Oddly Fated Mates: Freya and Atticus

Chapter Four

Atticus

Nothing prepared me for seeing my mark on her face. The one I've stared at in the mirror a million times and wondered what it would look like on my mate. The one thing giving me hope.

But one terrible night has dashed all that hope into the grave. Because she'll never mate with me. And I'll never be able to accept her.

Not after all she's put me through.

But I can scent her now, as though her every fiber is stuffed up my nose and I can't breathe without smelling her metallic, peachy scent. Like I'm constantly wearing her perfume. I rub my nose again and again, but nothing helps.

Seems it's permanent.

"For fuck's sake."

My legs move before I can command them otherwise, and a part of my laughs—I can't even command my own body, let alone an entire pack. But they're moving and I'm scenting, tracking, some subconscious part of my brain working on overdrive to meet a need I refuse to provide.

I slide my feet into the dirt. "No, stop." My fingers screw into my head, nails biting temple skin, and I can't breathe. "Stop."

But my feet move, eager, desperate to find her. To be around her.

How she has the strength to run is beyond me. But then she's always been stronger. Tougher. More resilient. She's always been . . . dominating. In fact, the thought of her submitting to anyone in this pack beyond Alpha is almost laughable.

But maybe she wasn't meant to. Maybe she was meant to get a mate who could submit for her.

I shake that thought from my head and give up trying to fight my feet's mission. If my wolf wants to follow her, then I guess that's what we're doing. Whether I like it or not.

Her scent leads me to the forest surrounding the High Matriarch's house. Her house. Well, her old house now, I guess. Holy moon goddess, we're gonna have to live together.

My nose twitches, and her scent floods my nostrils, awakening parts of my wolf I didn't know existed, and I run. Almost tripping over my feet in the process. But she's here somewhere. I know she is.

And I need to find her.

My wolf needs to find her.

I sprint into the treeline north of Grandma's house, my wolf's eyesight helping me see in the dark. And that's when I spot her. Freya. Her massive wolf dominating the forest, her paws padding silently across the leaf-strewn floor, her ears pricked up, ready for anything.

My foot steps on a branch, and the snap echoes across the forest like a clap of thunder.

Shit.

She turns to me, her eyes seeking out my form, but I slide behind a tree trunk in time. Not even a particularly thick one, yet it still hides my lanky frame with room to spare.

A low growl rumbles through her throat, past her snarling teeth, and up through my bones. A warning.

If I don't come out from my hiding spot, she'll rip my throat out without even opening her eyes to check who it is.

That's Freya.

Bite first, ask questions later.

Shit. Okay.

Raising my hands in the air, I step out from behind the tree with a wince.

Her fur shines under the moonlight dappling through the trees, her teeth dripping with saliva, her hind legs bent, ready to pounce. Claws out.

But I stand there anyway, knees shaking, heart pounding, letting her scent envelop me. Metal and peaches. It's always been metal and peaches. And it used to be a scent I looked forward to every morning. But then it became my worst nightmares, the scent I'd avoid most.

"Freya, I—"

She snarls, then murder flashes across her fiery orange eyes, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to die tonight.

When her legs pounce her body into the air and straight at me, I change my mind. I'm going to die tonight.

I feel nothing but regret right now. Nothing but blooming hatred and seething curiosity, and I all but fall to my own knees in submission, slamming against the forest floor in all my cowardly glory.

Her paws pin my hands to the floor behind my head with a slam that reverberates through my skull. And she roars so loudly, my ears burst and blood trickles down onto the spongey floor beneath us.

A cry of pain slips from my lips as I wince. Terrified.

But then she looks at me in curiosity, her head tilted to one side as her ears prick up. And she salivates, a wicked grin thrown across her snout, and she chuffs.

What's happening?

Why am I still alive?