Runaway Mate
1768 Words
[Ryder]
The weather outside mirrored my mood, grey skies and distant thunder rolling as I sat at my desk, thumbing through the reports Elvis had brought me earlier. We would be leaving for London any day from now and his voice was a low hum in the background, the words mostly meaningless as my mind drifted elsewhere.
To her.
Celeste.
My mate—an omega no less. She didn't feel the mate bond and part of me was relieved for that. If she could, a rejection would sting far worse. I had no intention of marking her but that didn't mean I wanted to reject her either. Even if I did, I would likely be given another mate in the future and I didn't want that. I couldn't trust a woman enough to simply fall into her lap and building the bond was out of the question since marking her would pass on my curse.
Then there was the other problem. Not rejecting Celeste would be selfish because it would be impossible for her to find a second chance mate while having lingering ties with me.
She couldn't even feel the bond and seemed better off living as a human. Maybe I was doing her a favour?
'Now I'm just trying to justify my selfishness.' I mentally scolded.
I still wasn't sure how to feel about the whole situation. Elvis was even more surprised than me to hear about my not-so-little mate. Now he was rambling on about flight arrangements, the weather and our travelling plans.
A soft knock interrupted us. My head snapped toward the door.
Celeste.
It couldn't be anyone else, after all, she was the only other person inside the house.
"Come in," I called, setting the papers aside.
The door opened slowly, and there she was. Celeste stood framed in the doorway, her face unreadable as she hesitated just long enough to remind me how hesitant she could be. But she came in anyway, and as she stepped into the room, my eyes were drawn to her clothes.
She was dressed in a plain white tee and sweatpants, both two sizes too big. I recognized them as spares we kept in the mansion. They were mine—unused, but the thought of her wearing my clothes stirred something unexpected in me.
A frustrated grunt left my throat knowing it was the mate bond acting up, trying to make me possessive of her.
The clothes shouldn't have looked as good on her, but they did. Damn it, she could've worn a sack and still looked like she'd stepped off the cover of some magazine. Her body was lean and toned, and her posture was impossibly graceful, her expression unreadable.
She was beautiful in a way that felt almost ethereal but not completely delicate in the way many imagined an omega should be—
But then, my gaze drifted to her wrists.
The memory of that moment in the corridor lingered—the way she flinched when I slammed my hand against the wall—it wasn't just a surprise. It was the kind of reaction you only see in someone who expects to be hit, who braces for impact before it even comes.
Had someone been hitting her back in her pack? The thought enraged me. I wasn't the kind of man who lost control often, but the idea of someone laying a hand on her... was infuriating.
She acted bold, sure. Confident. Defiant, even. But it was just a front, a mask to keep others from seeing how vulnerable she really was. I saw through it, though. The bruises on her skin didn't lie, and neither did the faint, almost hidden scars on her wrist. Scars that proved she'd tried to end her own life before.
What kind of hell had she lived through to reach that point to see death as an escape?
And then there was me who knew nothing about her but dared to speak like she was nothing—calling her a weak omega and a pack reject. She didn't react at the time, but I knew they hurt her. I could see it in the way her jaw tightened, in the slight tremor in her grip.
I wasn't usually so hotheaded. It wasn't my style to lash out like that, but seeing her wearing that damned symbol sparked frustration in my heart.
It was the emblem of my old pack.
The Midnight Pack.
The pack that had been wiped out years ago, slaughtered to the last wolf. All except me—
Seeing it again, after so many years, had thrown me back into memories I'd spent a lifetime trying to bury. The blood, the screams, the overwhelming sense of helplessness as I watched my family and friends be torn apart. And then her, standing there with that emblem like it was nothing more than a piece of jewellery.
If she was a descendant, it could only mean she came from a deserter—someone who'd abandoned us before the m******e, likely a criminal.
But she hadn't commented on my eyes when I tried to draw out a reaction. Golden eyes were a trait unique to the Midnight Pack and yet, she said nothing. Didn't ask. Didn't flinch. She simply looked confused.
Could she really be that oblivious?
The more I thought about it, the more questions piled up in my mind
"Mr. Ryder," she said, approaching my desk casually.
I gestured toward the chair across from me. "Sit."
She did so, lowering herself onto the seat with that same wary grace, her hands folding neatly in her lap.
"I take it you're ready to talk," I said, keeping my tone neutral.
"Yes," she replied, her gaze meeting mine. "I want to explain the necklace's origin though I doubt it would be of any significance."
I arched a brow. "And what changed your mind since this morning?"
"I need to get back to my pack before the storm hits," she said plainly. "And I wanted to have it back."
Her honesty caught me off guard. She wasn't begging or pleading like I'd expected.
"Then you'd better give me a good reason to hand it over," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Because my decision depends entirely on your story." I eyed Elvis who was standing next to the door, wanting him to read whether her next set of words would be lies.
She nodded, inhaling deeply before she began.
"The necklace wasn't mine originally," she said. "It belonged to my guardian. He gave it to me the night he died. Hunters were after us. He told me to run while he stayed behind to fight them off."
Guardian, not her father. They weren't related unless he'd have been referred to as an uncle or relative. My curiosity piqued, but I kept my expression blank.
"This guardian of yours," I needed to confirm, "was he your father or relative?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "We weren't related, but... he was the closest thing I ever had to a father." Her voice faltered slightly and her eyes shut briefly.
I gave her a few seconds before continuing. "And he didn't tell you where he got it?"
"No," she admitted, her fingers tightening in her lap. "He only said it was important to him, and that I had to keep it safe."
The more she spoke, the more questions I had. Elvis gave a slight nod as proof of sensing no lies. We couldn't communicate telepathically because of the curse.
"And where did he find you?" I asked, leaning forward. "Your origin?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she replied. "He said I was abandoned. He found me when I was a baby."
"Your story's a bit... convenient, don't you think?" I said.
She didn't flinch. If anything, her gaze hardened. "It's the truth. Believe it or not, Mr. Ryder, but now you understand why I want the necklace back. It's important to me." She said sharply.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her carefully as she finished her story. The subject seemed like a touchy one, maybe that was why she didn’t answer at first. Although her words seemed truthful, something felt off—it was too convenient, too perfect. Still, she wasn't lying; even Elvis's subtle nod confirmed it.
"I see," I said at last, straightening my posture. "Thank you for sharing. However, I'll be keeping the necklace. The symbol is important to me, and without more information, I can't let it go."
Her eyes narrowed in annoyance but she didn't argue. Instead, she pushed her chair back abruptly, the screech of its metal legs against the tile sharp and jarring.
"Fine," she said stiffly, standing. "If that's all, I'd like to leave now. While I still can."
Elvis flinched at the sound of the chair but stepped aside to escort her out. She didn't glance back as she passed him. I watched her go, though something in my gut told me this wouldn't be the last time we crossed paths.
Once I broke my curse, maybe, I'd seek her out again. Somehow, I knew we were far from done with one another. "The Silvermoon pack, huh?" I muttered, scribbling the name down. After shaking off the lingering thoughts, I returned to the papers on my desk.
Tonight, at least, there was something to look forward to. For the first time in years, I wouldn't need to chain myself up during the full moon. Selina's talisman would suppress my wolf form and keep Malik at bay. The prospect left me feeling lighter than I had in months.
The gentle patter of the rain outside was interrupted when Elvis burst into my study, his face pale and panicked.
"What now?" I asked, irritated by the sudden intrusion.
"The talisman," he said, voice tight. "It's gone. She must've taken it," he blurted. "The girl—Celeste."
A low and disbelieving laugh escaped me as I slapped one hand over my forehead. Of course, she had. I should've known. She didn't look like the type that would easily let go of something as important as that necklace unless she had a plan.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I glanced at the wall clock. Six p.m.
In six hours, my wolf, Malik would take over. If I didn't get that talisman back in time, everyone nearby would be in danger, and blood would be spilt.
"You got me, Celeste," I muttered, grabbing my coat as my expression turned serious. "But I hope you know what you're doing."
- Writer
