My Mate (B×B)

Chapter 2

Torin’s POV

Every year, the Thanksgiving meal was held at the pack house. For as long as I could remember, my mother had been in charge of making sure dinner was prepared. The pack house buzzed with activity in the days leading up to the holiday.

The feast was mostly prepared by Omegas, who also decorated the house. We didn’t volunteer because we were treated differently or forced; we volunteered because it was who we were. Omegas gained a sense of accomplishment from contributing to the pack. We abhorred violence and conflict, so we left border patrol and any task requiring muscle to the others.

Mom didn’t get home until early the day before Thanksgiving to ensure everyone was dressed appropriately. Melvin was usually sent back up to his room to change. Jeans and shirts were his idea of casual formal—it was practically his daily uniform. I once overheard Mom praying to the Goddess to bless him with a Mate who would shop for him. By now, I assumed she was just praying for a Mate in general.

Melvin was twenty-four, and after six years without a Mate, he had given up. He was an outcast, and unlike me, he chose it. Though he could have moved into the pack house like most unmated wolves, he stayed home, claiming it was calmer, even if Mom constantly nagged.

I was fairly certain that if I didn’t find my Mate soon, I’d be staying home as well. Not that I disliked people—it was more that they didn’t like me.

Mom tapped her foot anxiously by the entrance, dusting off Dad’s shirt. Her red curls fell loosely around her shoulders, and she wore an emerald green dress that dipped just past her knees. When Dad remarked on how wonderful she looked, her face flushed crimson. She slapped his arm and adjusted his collar instead of thanking him. Mom was naturally beautiful, though she rarely dressed up, usually wearing her chef outfit with a messy bun.

Melvin’s heavy footsteps announced his descent, dressed in khakis and an ironed button-down. Mom had planned ahead, and his clothing was ready. He frowned beneath his long beard, appearing uneasy. I envied him—my chin hadn’t grown a single hair.

“As you can see, you’ve improved your appearance. Let’s get started!” Mom urged, pushing us out the door.

“I have the appearance of a Mormon,” Melvin groaned as he slid into the backseat with me, though he didn’t really. He still appeared like any other higher-ranking wolf—just twice my size in muscle.

I glanced down self-consciously and slipped on my blue sweater. Mom didn’t care what I wore, and I was grateful to wear my Converse this year. By the end of the night, something usually got spilled on me.

“Wait!” Mom cursed as she got into the front seat after hearing me yell.

“I completely forgot about my apple pie.” I didn’t mean to offend.

“Don’t scare me like that; I expected something significant,” Mom sighed.

“But—”

“There’ll be plenty of pie there, Sweetie,” she said before telling Dad how many beers he could have.

I pouted in the backseat, staring out the window. Since I was twelve, I’d prepared an apple pie every year. With Mom at the pack house, the kitchen was mine alone, calm and quiet. Each year, I’d place my pie among the others, and Jason Williams always ate it first. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten.

Dad parked the SUV alongside a row of other vehicles. Monthly pack meets had made us accustomed to large gatherings, though the holiday crowd was always bigger. I wondered if the Alpha had invited anyone special this year. Last year, another Alpha family had attended, including a small puppy with a fascination for blades and an odd demeanor.

“Now,” Mom said once we exited the vehicle. Melvin and I exchanged glances, recalling her speech from past years.

“I don’t mind if you go hang out with the other puppies your age, but remember who raised you,” she said, mainly to me. Last year it had been a pitcher of sweet tea, and the year before that, the urn housing Luna’s grandfather—dreadful memories.

After respectfully greeting the Alpha Pair, Mom whisked Dad away to greet guests while Melvin settled in the den to watch the game. I paused at the entrance, surveying a crowded room of males shouting at the TV and jostling each other. Melvin, quiet as ever, sat alone in front of the television—a place to avoid.

I skirted the older Wolves chatting and headed to the back deck. Puppies ran in the yard, and teens lounged on the deck, just as I had imagined.

I took a deep breath, rubbed my sweater, and slid open the glass door. I didn’t expect anyone to look up, but I hadn’t counted on it. My gaze fell on Jason Williams’ muscular back. He wore navy slacks and a matching blazer, as he did every year. We seemed designed for one another, unintentionally matching.

I smiled widely and moved toward the group, ignoring the nervous flutters in my stomach.

“Hi!” I mentally slapped myself for seeming too eager. Everyone looked up briefly, then returned to their conversations.

“Ugh, hi, Louis,” Jason said, making my smile reappear. Hearing my name from him always delighted me. I stood, unsure of what to say—or what I wanted to say. I longed to pull him down and kiss him, but that wasn’t happening—at least, not until my birthday.

“Look at you, runt, you haven’t spilled anything yet,” Bradon teased, fiddling with the collar under my sweater. Bradon was Jason’s spoiled, manipulative best friend, a true jerk. My earliest memory of him was being chased with a bucket of mud until I was drenched, rinsed with the hose, and sent home in tears to Mom.

“Come on, leave the kid alone,” Jason said lightly. Before following my future Mate inside, Bradon flicked my nose.

I sighed, watching everyone oblivious to my existence. With nowhere else to sit, I perched on the stairwell to the backyard and watched the dogs play. I only got to play like this with Melvin’s reluctant permission, and even then, only in our own backyard.

It was pointless to try to chat with anyone else, so I waited until the food was ready. With the crowd too large for one room, the meal was served buffet-style.

As expected, chaos ensued. A puppy collided with my leg, sending me into a table. Rolling to recover, I hit a broken picture frame, feeling tiny shards of glass cut my side. Luckily, no one mocked me while the dinner was being prepared.

“Clean that up!” someone yelled. I fetched a broom.

By the time I finished, everyone had plates and were sitting with friends and family. Mom fussed over a female about the stuffing in the dining room, where the main table had been replaced with long buffet tables. She glanced at me briefly but focused mostly on the food.

“Are you serious, Louis?” she grumbled.

“Go fetch your father’s car keys; I’ve put extra clothes in the trunk for you.” I noticed a dark patch on my sweatshirt from the blood I hadn’t realized had seeped through.

When I found Dad, he was guzzling a beer with relatives, clearly wanting to finish before Mom returned. He handed me the keys with a disapproving shake of his head, a gesture I was used to from him… and everyone else.

Mom had not just one, but three extra sets of clothes in the trunk. I felt a pang of sadness—aware no one expected much from me. Unless it involved breaking something or making a mess, I fit nowhere, not even among the Omegas. Perhaps I shouldn’t be excited for my birthday. If the Alpha expelled me, I’d be forced to live with humans, since no pack would accept me. I wasn’t strong, bright, or particularly helpful. Cleaning usually made a bigger mess, and I couldn’t cook without setting something on fire.

Was there anything I was genuinely good at?

I sighed, realizing the cuts on my side were still gushing—glass remained in my skin. This wasn’t going to be a simple clothing swap.

The deafening boom of an engine pulled my gaze up. I had just removed my sweatshirt and buttoned my shirt. Cars weren’t my thing, but the sleek black muscle car was unmistakable—a collectible vintage model.

As it slowed and stopped alongside me, I held my shirt to my chest, bracing myself.