11. Chapter Ten

It’s been three whole days since I’ve seen my mate and I think a part of me is going insane. He hasn’t returned any of my messages except at night, right before he is going to bed to let me know he is okay.

I know he is.

I follow him everywhere to make sure of it, but not being near him is killing me. I miss him so much. It’s as if the ocean didn’t have the moon and the tides had no way of changing. I feel sick. It isn’t because I need his blood. I need his presence.

Out of all the things I thought he’d be mad at me for, I really didn’t think it would be because he felt used. I thought he’d be furious about my coven killing his family, yet Oliver barely blinked an eye at that.

Perhaps, he is so used to being alone, losing family he never knew didn’t hurt so much.

Thunder bowls across the sky, ominous black clouds gathering as if evil is preparing to fall. The lightest mist of rain falls onto my arms, beading like morning dew on the hairs of my arms.

From a distance, I watch my Beloved run into the pet shop, but not before he pauses to look over his shoulder.

He feels me.

“I know you’re there Ambrose,” he says, knowing I can hear him.

I still, staying hidden behind Deacon’s truck. At least, I think it’s his because it reeks of dog, not that I’d tell him that.

“I miss you,” Oliver says causing my heart to clench, completely tripping over itself. “I need a little more time. I don’t know how to feel anymore. I think— I know— I love you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to run to him, kiss him senseless, and fuck him on the nearest surface. I want to whisper to him that I love him too, that I’ve always loved him, even before I met him. Truly, I was destined to give my heart to him. When I saved his ancestor and I looked at him deep in the eyes, I felt it then. I didn’t understand why I felt such a strong connection to him, but it’s because he held all the answers to my future.

“Just give me more time,” he whispers. “I always think of you and no, I don’t care that you’re a vampire so get that out of your head.”

I watch as the door shuts and the ringing of the bell hanging over it jingles. I can even hear him sigh from inside the store.

Clutching the tailgate of the truck, the metal groans as I let out my frustration.

“Hey, woah. Hands off the truck. She didn’t do anything to you.”

I let go of his truck, cringing when I see the damage I caused. “Sorry, Deacon. I lost my mind for a second.”

He whistles, rubbing his hands over the dents that are the outline of my fingers. “It’s not a problem. She’s old anyway.”

The truck itself has seen better days. It’s a beat-up white pickup truck. The paint is fading in a few spots and the fenders are starting to rust.

“I’ll pay for it,” I tell him, never taking my eyes from the pet store.

Deacon claps me on the shoulder. “Bar doesn’t open for another few hours. I’m cleaning and doing some inventory. Come on in. I’ll pour you a drink and I’ll play therapist.”

I snort, unable to stop the smile threatening to stretch my lips, but I give in. His kindness is too hard to deny. “Thanks, Deacon. Appreciate that.”

“Not a problem. I recognize heartbreak when I see it.” He pounds his way up the stairs, his large, oversized body having to turn sideways to enter the doorway. He ducks so he doesn’t hit his head on the trim, the light switch clicking as he flips it on.

The low dull lights cast an orange glow around the bar, still keeping the mood. Jumper’s is different when no one is in it. It’s so quiet, it’s peaceful.

“Where did the name Jumper’s come from?” I ask, pulling out a barstool to take a seat.

“It’s what people called my dad. He could jump really high, and it turned into a contest every Friday to see who could beat the old man.”

A wave of grief hits me like a ton of bricks, making it difficult to breathe. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Deacon.”

“Thanks, Ambrose. I appreciate that.”

“I was wondering why you didn’t reek of pack.”

He grabs a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, sliding one right in front of me. “Dad and I only had each other. We weren’t pack material.”

“Being a lone wolf is dangerous, is it not? I mean, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“It can be if wolves like me didn’t stay busy. Dad and I never had that issue. He died in wolf form. A hunter got to him.”

I sit up straighter before taking a sip of my drink. “A hunter or a slayer, Deacon? Those are two different things.”

“Hunter. Just a regular guy thinking he had got him a pure white wolf, but dad shifted into his human form when he died, so the guy was charged with murder. Ended up getting tossed in a psychiatric facility because he was rambling about watching my dad change from a wolf to a human. I feel bad for him, but in the end, what the fuck is he doing hunting wolves anyway? Don’t people know they are endangered?”

“Humans want all of the things the world tells them they can’t have.” I take a long swallow of the expensive whiskey he so graciously poured. “Still, I am so sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s been a while, but I’ll be okay.”

“You should do the contest every Friday again, see if anyone can beat his record and offer them free drinks for life or something,” I say offhandedly.

A wolfish grin appears causing his eyes to shine yellow. “Good idea. I haven’t been ready, but his two-year anniversary is coming up, so maybe I will. So tell me, vampire, what— or should I say who— has you so blue.” He pouts, leaning his elbows on the bar top.

Sighing, the whiskey burns as I gulp it down, and Deacon is there, topping me off. “Oliver.” The one-worded answer has me closing my eyes to hide the pain.

“Don’t cry those fancy tears of yours. Don’t you dare,” he jokes, trying to make me smile. “Oh, man. What happened? He’ll come around. Mates can’t be apart, you know that.”

“He didn’t reject me. We mated.” I lick my lips at the memory of his body against mine. The way his torso rolled as he rocked his hips. The way he moaned, gasped, and whined every time my cock hit his prostate.

“Woah, fucking hell Ambrose.” He waves a hand in front of his nose. “Tone down the lust. Jesus. Some of us don’t have mates to go home to.”

“If it makes you feel any better, neither do I.”

“What happened?” He quirks a brow.

“Over four hundred years ago my coven slaughtered his ancestors. I saved two, only for a witch to curse me for eternity. I was only allowed to drink the blood that belonged to the Grandie’s.”

He whistles. “Damn. But you didn’t kill them?”

I shake my head. “No, no matter how wonderful their blood smelled, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, but I did hunt the two I saved down, stored a lot of their blood, their children’s blood, so on and so forth. The witch said only a Grandie could break the curse. Oliver did. I’m drinking whiskey now without an issue.”

“So maybe you didn’t want to drain the Grandie’s because your subconscious was telling you one day, that a Grandie would belong to you.”

I wave his answer away. “The reason doesn’t matter. I thought he’d be angry at me for what happened to his family.”

He nods in understanding. “I know Oliver didn’t have it easy. I’ve known him for a long time. His last foster family really beat the shit out of him.”

I snarl, crunching the glass in my hand. “What?”

He lifts his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Where are they? I’m going to kill them.”

“They don’t come to town much. They keep to themselves, foster kids for the checks.”

I grumble, cracking my neck to hunt down the people who dared to lay a hand on my mate. It’s been a very long time since I’ve killed someone. My reasonings were never good enough.

But they are now.

No one touches my mate. Not a fucking soul.

“Hey, reel it in. You don’t need that, and you don’t know if Oliver would forgive you. Don’t ruin my bar with your nails.”

My claws are digging into the wood. I sheathe them, mumbling a response, “Sorry.”

“So if he isn’t mad at you for being part of the coven that ended the majority of his lineage, why is he upset?” he changes the subject.

I won’t forget, though.

His foster parents have sealed their fate. I don’t care how long it has been since they put their hands on him.

“Well, I think he feels… used? Like his blood isn’t important to me because I’ve always needed a Grandie’s blood.”

“But only a Grandie could be your beloved because of the blood, right?”

I nod.

“You realize a witch can’t determine who your fated mate is, right? That has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with Fate herself.” His eyes glimmer with flecks of gold, his wolf always close to the surface.

“Pretty sure she said different.”

He laughs, grabbing the scotch glass from me to wash it. “My bet, your witch knew that a Grandie was your mate. She knew you saved two and in order to keep them alive, in order for you to have your mate because you tried to save them, she made you believe otherwise. But without you, how would the last of the Grandie’s survive? How many times did you heal them with your tears? Even if it were for selfish reasons so you could have their blood? That witch knew, Ambrose. Some witches have the power to see the future. She saw you saved two humans, why would she damn you to all eternity? She had to make you believe that.”

I sit there, stunned, speechless, and wondering why I hadn’t thought of that. Hundreds of years have gone by and all I ended up gaining was more hatred toward the witch.

“Not even magic can change a destined path, Ambrose. I would think you would know that.”

“So, he was always meant to be mine? Not because of the witch or the curse.”

“I would stop calling it a curse and maybe think of it as a blessing. Plus, you probably would have died a long time ago if it weren’t for her. Don’t vampires have timelines?”

“Timelines?” I ask, amused.

“Yeah, like you’re single and live only two hundred years… etc.”

“Yes.” He’s right on so many accounts. I would already be dead if it weren’t for that witch, and I would have never met Oliver.

She did know. She saved me.

“Well, I still could only drink their blood,” I mumble.

“Maybe she knew you’d drink responsibly.”

I bark a laugh at that statement. “Maybe.”

“We won’t know why, but there are more positives than negatives here. You should talk to him.”

“He said he needed time.”

“And you’ve given him that. Go to your mate, Ambrose. Don’t spend your time talking to a lone wolf.”

I stand, tossing a hundred bucks on the table. “For a wolf, you’re not so bad.”

“For a bloodsucker, you aren’t either.” He snatches the money from the counter, acting as if I was going to take it back. “But you won’t ever be better than money.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” I shout, laughing as I leave. “I’ll see you later. Thank you, Deacon.”

“Anytime.”

I know he means it. I sense his sincerity. Perhaps, I’ve just made a friend, even if he is a wolf.

With a pep in my step, I decide to listen to Deacon, and head toward the pet shop to talk to my mate.

Glass shatters, making the smile slip from my face when I hear Oliver’s scream. A loud crash sounds from behind me and Deacon is there, eyes as bright as the sun, growls slipping through his teeth.

Without a care who sees me, I run at my speed, needing to save my mate.