The Beta's Forbidden Mate

Epilogue

We stayed hidden in our little stolen cottage until the next morning, when we both felt rested and ready to continue our lives as fugitives on the run.

Asher found $200 in a mason jar under the kitchen sink. Even though I hated to do it, I took the money, though I insisted on leaving a note for the owners, explaining that we had been in a life-or-death situation, and that I hoped I could someday pay them back.

I left the note unsigned, then we left, wearing our stolen clothes and carrying our stolen money, back to the Mazda on the side of the highway.

We had just enough gas in the tank to make it to the little town two miles away. We coasted into the gas station on fumes. I tried to avoid the cashier's gaze as he filled up the tank, and said nothing when he glanced at me curiously when I paid him in singles out of a glass jar.

Next to the gas station was a small, twenty-four hour diner. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten, and Asher and I went in, hoping to get some breakfast before making the final dash to Texas.

There was a TV on the wall, with a weatherman giving the local updates. I slid into the plastic-coated booth, and Asher sat across from me.

If we hadn't been on the run, carrying stolen goods and driving what was now almost certainly a car that had been reported stolen, I would have laughed at the image.

My werewolf boyfriend and I. Finally on our first date.

Despite my nervousness, a small smile spread across my lips.

Asher put his hand on mine, gazing at me with dark eyes. "You're really beautiful when you smile."

I blushed, ducking my head as a waitress in a blue-checked apron came to pour us coffee.

The first steaming sip was like an angel sent from heaven. I held the mug in my hands, enjoying the simple pleasure of doing something normal, when the weatherman finished his report and the anchor came back on.

My ears pricked up at the sound of my name. Then all the blood drained from my face as I listened to the report.

"And in local news," the man on the TV was saying, "Police are on the lookout for a man named Asher Fenwood, who is believed to be involved with the ongoing appearance of twenty-three year old Denver teacher, Olivia Mason."

Two images flashed onto the screen. The first was me, the professional-looking headshot I'd given my school to use in the yearbook.

The other was a grainy cell phone image. Asher stood in Terry's Place, his brow furrowed, his hands shoved menacingly into his pockets.

"Again, Asher Fenwood is wanted for questioning after the missing woman's roommate came home to find her missing. A reward of $5000 is being offered by Miss Mason's father, in the event of any information that could lead to her whereabouts."

Asher and I stared at each other.

We were already on the run from werewolves.

And now the cops were looking for us, too.

Now what?