The Mystic Wolves

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

I remembered the day. We'd definitely met under strange circumstances, but we joked about it later. Fate doesn't care how she brings two people together, as long as she does. After a night of dreaming about Mason—a vision that felt so incredibly real, I'd woken to a phone call from my mother.

She was unbending in her belief she could hear my biological clock ticking away into oblivion. I tried, desperately, to assure her there was plenty of time for mates and babies, but she was determined to have me bonded and shipped off as soon as I hit my twenties. I couldn't remember how many eligible werewolves she paraded in front of me over the years, each one "the one." As I turned every one of them down, I'd leave my poor mother an exasperated mess. She just didn't get it. I was waiting for something ... that spark, the moment where my stomach tipped as butterflies stirred. I wanted passion and the sense of certainty knowing I'd met my soul mate.

I'll never forget the day I tried explaining that to her. It resulted in an angry tirade about how I was breaking her heart and being an ungrateful whelp. The love I was wanting wasn't important, she claimed, all I needed was a strong werewolf mate who could provide and protect me. She almost choked on her tongue when I defiantly stood there, hands on hips and declared I didn't even know if I'd marry a werewolf. I didn't want to be controlled and dominated over. Her face turned a mottled shade of red before she stormed out of my house, muttering about how she didn't know who I was. The next day I came home to all my beloved romance novels shredded and unceremoniously dumped into trash bags. A note was left on my dining room table.

Darcy, I blame the nonsense you read in these books for your insane idea of marriage. It's time you realize there are no heroes to sweep you off your feet. Pick a mate and settle. It's time.

Settle. Out of everything she'd said on the page, that word jumped out like it was written on a neon sign. It was one thing I'd never do. I'd rather die old and alone than ever settle for something less. It also made me sad wondering if that's what she had done with my father.

We never did talk about the note and her destroying my books. We continued as we normally did—her sending me candidates and me tolerating her. I found a better place to put my books, and life carried on.

The day she called, she was excited about a man she'd met who she thought would be perfect for me.

"It's like he stepped out of one of those books you love so much," she chattered over the phone. "Surely you won't find fault with him as well. Just wait until you meet him." She continued to prattle on and I tuned her out.

I couldn't help but groan. One thing I loathed was blind dates because they were just so painfully awkward. There was the overwhelming need to fill every moment with something so we wouldn't spend the entire date in unbearable silence. Trying to think of a way to break it to the guy gently when it was obvious to me, it just wouldn't work.

I was already beginning to think of how I could wheedle my way out of this meeting when the doorbell rang.

"Tell me you didn't, Mother," I interrupted. I had no doubt she knew what I was talking about. The woman had the ears of a hawk and would undoubtedly have heard the chimes.

"Just do this for me. I want grand babies, Darcy. Wear something pretty with your hair up. Men like that." I swear she was oblivious to how uncomfortable these meetings made me.

"Can you at least tell me what his name is?" I asked before I went to my doom.

"His name is Mason. Mason O'Connor. Be nice to him or so help me I'll . . ." I cut her off mid rant as I quickly said goodbye and hung up. I'd heard her threats so many times I could rehearse them verbatim in my sleep.