Fate of A Human Mate

Claire

Raw, searing, pain rips through me as I start to wake.

The crash.

The man in the road.

A whimper escapes me before I can stop it. Every bone feels shattered, my muscles torn apart.

I remember the car swerving, flipping, then crashing. Darkness took me before I could process anything.

Where am I?

Groaning, I force my eyes open, I realize I’m lying in the softest bed I’ve ever felt.

Log walls surround me, draped with maroon and gold tapestries. Thick curtains make it hard for my eyes to adjust.

Something fresh and wild mixes with the scent of burning wood from a fire in the corner. Memories of my mom lighting the fireplace in my bedroom surface.

Did she find me and bring me here?

Disappointment sinks into me as the door creaks open, but it’s not my mom standing in the doorway.

My stomach clenches as the scent of fresh pine and dark musk begins to flow through the room.

Trying to stay as still as possible, I squeeze my eyes shut.

I never thought I’d actually be wishing to see my mom again.

Who is this man? Why did he bring me here?

“Humans, always wander where they don’t belong.” His deep voice sends a strange calm through me as he mutters under his breath.

Human.

Mom always became strangely tense whenever people used that word.

A comforting heat rolls off of his body, smothering the panic as he moves closer. As he kneels beside the bed, the mattress dips from his weight. I fight the urge to breath him in.

“I know you’re awake. You can stop pretending.”

I slowly open my eyes and see he’s already walked across the room. His back to me, he rummages through a dresser.

He’s easily over six-foot-five, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the lamp he turns on.

Muscles ripple under his tanned skin as he digs through the drawers.

“Can you sit up?” he asks, pulling clothing from a drawer. “I can bring food if you’re hungry.”

Food is the last thing I care about right now.

“How did I get here? What happened?” Stabbing pain radiates through my ribs with every word.

“You were in a wreck, so I brought you here.”

My pulse spikes as an exhale, laced with irritation, escapes his chest. “Now, can you sit up?”

He brought me here? Not a hospital?

This is wrong.

Confusion and irritation swirl in my chest as I try to process what’s happening.

“I need you to explain why you didn’t take me to a hospital!” My words come out louder than I intend, surprising me.

He turns sharply and quickly moves to the bedside. “I need you, to explain what you were doing in my territory.”

Light blinds me as he flips the lamp on beside me. His aggressive movements cause me to flinch.

As my eyes focus, I forget to breathe… Those eyes.

I take in his bright blue eyes, chiseled jaw and sculpted, almost unreal, body.

The anger in his face disappears as it softens. He pauses, watching me, like he’s seen a ghost.

A vibration flows through my body as something deep inside me pulls towards him.

Watching each other, we both exhale in unison.

“Are you in pain?” The irritation in his voice gone, replaced with sincerity.

“Yes,” I whisper before I can stop myself. “My chest and my head hurt.”

Why am I telling him this?

“You broke a few ribs and have a concussion.” Kneeling beside the bed, without touching me, his body emits a warmth that eases the aching in my chest. “Try standing, getting you in a warm shower might help.”

He reaches his hand toward me, and I start to take it. But I recoil as my mind brings me back to reality.

Right. Stranger in the woods. Definitely safe.

“I don’t need your help,” I snap. “Let me go. Now.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “By all means.” He gestures toward the door with a sweep of his arm, sending another drift of pine and musk my way.

Heat floods through me. What is wrong with me?

The image of him catching me, pulling me into that huge chest, flashes across my mind, and heat curls low in my stomach.

His voice brings me out of my fantasy. “I’m Logan. And you are…?”

“Claire,” I stammer.

“It’s nice to meet you, Claire.” Hearing my name on his lips sends a strange heat through me.

No. No swooning. Focus.

He watches with a half‑smile, as though he hears my thoughts.

I square my shoulders. “Tell me where I am and how to get to the nearest town.”

“This is my cabin,” he says nonchalantly. “I use it when I need space. I found you on the road and brought you here.”

Great. So, I’m in the woods with a stranger who collects unconscious girls.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’m showering. You can draw me a map so I can leave.”

“Is that what I’m going to do?” His tone is full of amusement.

He might think that he has me, but I was able to avoid my mother’s security cameras, I can get away from him too.

“Back up,” I warn. The power in giving orders feels intoxicating after a lifetime of receiving orders.

Logan freezes.

Confusion flashes across his face.

For a heartbeat, it looks like he’s fighting himself.

Then he steps back.

His jaw tightens.

Why does he look as surprised as I feel?

My stomach twists.

Why did it seem like he didn’t have a choice?

Logan doesn’t seem like the kind of man who takes orders from anyone.

Pain tears through my body as I sit up. Logan twitches, moving toward me, but my glare freezes him in place. I slide my legs off the bed, forcing myself upright.

The world spins as my body screams for me to stop moving.

“See?” I gasp. “Fine.”

But I’m not. My knees buckle and the floor starts moving toward me.

Before I hit the ground, strong arms catch me. I’m pulled against solid heat, and the scent of pine fills my lungs.

As darkness begins to claim me, his arms tighten around me.

Something flickers across his face.

Recognition.

Shock.

“My mate.”