Her True Mate

Present Day Kaitlin’s POV Silence. I desperately wanted the empty ringing in my ears that true silence brings as I lay half awake, attempting to lull myself back toward a dream I can’t quite remember now. The droning hum of the fan set my teeth on edge, and my eyes felt like sandpaper had brushed against them while I was asleep. Fück. Slamming my hands down next to me, I sigh at the ceiling, squeezing my eyes shut to make them water and lubricate themselves. This is not how I wanted to wake up yet again. Keeping up a squinting rhythm that moistens my eyes, I reluctantly bring my hands to my face and rub hard. The gesture makes me more conscious, and I groan in frustration. When was the last time I slept more than a few hours? I took a deep breath, and my lungs filled with a sterile, unfamiliar scent. I immediately bolted out of bed, not quite remembering where I was. My breathing was quick as I rapidly scanned my surroundings. I was in an upscale hotel room. Blinking a few times, the haze of exhaustion wore off enough to remember that I was in Boston with my Beta for this stupid Alpha Conference. My breathing evened out slightly. Relaxing back into the stiff, overly bleached sheets, I sighed, trying to calm my racing heart. That hum from the fan again stuck its annoying chorus back into my brain, and I found myself grinding my teeth again. Silence—that’s all I have craved these last few weeks, but it has eluded me, and I can’t seem to catch a break. Now stuck here, I feeling it will only get worse. Recently, my life has been a chaotic nightmare I can’t escape. My title, my friends, my family… Mom, Dad, Marc, Sara, Peter… As I mentally recited their names, a small, rattled breath shook me from the sorrow that had once again wormed its way back into my heart, and I cleared my throat. Stop Kaitlin. Not today; do not let it win. I have survived all this for months, and I will continue to make it through without breaking down yet again. I counted to ten in my head and took another big inhale. It helped. Barely. I reached over to the nightstand, looking for my watch. I grasped the cool metal in my fingers and turned the face towards me, 03:23 AM. Dammit, I only came to my room around 11:45 last night and crawled into bed not long after. I unclenched my jaw, realizing I was grinding my teeth, forcing a minor headache, and sighed, falling back onto the bed and stretching out my tight jaw muscles. Staring up at the white ceiling, I could only hear my thoughts and that damned hum. Why can’t they make hotel air conditioners less annoying? You know what’s funny? Before this shitstorm that my life has turned into, I prayed for these things to be louder. Loud enough to drown out the sounds of guests talking way too loud in the next room or their TVs blaring, or to mask the stomping from the floors above when I lay awake from them and not my pathetic thoughts. I used to love traveling. I craved it. The joy of being in one place and then in another entirely different place in a few hours sent my soul into pure bliss. I also loved people-watching, making up grand adventures for them while waiting for connecting flights or transportation and trying different foods and drinks that made a place unique. There is something magical about that. Of course, that all came crashing down a few weeks ago. My dreams, joys, and everything else that made my life good were taken from me without warning. I rolled over, trying to bury my face in the too-soft pillows and force myself back to sleep to escape my thoughts. Unable to get comfortable, I grabbed them and pounded my fist into them to make them firm. Like that would fücking help the limp things. Sighing again, I laid there face down, stiff as a board, repeating “GO TO FÜCKING SLEEP” over and over in my head with no luck. I couldn’t seem to catch a break. Waking up was as irritating as the insomnia that I couldn’t shake. Groaning, I roll back over and tug the sheets over my head. My body hurt from the long flight from the Southern Packs, who wanted to do business with us. Finding a comfortable position to settle in was tough, and I tossed the sheets off and on. I should have moved around in my seat more. First class isn’t more comfortable if you don’t move around. I was pinned in my seat, though, lost in thought as my Beta kept sending me nervous glances out of the corner of his eye. I understood why. He was still trying to understand the emotional outbursts I sometimes let slip past my mental shields into our unique Alpha/Beta bond. He is the perfect second, but sometimes, I wish he would return to being my best friend and not just my Beta. Irritation and hurt have been at the forefront of my endless range of feelings, which have caused me to lash out more than a time or two. He was actively trying to avoid a confrontation, and I couldn’t blame him. Pulling the sheets closer to my chin, I grab the locket on my chest with my other hand. Stroking the warm metal in my palm, I didn’t fight the memory pulling me in. ---- FLASHBACK ---- “Kaitlin!” I heard my name shouted across the large bar. Turning toward the familiar voice, I saw my family crowded around a high-top table. Sara, Mark, and Peter were already there, waving like lunatics at me. I smiled and waved back. I made my way through the crowd of bodies, pushing gently until I could reach them. Peter immediately grabbed me and picked me up in his signature hug, spinning us around. “Why, hello!” I laughed, squeezing him tightly. My smile was so wide that my cheeks hurt. After grunting slightly from the force of his hug, he finally set me down gently, not immediately letting go. “Hello, stranger!” His baritone voice rings in my ears. “I’ve missed you.” He says a bit quieter before pulling away as Sara attempts to get my attention. I shove down any apologies and mutter, “I’ve missed you too,” before I turn to her. Sara reaches across the table with my favorite IPA, “The fücking bar staff in this place sucks tonight, Kait. They couldn’t get your beer right.” She started. “Now, don’t blame them, Sara. You also said, ‘I want the IPA,’ but forgot to clarify which IPA!” Mark exclaimed while he imitated her poorly. Sara glared at Mark. I quickly worked to diffuse the situation. “Luckily, she has you to save the day! Hi, darling,” I said to Mark, leaning over to hug him. He beams at me and looks lovingly at Sara before whispering something in her ear. Sara blushes and rolls her eyes. “So, which beer did they bring you?” I asked Mark, chuckling to myself at her embarrassment that was more than likely a very dirty promise. He’s been on this kick of trying new beers each weekend, and it looks like tonight is no different. “Some double IPA out of Houston? Double-something, you’d love it, sis!” I take the can. Its side shows an image of a saint holding a beer stein in one hand and some poker chips in the other; it looks cool. I take a small sip and moan. “Wow! It’s so smooth that it could be dangerous. Better watch out; I might steal that from you.” I chuckled darkly as he snatched back his beer, eyes wide in a possessive gesture. “Easy, Gollum, I have my precious,” I tease, and Mark shoves me gently. “Nerd.” “Yep, and you love it!” I grin and look around. This bar finds the coolest shït from local places all over the country, and they bring it in once a month for a craft sampler weekend. It’s a brilliant idea. I am secretly jealous of it, and I wish I had invested when they asked for backers a while ago. The turnout is always impressive. “Have you heard from him?” I was startled at the low question over my shoulder that I spilled a bit. “Shït! Sorry, Kait,” Peter looked at me with concern. I shook my head subtly. “I’m fine, and no,” I said. Unable to keep his gaze any longer, I dabbed the spilled beer from my jeans. I dragged my eyes around the bar when nothing was left, pushing back the tears, fighting to break through. I don’t want to talk or even think about it anymore. I am not going to let him affect me. I’ve made up my mind about it, and I need to stick to it. How can you get answers when the one you need to answer them vanishes into thin air? I return my attention to my brother as my hackles start to rise. Mark and Sara are grinning ear to ear at me. It isn’t very comforting and more terrifying than anything else. “What the hell is wrong with you two?” I say as my guard goes up. Before I can look for Peter, something cold slides down my neck, and I quickly reach up my throat to stop it. Looking down at whatever it is, my guard is still high, but what I see shocks me. My damned tears start up once more. It’s an incredible locket on a delicate chain. I look up suddenly, eyes wide. “We wanted you to have something from all of us before you leave!” Sara practically screams at me. Peter chuckles from behind me, secures the clasp, and gently pulls my hair from under the chain. It falls ideally below my collarbones. I felt the tears slide down my face in joy over the small but extremely thoughtful gift. “NOPE! Absolutely fücking not, sis. I am not putting up with another damned drop from your eyeballs!!” I snapped my stunned eyes at him as my tears immediately halted, dried up with the command he let slip through his sentence. He grimaces, “Sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!” “Mark Wyatt Hamil! How dare you let your Alpha Command out on your sister!” Sara whispered angrily at him. She sometimes frightens me when angry, and Mark is cowering beneath her Luna aura. “Oh fück, here we go,” Pete mutters and shoves my shoulder with his, turning my attention away from the ass-chewing that’s about to go down.