1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Bri

N ever in my life have I been more unsure of anything. Okay, maybe that's a lie, but it certainly feels true as I board my flight to Boston. Taking the steps I've been planning for years.

Why doesn't it feel more satisfying?

The last few weeks have been a series of blurred moments. Some have been wonderful, some painful, and some so unexpected that I'm still sorting through the emotions.

I'm a wolf shifter. Or rather, I will be.

Understanding that fact alone has been a whirlwind. The way it has changed every decision I've made since is an understatement. Not one moment has gone by where I haven't questioned how it changes everything.

Worse, I can't talk about why I'm so torn with the two people in the world who know me better than anyone.

Keith and Liv.

They've spent the last three weeks walking on eggshells around me because I've had to close off completely. It's the only way I know I won't slip up and say something that will get them killed.

I hate feeling disconnected from them. I hate lying to them. I hate that all these huge decisions about me are out of my control. I no longer get to have a say in so much of what will happen in my life going forward.

Dante says I have to be Awakened. Cain says it's my choice, but I know deep down how much more difficult that will make my life and his. I don't want to live a life looking over my shoulder, wondering if someone could get to me.

Cain.

Even the thought of him now has my heart clenching and a smile sneaking up on my lips. He's been so patient with me. He's given me space to come to terms with everything but has always been there, reminding me that he's not giving up. He's not going away.

But what if I leave?

Shaking my head to focus on the here and now, I move down the aisle to my window seat, groaning internally at the oversized older man I will have to climb over to get into it.

"Excuse me, that one's me," I say with as much pleasantry as I can muster while gesturing to the seat in his row. The man glances up, eying me appreciatively, before standing up to allow me room to sit. Or at least that's what I think is happening. Instead, he gets so close to me that his protruding stomach slides across my side, and he doesn't make any attempt to move further.

"By all means," he says, a twinkle in his eye that has my spine straightening and me attempting to draw back from him.

Cringing internally, I tiptoe to my seat, disgusted by the amount of my body that ended up pressed against his in the process. I mentally chastise myself for not choosing an aisle seat or splurging on early boarding.

Please let someone be sitting in the middle.

Once I'm adjusted, bag tucked securely under my feet, I throw in my wireless earbuds and plant my face into a book, purposely angling it to create a physical barrier between myself and the pervy forty-something bald man who hasn't taken his eyes off me since I got to the row. My muscles are tense, and my jaw is locked tight as I feign indifference while counting the minutes until I can escape this flying tube.

A flight attendant walks the aisle, closing overhead boxes, which pulls the man's attention, and I relax a bit. After a safety briefing and a roll down the runway, we're up in the air. A few minutes later, despite the music playing in my ears, the sound of deep, rumbled snoring hits me, and I glance over to see my row-sharing compatriot fast asleep.

Five hours and twenty-three minutes to go.

***

Exiting the plane is far less eventful and includes the added benefit of not having to touch the man in my row. I didn't use the bathroom the entire flight, despite needing to, just so I didn't have to repeat my boarding experience. The man had tried to engage me in conversation a handful of times throughout the flight between his snoozing, and each time, I solidly ignored him, pretending I couldn't hear him over the earbuds.

I wait several minutes, allowing the plane to empty before standing and gathering my bag from beneath my feet and settling my items into their respective pockets and pouches. Head down and hands full, I step out of the row only to have my shoulder crash into a wall of solid muscle. A hand grabs my arm to steady me, keeping me from falling before releasing me almost as quickly. I apologize immediately without looking up and grab the phone that drops out of my hands.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention. I thought everyone had already passed," I fumble through my explanation while fixing my belongings and retreating into the row.

"No problem," the deep masculine voice responds, continuing down the aisle before I can even get a look at him. Exhaling, I scan the back of the plane before stepping out a second time and heading into the Boston airport terminal.

Ethan mentioned in his email that someone would be here to drive me to my hotel, so I grab my bag from the oscillating carousel and make my way to passenger pick-up. A familiar tingling climbs up my spine as I exit the bagging area. Someone is watching me—again.

No. Not here. Damnit .

This feeling has had me on edge since I got to the airport in Vegas. Initially, I shook it off as paranoia, but the longer I stand here, the more I can almost feel the eyes on me. Keeping my gait casual, I intentionally release my breath and casually move my phone to my back pocket to free up one of my hands. I weave myself around slower travelers and try to find a way to figure out who might be following me.

A restroom sign ahead gives me the idea, and I turn into the cut-out for it, deliberately glancing behind me a moment before I disappear into the Women's door.

No one.

Not a single person appears to be watching me.

Fuck. I'm losing it.

I sigh and sink back onto the cold tile wall of the modern restroom, cursing my stupid brain. Ever since the kidnapping, this has been happening everywhere I go—the grocery store, work, and even school. I always feel like I'm moments away from being grabbed by someone from the Reno Pack.

Deacon Marlo appears consistently in my nightmares, his Italian words dancing in my ears, his breath fanning across my neck moments before he succeeds in Awakening me. I've woken up screaming more times than I can count. Each time, Liv appears at my door, worry lining her face, before she silently crawls into my bed for the rest of the night.

I've wanted to ask Dante if he has heard anything since the exchange, but I always talk myself out of it. He has a whole pack to run. He doesn't need to be bothered by the Unawakened girl who just lost him a pack member.

Hudson.

Pain leaks into my overly active heart at the memory of him. His face is permanently etched in my mind from the porch of Ghost's cabin. Pure determination. He just wanted to save them.

He did save them. He saved me, too.

I still don't feel worthy of it, but I'm determined to live a full life. That's why I agreed to come here in the first place: to have no regrets. His sacrifice needs to matter.

Though admittedly, I'm not sure that a ‘full life' means hiding in the bathroom on the verge of a panic attack while my mind convinces me that imaginary boogeymen are following me.

Fuck this.

I'm a strong, independent woman who can go on a prospective job trip without having a mental breakdown.

Right?

I exhale, hoping that the tension will leave my body along with the air, before using the facilities and washing my hands in a nearby sink.

Check out the company. Make a decision.

That's why I'm here.

In the three weeks since Hudson's funeral, my life has been a whirlwind. I finished my finals, returned to work, and have tried to keep myself busy working out with Liv. While it feels like falling back into my routine, my anxiety has never been worse.

The only bright spot in these weeks has honestly been Cain. For a few days, he kept his distance, texting me something that made him think of me or dropping off coffee before I left for class. It was always a small gesture before he had to be at work or I had something on my schedule, which ensured he didn't overstay his welcome.

When my birthday came, he bribed Liv, with what I'll never know, but she let him decorate my entire bedroom with small white firefly lights that have me thinking of him every time I walk in. Along with the lights, he left a wrapped box with the lights—a box I haven't had the nerve to open for fear that it's perfect and will make me fall even further in love with him.

My resolve to stay away from him while I sort everything out has been slowly deteriorating. I know that I need this space to figure everything out, but my body and heart aren't on the same page as my brain.

He hasn't pushed for more, but I have found myself looking forward to the moments I get to see him and checking my phone to see if a meme or random text is there.

I want more. I want to rewind time and return to the light banter and sexual tension we had before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

He's my Mate.

That thought unsettles me the most because I wonder if I want him because he's the one The Fates picked or because he's my choice. I've spent my entire life fighting against what the world thought I would be and choosing my own future.

No one expected a foster kid to be a straight-A student, one without a drug problem or teen pregnancy scare. The odds weren't in my favor to be a scholarship recipient for my grades or to become a college graduate. I did those things. I graduated high school with honors, stayed out of jail and shit relationships, and I made a future for myself.

And now, The Fates are trying to dictate who I spend my life with and who I can be entirely myself around. It's driving me crazy.

This trip is about me choosing. Not The Fates, not Cain, not society. Me. I want to be the one who decides where my life is supposed to go. I can't change what's happened, but I damn sure get to decide what I make of this new future I've been handed.

Focusing back on the present, I exit the bathroom, fully aware of those walking around me. The feeling of being watched has dimmed some, and I breathe a little easier, knowing it was all in my head.

As I enter the passenger pick-up area, I scan the signs, searching for my name. Six people appear to be waiting to pick up passengers, but none hold up DelaCourt or Brielle. Last I checked, my name wasn't B. Lopez. I pull out my cell phone to see if I have missed a message or some information from Ethan.

The last text message still shows from this morning.

Excited to have you! Someone will be there to grab you at 730 p.m. in passenger pick up.

Checking the time on my phone, I see it's 7:35 pm.

Maybe they had to use the restroom.

I walk over to the wall, where a few chairs sit empty, and decide to wait. With the extra time, I text Keith and Liv to let them know I landed and everything is good. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I send a quick message to Cain.

He cares about my well-being. It's only polite to update him.

Hello, denial…

When eight o'clock rolls around, I finally start to think that I've been left and send a message to Ethan asking if I should take an Uber to my hotel.

When my phone buzzes a moment later, I open the text immediately, hoping Ethan has answers for me so my anxiety can relax. Being in a strange city alone is definitely more intimidating than I thought it would be.

Glad to hear you are safe. I'm here if you need anything.

I shake my head, not understanding the context before me. I glance around.

He's here? Where?

I begin typing back into the text message.

You're here? Where? I don't see anyone.

The response is immediate.

No one is there to get you? How long have you been waiting?

I check the clock and see it's 8:06 pm.

About half an hour.

Hang on, Firefly, I'm sending a car.

Firefly? Wtf.

I look again and see it hasn't been Ethan I have been messaging, but Cain.

I mentally smack my forehead.

Shit.

Don't worry about it. I'm grabbing an Uber. See you when I get back.

Damnit.

Switching out of his messages, I pull Ethan's text to find it has been read, but there is no response.

I guess I really am going to call an Uber.

"Ms. DelaCourt?" a deep voice interrupts my inner chastising. I look up to find a man in an impeccably tailored black suit.

"Yes?" I respond hesitantly.

"I'm Sebastian. I'm here to give you a ride to your hotel." He smiles, and the action lights his entire face, giving him a non-threatening, easygoing vibe.

Ethan had someone here, after all.

"Thank you, Sebastian." I stand, gathering my carry-on as he reaches for my suitcase.

"May I take your bags?" he asks as if this is a routine question.

"Oh, um, of course, I'm sorry," I blurt, quickly retracting my arm.

He gathers the items and heads for the exit, and I follow closely behind him.

Cold air assaults my lungs the moment we step outside, and I see a light dusting of snow on everything. My inner child smiles. Las Vegas hardly ever gets snow, so seeing it in real life brings me so much happiness, and I mentally add a point to the "move to Boston" pro/con list I've created in my head. I fight the urge to lie down and make a snow angel.

Get it together, Bri. You're a professional.

We weave through the traffic outside the airport and end up at a black SUV parked in the business section of the lot. While Sebastian loads my bags, I take in the Massachusetts view.

The tall buildings line the horizon, and lights dance off the water. Coupled with the blanket of white, the whole scene looks like a snow globe. There's magic to it that I just can't place.

Wrapping my arms around myself as the chill seeps in, I wonder how much shopping I'll need to accomplish to survive in cold like this. It's early winter for them, only mid-December, and the bite in the air is already more than I have ever had to endure.

Sebastian clears his throat, pulling my attention to the door he holds open for me. Taking a deep breath, I climb in the backseat, settle my backpack on the opposite side, and latch my buckle. I notice how dark the tint is on the windows.

Stuffy business people probably don't look out at the scenery when they drive.

A loud bang into the door on the far side of the car has me immediately defensive before the driver's door opens, and in climbs, someone I never thought I would see again.

"We gotta stop meeting like this, City."

Son of a bitch.