clenching.

  “You okay, sweetheart? Still cold?”

  She nodded. He moved in closer, closer than he needed to, his chest only inches away from hers. He had to finish it. He couldn’t let her freeze to death. She was as good as naked anyway. He closed his eyes briefly, searching for strength, opened them and, hands shaking, he reached around her body and—unfastened the bra.