by Lilly Wilder
© Copyright 2020 by Lilly Wilder All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Wolf’s Mate
By: Lilly Wilder
Table of Contents
Foreword
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
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Come Stalk Me!
Foreword
I’ve always been a good girl, a sheltered girl. I guess I have my extremely rich dad to thank for that. Outside of his home, I want to escape the reputation that follows our name, but you can never get the stink of money off of you, no matter how hard you try. It’s a smell that attracts hungry beasts… just like blood.
The one time I finally decide to let go and live a little, something bad happens. Something horrible. I find unlikely protectors in the two wolf shifters who save me, but they want something in return. Their clan is in danger of dying out, unless they find mates willing to produce offspring.
Desperate and afraid, I need to stay hidden, so they offer to protect me, but at what cost? They want a good girl to break the rules. But, can she?
Wolf’s Mate
CHAPTER 1
I’ve just finished putting some red nail polish on my toes, when I hear a knock on the door. I don’t even lift my head. I can guess who it is by the sound of the voice. Also, this house is huge enough to accommodate five families, but unfortunately, only one, or perhaps, half of one, lives here.
“Come in!” I shout, blowing softly at my reddened nails.
I know no one will be seeing them, but that’s not my concern right now. I’m mostly doing them so I can take focus from other, much more important things that are happening to me right now, and the red nails are among the few things I can control.
“Are you decent, sweetheart?”
I see my father covering his eyes with the palm of his hand, as he steps in the doorway. I chuckle to myself. He’s like a vampire, who can only come in if you invite him. Otherwise, his feast of blood might not be open for the night.
“Yes, I’m decent, dad. Come in,” I repeat.
He uncovers his eyes and walks in. When he talks like this, he makes me feel like I’m still in high school. But, I guess daughters always remain little girls in the eyes of their parents. Especially their fathers.
I glance up only a little, as he keeps walking over to the bed, a little ceremoniously. As always, his hand brushes the photo frame on the nightstand to my bed, the one that is encasing the loving face of my late mother, his late wife. It’s been ten years already, and it’s not true what they say. Time doesn't make it better. The wound is still as fresh as it was ten years ago, when we got a call from the hospital that she was in a car accident. It was a hit and run. Whoever did it, didn’t even stop to check up on her. They just drove away, leaving her there alone, in pain, on the road.
I shudder at the thought, like I always do. I wonder if she called out to me, to dad. What were her last words, her last thoughts? And, most importantly, how come no one helped her? It still hurts, and I’ll never get used to the lack of her presence, but eventually, you realize you need to move on, even if everything reminds you of that pain. You just have to keep going, despite everything. If pain is all you see, you just become that pain. You incorporate it into your existence, into your very essence. That is how you continue.
My dad sits on the bed next to me. He’s already dressed to the nines. I see he’s wearing the Dormeuil Vanquish II suit, which he recently got on some auction. He’s been spending more money on frivolous things lately, but what are you supposed to do when you’re a widower, but you’re still not old enough to kick the bucket? I remember he mentioned that this particular suit cost him $95,319, and the reason why it’s so expensive is simple. It’s made of five of the world’s most pricey and rarest fabrics: royal Qivuik, Ambassador, Dorsilk, Kirgzy White, and Fifteen Point Eight. The mayor is throwing a gala tonight, and anyone who is anyone is invited. No wonder he wants to wear it for the occasion.
“That looks very nice on you, dad.”
“You think so?” he wonders, straightening out his shoulders a little.
I see it’s been immaculately pressed, and smells of lily in the valley. Gina probably had the honors of taking it to that special dry cleaning place, over in Woodlington. Dad only trusts those guys with his expensive suits. So did mom.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind and come with me?” he asks, seeing I’m not replying.
“Seriously, dad. Like, more than 90% of people there will be old. And, by old I mean older than you.”
“Thanks for that,” we both chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it’s just one of those fundraisers that are fun only for those who actually get the money in the end.”
“I thought you were giving money this time.”
“Eh, with me it’s always a little bit of both,” he winks at me.
His hair has gotten grey, and the lines on his face are deeply set. And, it’s gotten worse in the last five years. Still, he’s wearing his contacts now, instead of glasses. Mom tried to convince him to switch for ages, and he only listened to her when she was gone.
“Will it be a quiet night at home for you?” he asks.
Sometimes, I mind it. Because, I’m not a little girl anymore. No matter what he thinks. But, at the same time, I understand. I’m all he’s got left. Just me, and a shitload of money that is piling up in some Swiss bank account, that no one will really get to spend apart from me and him. And, it looks like neither of us is all that eager for that luxury.
“You’re all packed, I see.”
He looks around and notices the suitcases in the corner. I sigh. I know he wants me to stay here. He feels like this is the only place where I will be 100% safe. Or maybe, that’s only because he’ll be able to keep an eye on me almost all the time. Fathers and daughters, I guess. He always wants to be my protector.
But, I keep telling him that this is how life goes. Kids move out. This is good. I need my own space. I’m starting a new job as a personal assistant to Mrs. Lindbergh, the lady who owns Modern Fashion magazine. He knows that job is a dream come true, and it was hard for him not to interfere. All he needed to do was make one phone call and the job would be mine. That’s the good thing about being the daughter of a multi-millionaire.
But, that’s also the bad thing. You never know if you got something because you deserved it, or just because someone wa
nts something from you. It’s a world of favors. A world of I scratch your back and you scratch mine. A world where you need to be wary of what others tell you to your face, because they might be saying the exact opposite behind your back.
I guess my mother taught me differently. She never came from money, and she had to work hard for what she had. Even when she and dad hit it big, she never forgot where she came from. That takes a lot of character, and she had it. She told me to always do my best and rely on my own resources. Money will only get you so far. But, your own skills can take you all the way, wherever you want to end up.
So, I made him promise not to interfere, and as far as I know, he didn’t. I still got the job, but now, I can be proud about it.
“Yup, all packed,” I smile. His smile is a little sour. “Don’t be sad.” I pinch his cheek. “Not like I'll be moving away to another continent.”
“I don’t think I’d be able to handle that,” he tells me, and I know he means it.
“That’s why I’m moving only a few streets down, silly. I need to spread my wings and fly out of the nest. It’s high time, don’t you think?”
I wrap my arms around him, not waiting for him to reply. He hugs me back, and we remain like that for a moment. His eyes are deep, pensive. I wonder what he’s thinking about. Is it the gala or something else?
“I’ll wrinkle your suit,” I pull back, making sure he still looks presentable.
“You’re the only one who’s allowed to do that, kiddo.”
“Have fun, tonight,” I wave as he heads to the door, then suddenly stops.
“How about we have breakfast at that little French bakery, before you start unloading tomorrow?” he suggests.
I will order a latte with a chocolate croissant. He will have bagels and black coffee. Mom always had something different. She liked to try out anything new that they baked. She was just like that.
“You mean the boulangerie?” I tried pronouncing it as mom would, and we both smiled at my unsuccessful attempt at it.
“Yes, that’s the one,” he nods.
“I’d like that,” I speak, and I feel my eyes water a little.
Seeing him like that, I want to tell him that I’m not moving, that I’d stay with him and nothing would change. I regress back into my childhood, back in the good old days when his arms were the safest place on earth, and no matter what happened, my mother’s voice would soothe me. In those days, everything would turn out alright eventually. Unfortunately, the present day wasn’t like that. It was occasionally fun, occasionally gloomy. But, you had to go on.
Despite that inner feeling, I stay where I am, for the time being. He nods, as if he expected me to say something else, then silently walks out of the door. The house is vast and empty, as usual.
I look at my bare feet. The nail polish is scraped in more than one place. But, I’m too lazy to fix that. I lie down on the bed, letting the softness of the mattress envelop me, like a pair of loving arms. I think about my new job, and how exciting it will be. My hopes are soaring.
I close my eyes, and drift off to sleep. I dream, but I rarely remember. Maybe, it’s for the better.
I don’t know this yet, but this will be the last time I’ll sleep in this bed. This will be the last time I feel safe…for a long time.
CHAPTER 2
The following day goes by quickly, and in a blink of an eye, it’s evening. All of my stuff has been moved to my new place, courtesy of the moving company dad hired for me, even though I said a few times that I could arrange it myself. When I close the door to the last moving guy, I take a deep breath as I look around.
I love this place. I absolutely love it. Technically, it’s not really mine because I’m just renting it, but it still feels like mine. The little touches here and there helped me adopt it as my very own. My mom always said that a house is just four walls that keep you safe from the weather. But, a home is a place of warmth, where you are reminded at every step that you live here, that you are safe here. I placed a framed photo of all three of us right by my bedside, and I scattered little trinkets, dust collectors as dad likes to refer to them, all throughout the apartment. Sure, it’ll be a bother to clean up, having to move them all then put them back in the same place. But, it feels like home. It truly does.
An idea comes to mind. I could invite dad over and we could order some pizza. But, before I can even reach for my phone, I hear the doorbell. I look in the direction of the door and smile. Could he have predicted my idea and is now standing in front of the door?
I walk over there and unlock it, but upon opening, I see, with a slight dash of disappointment, that it’s not him.
“Hey, girl!” Tina shouts at me so loudly that the whole hallway echoes. I’ve grown accustomed to her in your face manners and stopped being bugged, even though I know others find it somewhat crude.
Tina, unlike Nicoletta who is standing right next to her, isn’t from our social circles. At least, she didn’t start out that way. She was just a country bumpkin, a term Nicky and I use endearingly, and Tina doesn’t like it, but she puts up with it, but then her dad hit it big on the stock market and moved the whole family to the big city. All three of us found ourselves in the same class in high school, and we somehow clicked.
“Hey, guys,” I reply, moving to the side to let them in.
Nicky walks in first, and I see she’s ready for a night out in a sequeny top and a mini skirt, slightly too short for my taste. Nicky’s always had a body to show, and she had no problem flaunting it. Even back when she was still jail bait, she’d walk in those high heels she stole from her mother’s closet like a pro, with a thin cigarette hanging low from the corner of her full lips.
“You all done unpacking?” Nicky asks, glancing around.
Tina sits on the sofa. The way she’s dressed, you’d think she’s about 5 years younger than Nicky, in those plain jeans and white blouse. I see she’s not wearing her glasses, either. That usually means she’s going out and wants to meet someone new.
“Sort of,” I nod. “What are you guys doing here? I thought we arranged to meet up tomorrow.”
“That plan is still on,” Nicky nods. “But Tina and I were thinking that you moving out of that mansion deserves a celebration. I mean, I still don’t know what possessed you to do this, that house is freakin’ amazing, but all the more power to you.”
Tina chuckles on the sofa and from this angle, I see the skin on her chin thickening. In about 10, 20 years, she’ll be overweight like her mother, if she’s not careful.
“So, we’re taking you to the Winchester,” Nicky concludes.
Winchester is exactly what its name says. Owning up to the name of a gun that won the West, Winchester is a club that quickly became the most popular hangout of the young and affluent. Also, it was no slave to stereotypes. You had the money to pay for the insanely expensive drinks you order? Then, come on in.
“Oh, guys, I’m not really in the mood for elbowing my way through the crowd to get to the bathroom, or guys shouting lame pickup lines in my ear,” I roll my eyes, sitting down next to Tina.
“Remember the s’more guy?” Tina giggles.
“Are you a campfire? Cuz you’re hot and I want s’more!” Nicky alters her voice as she’s speaking, deepening it a little as she speaks, and we are all bursting with laughter. None of us remembers what the poor guy looked like; we just remember his pickup line. And, with a lame one like that, it’s better we don’t remember anything more.
“How can you not want to hear more gems like that?” Nicky smirks.
I turn to Tina, and I see her giving me the puppy dog eye look. Nicky has slid right next to me on the sofa, and they’re pressing onto me from both sides.
“Pleeeeeeeasse?” they chant in unison, and I finally jump up.
“Alright, alright!” I laugh. “But, just one drink.”
“Hallelujer! Praise the Lort! ” Nicky does her best Madea voice, and we’re all rolling.
“Just give me a minute to change,” I say, when I finally stop laughing.
“Put on that slutty black dress!” I hear Nicky shout. “I want some competition this time!”
I always think that Tina might take it the wrong way and get upset or something, because Nicky really doesn’t have a filter. Once, she even told me that my dad was hot for an old guy and if she was drunk enough, she’d bang him. Needless to say, sleepovers were off from that day on. Not that I’d think she’d really do it. Sometimes, Nicky was just a show off. All bark and no bite. But, with things like that you can never be 100% sure.
About an hour later, we’re elbowing our way through the Winchester. It’s always busy, but tonight is ridiculously so. I regret agreeing to this, but I couldn’t say no to my best friends who came to celebrate this special moment in my life with me. So, I figured, one drink couldn’t hurt.
I lean onto the bar, and realize that Nicky already caught hold of some guy and they’re dirty dancing, hands sliding everywhere. Alright then, Nicky’s out. Tina is still by my side, but I know she’ll be gone the moment she starts batting her long eyelashes and someone walks over, which won’t take long. I order us both drinks, and one for Nicky if she decides to join us at some later point. By the time I take my first sip, I feel Tina’s hand squeezing my shoulder and pointing at a guy across the bar from us, raising his glass to her. And, that means I’m on my own. I thought it’d take a bit longer this time, but never mind. I’ll just finish my drink in peace, hopefully devoid of lame pickup lines, I’ll dance a little, then call an Uber home and be in bed at a still reasonable time.
“Looks like your posse left you hanging,” I hear someone shout right into my ear, trying to be louder than the music blasting all around us.
“Excuse me!?” I turn around, giving whoever said that a dirty look. He didn’t just say what I think he did, did he?
