Hunted By My Fated Mate

My back was slick with cold sweat.

Thank the Moon Goddess, or Ryan’s claws would have claimed me as another victim.

Once we were outside, Rocky shook off my hand.

He wiped his arm with a look of disgust.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” he muttered.

I nodded quickly. “Thank you.”

Turns out, Rocky had come to ask me to teach him how to sew a pouch.

Stitch by stitch, he worked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The “swans” he attempted to embroider looked more like ducks.

I took it from him to show him how, and he leaned in close, his scent of herbs and pine filling the air.

My head felt light, giddy with happiness. “Who’s it for?”

It was a double-swan pouch, and tonight was the pack’s annual Moon Run.

My heart raced, but Rocky just snorted.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Just teach me.”

His hands, holding the needle, were unusually sweaty.

Rocky was always sharp-tongued, but his heart was pure.

In the pack, he only ever stayed close to me, barely speaking to other females.

This pouch had to be for me.

That night, I dressed up and rushed to the pack’s Moon Run gathering.

I’d heard Ryan was staying overnight, his room next to Rocky’s.

At the table, Rocky sat beside me, his expression dark as he downed his drink.

“Annoying,” he grumbled.

I nodded in agreement, biting into a pastry, only to crack my tooth on a hidden pebble. Tears welled up.

“Ow.”

Rocky called me dramatic, holding a glass of water just out of my reach, forcing me to stretch for it.

He always liked to tease me.

As I whispered back at him, Ryan, in the center of the crowd, suddenly looked up, his gaze locking onto me.

His eyes burned red, and the drink in his hand trembled.

I immediately fell silent.

I didn’t dare eat or make a sound.

The room felt stifling, and Ryan was already on his feet, making his way toward me.

I excused myself to get some air and bolted from the table.

“That pouch on your waist is lovely. Which suitor gave it to you?”

Pouch?

I turned toward the voices, spotting a group of younger pack members chatting.

Among them was Gemma, this year’s rising star. Rocky had often praised her, saying she was a thousand times better than me.

I crept closer, eavesdropping.

Gemma was beaming, shyly showing off an awkwardly stitched pouch.

It featured two clumsy ducks, oddly endearing.

It was the one I’d taught Rocky to make, now in her hands.

My chest tightened.

Gemma spotted me and smiled brightly, hanging the pouch prominently on her waist.

“Sister Lennox, isn’t this pouch cute? He’s not great at sewing, but it’s so charming!

“It’s the Moon Run. Don’t you have one?”

My breath caught, and I forced a smile, holding back tears.

“Of course, I just need to find it.”

I fled, their laughter, though not malicious, stinging my back.