Bane's Regret, Stone Mountain Shifters

Chapter 1 - Mate

Skye

Six Years Prior

Living in the Lonely Pines Pack is stifling. We are a secluded pack up in the northern part of the territory. Because our Alpha is a little wild, so are the members of the pack. Therefore, being an only child, mom and dad keep me on a tight leash, so to speak. I turned 18 two years ago. That's about the time we get our wolves. It is also the time when we can meet our mates. But my parents said the males here are too rough and immature. They keep me right here at the house up on the mountain.

I don't sit idly twiddling my thumbs though. My mom and I are taking college classes online and training to be healers. There are no pack healers here, so mom works at the clinic and dad is the top pack enforcer. He keeps all the males chased away. I haven't seen anybody but my parents since before my 18th birthday. My job is studying, training and alchemy. I make all the remedies and tinctures that mom uses here at the clinic. When I get all my licenses and certificates, my parents say they will send me to the city, Stone Mountain Kingdom, to find a position.

Today started out like any other day I am studying, when I get a mind link from my mom. "Skye, there has been a rogue attack. Are you safe?"

"Yes, mom. No sign of rogues here."

"Good. Your dad is tied up with the Alpha and Beta taking care of the last rogues and I am at the clinic patching up these warriors. I need you to bring me all the wound healing compounds we have in stock. I have a lot of injured and I can't leave. Put it in a box and leave the box on the front desk and leave. I don't want you exposed to any of these warriors."

"Will do."

I quickly fill a box with wound care tinctures and remedies. Stowing them in the back of my car, I quickly head off the mountain toward the clinic. They never allow me off the mountain and I wouldn't be allowed off now, but for the emergency. Driving up to the clinic, I can see the chaos. Our enforcers, dressed in black tactical uniforms, are dragging or carrying injured into our tiny clinic.

I lug the box into the clinic. "Mom," I shout as I see her working with an injured wolf, bandaging his chest, while another wolf holds him steady. She is overrun. I have to help. I have just as much training as she, albeit not hands-on. "Mom, you need help. Let me help." I say, finally making it through the throng up to her side.

"Fine," She says breathlessly. "Start over there against the wall." She points to a group of warriors slumped on various stretchers. I set the box on a table and start triaging.

Darkness begins to ascend in the sky as the moon rises full and bright. I am bone tired and I can tell mom is flagging too. Thankfully, the influx of wounded is slowing to a trickle. We have had surprisingly little fatalities. I swipe my wrist across my forehead trying not to get blood on my face. The male I am working on has a head wound. It is not serious, just bloody and deep. But he will recover. After disinfecting the wound, I wrap a bandage around his head and give him a dose of antibiotics. Wolves have such robust immune systems, it is hardly necessary, but this is a precaution as some rogues may carry diseases due to their weakened systems.

I move to the scrub sink to wash the last patient's blood from me, when a tingling sensation jolts up my spine. I peer around the room to see what might have gotten my hackles up, but nothing is amiss. The room is still filled with a sea of black tactical, those that are wounded and those carting the wounded around. The sensation eases.

I grab a towel, drying my face and hands and lean against the sink for just a moment's reprieve. I look at the mirror hanging above the sink and sigh. My long, caramel brown hair is sticking up all over, springing out of my messy bun. There are dark circles and lines of exhaustion surrounding my gray eyes. Blowing out a breath to dislodge the hair in my face, I pull out my hair tie and attempt to wrangle it into a tidier bun.

I feel that spine tingling awareness again and glance into the mirror behind me. A young enforcer is attempting to place an injured warrior on a gurney when he stops and scowls. Looking menacingly around the room, his angry eyes meet mine in the mirror. What's his problem? I say to myself returning his scowl. My wolf, Irena, says, "Mate." And I reply, "Oh, crap!"

This isn't good. For one thing, mom and dad don't approve of any of the young males here. They are a wild bunch on a good day. And, for another thing, he doesn't look star-struck or happy. I don't want to be mated to someone angry or unwilling. My parents have taught me that to be successful in life, you need to have a "poker face". Never let anyone know the extent of your thoughts and feelings. That only leaves you weak and vulnerable. Finishing the knot in my hair, I project disinterest in the male in the mirror. His look goes from one of anger to one of interest. "Oh crap again! I say to myself. "I hope he isn't one of those who get off on a challenge."

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Throwing the towel down, I put on another pair of gloves and move to the next patient. Trying my best to ignore Mr. Angry Pants, but he makes that impossible as after he deposits the wounded male on the gurney, he walks up and stands across the patient from me. Not acknowledging his presence, I continue triaging the patient. He has a chest wound. I meticulously check for any remaining debris or object and disinfect the wound. When I attempt to wrap the chest, I am unable to raise the bulky male from the table. Mr. Angry Pants lifts up the patient and holds him steady while I bandage.

When I finish, we ease the patient back down and I administer the antibiotic. "Thank you." I glance up at him and wish I had not. He is the most beautiful male I have ever seen. His sandy blonde hair hangs past his collar, even tied back. His cerulean blue eyes melt my soul. I am lost in their depths.

"Bane." He says.

"What?"

"My name. It's Bane. Bane Brooks."

"Oh. Bane. Thank you, Bane." I reply cooly. I turn my back on him to approach the scrub sink. I soap up my hands and arms. After rinsing and drying myself, I step over to the gurney containing the next patient and begin the process again. Bane wordlessly follows me, assisting when needed.

When the last one is treated, I rip off my gloves and make for the scrub sink. Blane does the same. Standing side by side, we each clean up as best we can. Grabbing the last of the paper towels, I peel a couple off for Blane and walk to my mother's office. She is sitting behind her desk rubbing her face.

"Mom?" I begin. "I have a problem." It's about that time that Bane walks in my office with dad right behind him.

She looks at Bane, then at dad and last at me. "Oh, goddess, no." She whispers in defeat. I nod.