Adam was in a good mood for a change. He walked with a light spring in his step, leaning into a happiness so rare, he almost did not recognize the emotion. His pack was stable and well balanced. His daughter Jesse was finally in a good headspace since the divorce (no thanks to his ex, but he was not going to think about her and spoil his good mood). And his company was running like a well-oiled machine. But none of those things factored into his current mood. Nope. He could admit – to himself at least – that his current cheerfulness was the direct result of one little coyote.
He loved her; he had recently admitted it to himself. And so he was pursuing her. Oh, she did not know she was being pursued. No good predator would allow his prey to catch scent of him so early in the hunt. Besides, he knew if he was to have any chance of winning Mercy, he was going to need to slowly insert himself into her life. The wolf in him wanted to claim her and mark her, but he understood that move was a sure way to send Mercy running, losing any chance he had with her.
He knew her history with werewolves. Bran had called to discuss Mercy before relocating Adam and his pack to the Tri-Cities. But even before Bran had called, tales of Mercedes Thompson spread far and wide amongst the werewolves. No one gossiped like a werewolf. Adam knew she felt poorly used by Samuel and tossed aside by Bran. Her history with werewolves had left her bitter and gun-shy towards his kind, so he could not do what he wanted to do, which was to grab her and kiss her and make her his in every way - mind, body and soul.
Instead, he found reasons to visit her and chat with her . . . like today for instance, he had stopped by her shop to discuss . . . some nonsense about that damn car she had parked on the property between his house and hers. The reason for the visit was irrelevant. He was keeping himself in the forefront of her mind. Today, she was playfully irritable, using her biting humor to skirt close to the line of disrespectful without actually crossing it. She'd argued and snarked and refused to acquiesce. He had loved every moment.
He had left the garage practically vibrating with need and desire . . . and yes, happiness. He'd gone for a run to burn off some of the excess energy to help get his wolf (and let's be honest, himself) under some sense of regulation. Now, here he was hours later, walking down the street of downtown on his way to pick up a late dinner for himself, practically skipping down the sidewalk.
At first when he heard her laugh, he thought he was imagining it. He stopped short, inhaling the air, and glancing around. It took him a moment to locate her but then he saw her. She was standing several yards in front of him outside of her favorite Mexican restaurant. Mercy wasn't dressed in her usual jeans and greasy t-shirt. She was wearing shorts which showed off her tone legs and a blousy top which swayed with the light breeze of the evening. Her hair was brushed out, falling loosely past her shoulders. Staring at her, he felt his breath catch and his heart thump against his chest.
And then he noticed her companion . . .
He had been so distracted by Mercy, he nearly missed the man standing beside her. Adam watched as the man reached out and placed his hand on Mercy's arm, directing her attention. Then they moved forward, following a hostess holding menus.
Adam's wolf went into a rage. Adam fought against the change as the wolf demanded to come out, demanded the right to go tear the interloper apart in front of all these people out and about so everyone would know she was HIS. Tamping down the wolf was the struggle of his life because a large part of Adam agreed with the wolf. He also wanted to crush the man who touched Mercy. He, man and beast both, wanted to rip his arm off and beat him with it.
He managed to stumble into a side alley. He leaned against the wall, taking gasping breaths, sweat pouring down his back as he worked on putting the wolf back down. As Adam battled with his wolf, he realized hewas not only angry at the young man who dared to touch her, he was furious at Mercy. How dare she? How could she allow some man – any man touch her? And she was smiling at him – and she had laughed at something he said . . .
Adam collapsed to his knees as another wave of fury hit him like a semi. She on a date with someone? How could she? Didn't she know what going on a date with a man would do to Adam? Didn't she understand what she meant to him?
And in a flash, his anger towards Mercy vanished. Of course she didn't know. He had been careful to not tell her or show her. Since she refused to cede any part of her safety or well-being to him, the situation between them was verging on adversarial. She certainly would never suspect his true feelings for her. He had no claim over her; Mercy could date whomever she wished.
Mercy could date whomever she wished, he repeated. He let that thought bounce around inside his head for a minute as he got the wolf under better regulation. She could date, fall in love, marry anyone lucky enough to be chosen by her. It made his heart hurt but the idea also helped steady him. He had no claim to her, regardless of what his heart or his wolf believed.
Finally under control, he stepped out of the alley. With no sense of self-preservation, he found himself seeking out Mercy and her date. He allowed his eyes to wander over the crowded patio but did not immediately spot her. He knew he should turn around and walk away, get as far away from Mercy and her date as possible. Seeing her enjoying the company of another man would only hurt. And if Mercy caught him spying on her . . .
But he did not have the will power to leave, not until he saw her one last time. Fuck, he really did have a streak of masochism, didn't he. He shook himself, getting a better grip on himself and putting on his business face. Being on the same street as Mercy while she was on a date was a coincidence; he was on this street to get his dinner, after all. He strode forward, outwardly looking casual and slightly distant. Inside, he felt tense and hyper-focused. He allowed his eyes to travel around, scanning for Mercy.
And then he heard her laugh again – a laugh he had never heard from her – at least not directed at him or anything he'd said or done. A full body laugh one can only do when one is truly at ease and happy.
His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He slowly turned in the direction of the sound until his eyes lay upon her. Mercy was sitting at an outside dining table, her head thrown back in laughter. The man was sitting across from her, chuckling at whatever bullshit thing he had said to her.
Adam realized he was panting and dripping in sweat. He needed to leave – now. As he turned to go, he realized Mercy was looking at someone sitting to her left – there was someone sitting to her left. Someone other than the man was sitting at Mercy's table. Feeling ridiculous but needing a closer look, Adam glued himself against the wall of the building next to the restaurant and tried to get a better look.
Mercy's voice, the voice he knew so well, cut through the noises of the street, "You tell a funny story Sis, but that is NOT how I remember it!"
Adam stopped short. Sis. Sister . . . the woman at the table had to be one of Mercy's sisters. He knew Mercy had two half-sisters, but he'd never met either of them. The woman sitting with Mercy did not resemble Mercy at all, but her half-sisters were both white on white, lacking Mercy's paternal native heritage. He took a closer look at the man sitting with them and noticed he was holding the other woman's hand under the table. So he must be the sister's boyfriend . . . sister, sister's boyfriend . . . not a date.
He was flooded with a relief so intense he had to work not to stagger. Mercy was not on a date with someone. Shaking his head at his own absurdity, he turned and hustled across the street. The last thing he needed was to be seen by Mercy. He could only imagine what she would make of him in his current state, irritable, agitated and covered in sweat. He would grab his take-away and get himself home before he did something stupid.
The next morning, Adam woke up in a foul mood. Last night had shaken Adam to his core. In all the time he had lived in the Tri-Cities, and even before if Bran was to be believed, Mercy had not been in a relationship, serious or otherwise. She had not even gone on dates. Adam had taken for granted that he could take his time in pursuing Mercy; she was not going anywhere with anyone else. But now . . . now he was not so confident. Mercy was beautiful and fierce and funny and loyal and brave and . . . he knew he was not the only one who saw her. Hell, even the fucking vampire who drove around in that ridiculous van obviously admired her – or more.
Now, one thought incessantly drummed through his head, making it ache. Yes, Mercy was unattached and available – for now. Even though she was not on a date last evening did not mean she would never go on a date with someone. She was free to date whomever she wished. Anyone. Someone other than Adam. Including members of his pack. That thought had never crossed his mind before. What if Mercy started dating one of his pack?
And suddenly, he knew. He knew. Mercy was his mate. His wolf snorted at such an obvious declaration. Adam was struck by how right the statement sounded. Mercy. Was. His. Mate. He – wolf and man alike – claim Mercy as his.
He could not wipe out all of his rivals for Mercy – he had to reiterate that statement several times before the wolf in him reluctantly agreed. But he could ensure that none of his wolves bothered Mercy. He left the word "bothered" up for interpretation. He would make his claim on her clear to them in a way they could not refuse. Adam knew how Mercy would feel about him, or any man for that matter, marking her as his but his wolf would not be denied. He would announce Mercy as his mate to his pack and then begin to court her in earnest.
His wolf settled into the rightness of the decision. Adam whistled softly as he typed the text message to his pack – "Meeting tonight. 8pm. Mandatory." He felt a deep satisfaction as he hit send. Mercy was one step closer to being his – his and no one else's.