Dog Days

Part 3

I followed the twins up the stairs, and sure enough, the house was set for a party. Food and drinks lined the tables, and the lights were down low. I could see a sound system set up, but it was silent.

"What do you mean by magic? After centuries as a dog, my mate would have died. She died alone in England like a billion years ago."

Emma just shook her head. "The circle closed, Hunter. The spell was complete. She's somewhere, and now she's coming here."

"Somewhere!" I threw my hands up in exasperation, rage boiling up inside me. I had until sunrise. No way was that enough time. That was the worst part of the spell, cause even if I could get close enough to find my mate, I had to convince her to let me claim her within mere hours of meeting. "She could be anywhere. She could be in Chili or Botswana, or Timbuktu. The likelihood of her being close enough for me to claim her tonight is so low it's hysterically laughable."

"Fuck your accent is adorable." Emma patted my cheek, her lips pulled into an intense grin. "Say aluminum."

"Aluminum," I growled.

"No, the British way." James rolled his eyes at me.

The doorbell rang. Saved by the fucking bell I guess.

I didn't think I had ever heard the doorbell ring. People didn't come to the house unless they were coven or very, very unlucky. Coven members came and went all the time, and those that were unlucky? Most of them didn't leave. And the ones that did probably spent the rest of their days haunted by the things that had been done to them.

James just grinned at me. "Or she could be right here."

He opened the door with a dramatic flourish, but it wasn't my mate. It was a group of guys that seemed to know James very well.

"See?" I growled.

Emma patted me on the back. "The night's young, Hunt. Why don't you get a drink and try not to scare our guests away."

The moon might have been low in the sky as yet, but I only had hours left. I slunk away and dropped into my favorite chair. I was getting dog hair all over my clothes, but since it was mine, I couldn't bring myself to care.

*****

I can't say I was particularly feeling it. The party, I mean. It had nothing to do with the type of music or the fact that technically I was about five hundred years older than everyone in attendance.

What wasn't I feeling? The fact that my heart jumped every time the doorbell rang. And each time the door was opened, it wasn't my mate. Because the moment I saw her, I would know. Each little let down crushed my tortured heart a bit more.

I sat in my chair, my red solo cup filled with watered down, bitter beer, and sulked. Around me voices rose and fell, and it was like I wasn't there at all. Probably because after the first few people tried to talk to me and I snapped my teeth at them, everyone felt it better to leave me alone.

I'd thought the Dolcettas had been abusing me all these years by locking me in the basement and taking away my one chance at freedom and happiness.

I'd been wrong. This was worse. Way, way worse.

Having hope sucked.

After a few hours I gave up watching the door, and wandered into the kitchen to grab another beer. If I was going to have one last night as a human, not locked up, I was going to have a fucking beer. Or ten—even if the American excuse for beer was shitty at best—'cause fuck everything.

I stood in the kitchen drowning my sorrows when this scent hit me. At the back of my brain, my inner dog—or whatever you want to call it—knew that scent. And it launched chills down my spine.