Warrior's human mate

Chapter 22

James

I probably wasn't in my right mind when I reached her, but I hugged her, picked her up, and spun her around. I half expected her to hit me and demand to be put down, but instead—she giggled. It was so da.mn cute. I set her down gently, beaming at her as she smiled back at me, her eyes shining.

"You are amazing!" I exclaimed.

"Thanks!" she replied, her usual humility returning, though I caught something deeper in her gaze—appreciation.

"Okay, big guy, let’s head home so you can enjoy your ‘wonderful’ sleep with your legs dangling over the arms of the sofa," she teased, smirking. She still didn’t believe me.

I sighed and shook my head. "I think you won this contest," I admitted slowly. I wanted to win so badly, but I had to bow my head to a true talent.

"Well, I can admit defeat when I see one. You got the loudest cheers and deafening screams," she said with a small, satisfied smile.

I exhaled, pushing down my disappointment. I guess I was a selfish ba.stard.

"Well then, how about we go to a restaurant? Maybe even hit a bar and celebrate your amazing performance with a cocktail?" I offered.

"Nah!" She waved dismissively. "I prefer home-cooked meal."

I shrugged. "Okay, as you wish."

As we walked toward the parking lot, she fell into step beside me.

"I liked the folk songs you sang. I just wish I understood the lyrics," I admitted.

"I can send you translated lyrics if you want," she offered, glancing at me.

I grinned. "You could do that… or you could translate them for me during dinner."

She hesitated before nodding. "I...could do that, though it will be harder for me. But fine."

"Great! Oh, and I have to confess—I didn’t recognize the two English songs you sang."

She looked at me in mild surprise. "No? You didn’t?"

"Nope. Sorry." I shook my head.

She shrugged. "It’s okay. They’re not exactly chart-toppers or anything."

"Though I think I’ve heard that Skyrim song about dragons..." I mused.

She laughed. "It’s about the Dragonborn, not dragons."

I frowned briefly. Whatever.

"Well, if you played the video game The Elder Scrolls, you would have heard," she added.

"Hmm!" I shook my head. "I haven’t played that one."

When we reached the car, I went around to her side and opened the door.

"Miss American Idol," I said with a bow.

She snorted. "Ha!"

I grinned and slid into the driver’s seat, revving the engine as I backed out of the parking spot. We drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes until she turned to me with another teasing smile.

Now that I think about it, she did that a lot. Could teasing me be her way of flirting? The thought made my chest warm, and my wolf practically preened under the idea.

"So… you cheated."

I frowned. "What?"

"This wasn’t an ‘off-the-beaten-path’ tour. You showed me exactly the opposite—the most popular places."

I winced inwardly. Yeah… guilty as charged.

"Well, you had to see these places first. I’m saving the hidden gems for later," I said smoothly. I didn’t want her to think I’d wasted her time. "Besides, I’m taking you on that hike next week. Remembaa?" I exaggerated the word in a British accent, mimicking how she’d once said it.

She smiled at that. "I have a route in mind where humans never hike," I added.

She turned her body toward me, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, I see... because you’re not counted as a human?"

I facepalmed myself inwardly. How had I missed that slip-up? I was so used to separating ‘humans’ from us that it just came out naturally.

"I mean…" I stuttered, glancing at her nervously.

Her eyes narrowed. If I didn’t handle this right, she’d get suspicious.

"I meant other humans, like tourists. The hike is on private land—my friend’s property. No one ever goes there," I said with as much confidence as I could muster. Which wasn’t a total lie. It was private land… just our private land. The pack’s. Wolves rarely went there since it was more of a retreat spot for families, but still.

She studied me for a second before nodding. "Ah, I see."

I exhaled in relief. Dodged that one.

She relaxed back in her seat. "Okay, I need you to swing by Walmart so we can grab stuff for dinner."

"Aye, aye, madam," I responded, grinning.

She shot me a blank look before dramatically changing her tone. "Dear James, could you please, oh, please take me to a grocery store? Please, please, pretty please?" she pleaded in an overly sugary, exaggerated voice.

I chuckled. I liked her playfulness. And damn, I wouldn’t mind her bossing me around in other settings aka bedroom. I felt my d***k twitch. Wrong turn of thoughts.

I cleared my throat. "With pleasure, my dear Laila."

I replied to her while she looked at me with a small, soft smile before turning her gaze back to the windshield.

Laila

As I slipped the key into my apartment door, I hesitated. A flutter of butterflies took off in my stomach, and something vibrated in my chest. Was it fear? Excitement?

Was I really going through with this bet—having James stay over for the night?

Speaking of the devil, he stood just behind me, his breath fanning my neck. A wave of goosebumps spread over my skin. I quickly pushed the door open and rushed inside, putting some distance between us. He followed close behind, carrying the grocery bags like the true gentleman he was.

I toed off my shoes, and he followed suit before carrying the bags into my small kitchenette.

"Well, make yourself at home—for today, at least." I announced loudly, shrugging off my jacket.

His back was to me, but I caught the slight nod of his head. As I hung my jacket on the hook, I turned to head for the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, I was very aware that James was in my apartment, just beyond the door. A ridiculous thought struck me—could he hear me peeing?

I frowned at myself. Of course, he can. These walls are paper-thin.

Shaking my head, I washed my hands and let out a quiet sigh. Why do I care? Why am I suddenly overthinking every little thing? Humans pee. Big deal. Chill, girl.

When I opened the door, I found him sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. The moment I stepped into the room, his gaze lifted to meet mine, and his face softened. A gentle smile curled at his lips.

Something melted in my chest, warmth spreading through me.

"I’m going to change, and then I’ll start cooking," I announced, reminding myself that he was my guest—and I had been raised to treat guests well.

"Okay," he said simply, nodding.

I retreated into my small bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind me. As I pulled out my home attire, a ridiculous thought popped into my mind.

What if he barged in while I was changing? What if he tried to seduce me?

Heat rushed to my face, and I all but ripped my clothes off, pulling on a simple black cotton dress with mid-length sleeves. Just in case, I reasoned.

My heart was racing. Was I being paranoid?

I shook my head. What is wrong with me? I never acted like this. Never overthought things to this extent.

Pulling on my yellow, knee-length socks—the soft, warm kind I loved—I tried to refocus. I hated being cold, which was why I had a whole collection of silly socks, some with cartoon characters or animal prints. Who cared what I looked like at home, right?

Well… now I have a guest. Maybe that’ll scare him off—phwahaha! I snorted to myself, amused by the silly thought.

Taking a deep breath, I willed myself to relax before stepping back out to face him.

Focus on the cooking. Forget about him. Food. Task. Dinner. Yes. That was my goal for the evening.

With renewed determination, I opened the door and stepped out, throwing a quick glance his way before heading into the kitchen.

I started unpacking the groceries, putting items in the fridge and cabinets.

Something about grocery shopping with James felt strangely… domestic. Like we were a couple, doing a routine shopping trip before making dinner together. Considering how much time I’d spent with him these past weeks, the thought wasn’t entirely far-fetched. The more experiences we shared, the more attached I became.

Little things like this only made the feeling stronger. Shaking myself free of the thought, I refocused on the order of cooking. Just as I was about to ask if he wanted something to drink, he beat me to it—offering to help instead.

James

I sat on her sofa, absently scrolling through my phone, but all my senses were locked on Laila.

I could hear her moving, breathing, the subtle shift in her heart rate. Hell, I could even differentiate whether she was taking clothes off or putting them on. It was as if every fiber of my being wasn’t just drawn to her—but tethered to her.

The moment I stepped into her apartment, my world narrowed to only her.

This was insane. An obsession. I needed to cool down before my thoughts spiraled and I did something stupid.

Of course, I was ho.rny as f***k, and being surrounded by her scent, her presence, her voice—it was like a bulldozer plowing through my self-control. I had to shift my focus. But to what? Even my phone wasn’t helping.

I cracked my neck on both sides, exhaling sharply. Stay cool.

She already suspected I was here just to get into her panties—I needed to prove her wrong. I need to prove her wrong about me, I chanted in my head.

But how could I, when she was right? Because all I wanted was to press her against the wall and take her all night. I clenched my fists. Different focus. Find a distraction.

I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling. Moon Goddess, help me. I felt desperate. Again. Always. Ever since I met her, I had been stuck in this endless war between my heart and my body. My mind knew the right thing to do, but my instincts were ready to betray me in a heartbeat.

The bedroom door opened, and I clenched my jaw.

She wore a dress that hugged her upper body just enough to showcase her curves, and those ridiculous yellow socks made me frown. Usually stylish, but this? This is just silly.

I cracked my knuckles and balled my fists. I can do this. I have to do this.

Then I slumped. I can’t. She walked past me and entered the kitchenette, completely unaware of the battle raging inside me.

A new thought hit me. Challenge myself. Yes, a challenge. A test of willpower. Can I stay away from her? Can I resist touching her, even though she’s right next to me?

Okay. If I win this challenge, what do I get? My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her unpacking groceries. I needed another distraction. Helping her was a good start. I stood and made my way to the kitchen.

"So, how can I help you?" I asked, making sure to sound cheerful.

She lifted her gaze from the bag with a blank expression.

"I don’t know. What can you do?" she asked, voice laced with skepticism. Did she think I couldn’t cook? …Well, unfortunately, she was right.

"I can peel veggies," I offered with a shrug.

She smiled. "Okay."

She went back to unpacking as I stood awkwardly, waiting for instructions.

"So, James," she began, placing some vegetables on the counter, "do you know how to cook?" She c****d her head slightly, amusement flickering in her eyes.

"Unfortunately… not really," I admitted. Her blank stare lasted a beat too long.

"But you call yourself an adult, right?" she asked, lips twitching like she was holding back a smirk.

I frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?" A sense of dread crept up my spine. I had a bad feeling about where this was going.

"In my opinion," she started, "an adult is someone who can completely take care of themselves. Cooking, cleaning, ironing, sewing a button back on—a fully independent person. Someone who has their own place and provides for themselves."

I clenched my jaw. Was she hinting at the fact that I still lived with my parents?

"If a person depends on others for these things," she taunted me, smirking now, "then they’re still a child. Because children are dependent."

I exhaled slowly and cleared my throat.

"Well, in my family and community, we divide tasks. Everyone does what they’re good at. I provide safety, and in return, I’m taken care of. And I live with my parents to save money—so that when I have a… wife, I can provide for her."

I spoke seriously, because it was serious. That’s how a pack functioned—like a beehive, each member fulfilling a role. And instead of "wife," I had almost said mate. But I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.

Laila frowned. "That’s… an interesting community you live in."

She was thinking. I could see it in the crease of her brows.

Then, suddenly, she leaned in slightly and whispered with wide eyes, "Is it a sect?"

My head snapped up. "No!"

Where the hell was she getting these ideas?

"First, you thought I was in the mafia. Now, a sect?" I asked, baffled.

"You live in an Amish-like community, and I’m the one with crazy ideas?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

I groaned. "Sure."

Laila exaggeratedly pouted her lips, her eyes wide with mock innocence, barely restraining an eye roll. Then she turned around, bending down to grab some pots and pans.

Her ass was right there. Goddess. I had to resist the urge to bite my fist.

"I’ll explain it to you soon, okay?" I said, my voice rougher than intended.

She straightened, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. "When?"

I hesitated. "I don’t know… When the moment feels right… when we get to know each other better."

Why did this feel like I was answering to a boss demanding a deadline? And I've never had such bosses. My Alpha trusted me a lot, so we had a more laid-back relationship.

She frowned but shrugged. "Whatever. I was just taunting you, anyway. It’s not like you owe me anything."

She turned to pull some drawers open while she took out several tools.

I took in her words. "I want to tell you everything."

She waved a hand dismissively, a knife in her other hand. "It’s fine. Doesn’t matter."

Be careful with that, girl.

She placed a peeler and knife on the counter. "Here. Peel the potatoes, carrots, and cucumbers, then cut them into pieces."

I puffed up my chest. "I can do that!" I declared in an exaggerated high-pitched voice.

She smiled—just a small one. My joke was not that funny, but I wanted to lighten the mood. And after being downgraded to a child in her eyes, I wanted to prove her somewhat wrong.

"Good," she nodded, turning back to the fridge.

For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to talk to me for the rest of the night.

But then—"You just sounded like Catherine Tate. Have you seen her show?"

I blinked. "No."

"It’s a UK comedy. There’s this lady who always says, ‘I can do that!’ to everything."

She mimicked another the voice. I hummed, peeling a potato, but my attention was split between the task and her.

"I like the one where someone needs to speak in seven different languages, but the translator cancels last minute. Catherine jumps in with her ‘I can do that,’ even though she doesn’t know a single foreign language," she said with a chuckle.

I hummed in response while peeling a potato, my focus locked on the task. Let’s just say it took... extra attention to handle small potatoes with my big hands. I shook my head, realizing I was even trying to look cooler in my own imagination.

Still, no matter how much I concentrated, I remained acutely aware of Laila’s every move. She washed her hands, grabbed her phone, and typed something.

"I’ll find it for you."

She pulled up a video, placed her phone next to me, and hit play. As I struggled with the damn carrots in my too-big hands, I half-watched, half-peeled. The skit was ridiculous—but funny. Laila mimicked the fake languages from the clip, clearly enjoying herself.

I chuckled. "Good one."

She turned to me with a bright smile. "Right?"

Such a ray of sunshine. Not completely mine. Not yet. She gave me her back again and chopped tomatoes. A silence settled as I kept peeling.

Then—"Do you wanna listen to music?"

"Sure. Whatever you like."

She raised an eyebrow, grinning mischievously. "Anything?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I brushed her off, hoping it wouldn’t be too harsh on my wolf’s ears.

"Even Britney Spears?"

She taunted me, while I just shrugged.

She smirked. "Oops, I did it again. I played with your heart, got lost in the game. Oh, babe, babe. I'm not that innocent—"

I narrowed my eyes. Was she teasing me with those lyrics?

I shrugged. "Sure."

"Or something from very heavy and dark metal?"

She asked again.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

I asked back. Maybe I should be careful. Or better even choose something myself.

"You know those who vomit in the microphone?"

She asked back.

"Do what?"

I chuckled with a frown. She looked at me while thinking about something.

"Sorry, it was a direct translation. You know, they just scream and you can't understand even a single word."

Laila tried to explain. I just hummed back. I guess I know what she means.

"Okay, whatever, I'm putting something on a shuffle."

She waved dismissively, opened an app to play some music, and set her phone on the fridge before returning to cooking. I followed her every movement. Yes, I had a task to do, but even the smallest gesture from her pulled my attention back to her.

Her phone speakers blared a song I didn’t recognize. I didn’t want to ask and risk sounding like the "stupid guy." The music filled the silence, and she sang along to most of the lyrics. I already knew her voice was great, so I simply enjoyed listening while struggling with a slippery cucumber.

At one point, the scent of raw meat hit my nose.

"Is that meat?" I asked directly.

"Yeah?" she answered, turning slightly to look at me with a frown.

"Where did you get it?" I asked, surprised.

"At Walmart? You even paid for it. Remambaa?" she said, frowning.

I had paid for the groceries, insisting she let me handle it, but I must have been too distracted by her to notice what food she picked. Shopping with Laila gave me this homey feeling—like we were just a regular couple buying ingredients for dinner. I guess I was so lost in the fantasy of us being together for years that I forgot to pay attention to reality.

"But you're a vegetarian," I said with a frown. Had she started eating meat again?

"Yes, but you're not. And you're my guest, so I'm cooking meat," she said seriously.

"You're doing that for me?" I asked, surprised, my heart melting with joy and gratitude. Now I had one more reason to believe the Moon Goddess chose her for me.

"It's no big deal," she replied with a casual shrug and a slight frown.

"My family still eats meat, so when it's my turn to cook, I make it for them," she explained.

"Of course, it's a bit weird for me since it's basically blind cooking—I never taste the food while making it. So I have no idea if it's good or bad. Like, did I add enough salt and pepper? Is it soft and juicy enough? Stuff like that. But so far, I've only messed up once, so I guess I have a bit of a knack for it."

She shrugged and shook her head. There was always a simplicity and humility in the way she spoke. I never sensed arrogance in her, even when she praised herself like she just did.

"Hmm, I see."

I hummed in response. This was great news for me—and my wolf. We were always hungry for a good piece of meat.

She turned to me and took the pile of veggies I had managed to peel so far. After washing them in the sink, she started cutting them herself. She had originally wanted me to do it, but I guess I was too slow for her liking.

"I just realized I bought a pretty big piece of meat. I hope you can finish it; otherwise, I'll have to throw it out," she said while chopping potatoes.

I finished peeling the cucumbers and went to rinse them in the sink.

"Or I can pack it up for you to take home," she offered.

"Don't bother, I'll try to finish it so you don’t have to worry about it," I assured her.

My always-hungry self was glad for the excuse to eat more. Until now, I had stuck to human-sized portions to avoid seeming like some weird, bottomless pit in front of her.

I returned to the island and started cutting one of the cucumbers into pieces. We worked side by side, preparing the veggies, listening to music, and occasionally making small talk.

I loved being in her presence. There was something so calming and warm about sharing these everyday moments with my mate. Who would have thought that cooking together could be so satisfying? But then again, it wasn’t about the task itself—it was about her and the bond.

"Okay, the chicken is in the oven, the veggies are stewing, and the salads are almost ready," she announced while drying her hands with a towel.

"Would you like some tea or coffee while we wait for the food?" she offered.

"Coffee would be good," I replied.

"Black or white?" she asked.

"Strong, black, no sugar," I specified. I needed it that way—strong enough to feel at least a tiny boost of caffeine, though my shifter powers would absorb the impact almost instantly.

As the kettle clicked, she poured the boiling water into a cup, and the rich aroma of coffee filled the air. She made herself a cup of mint tea.

"Let's sit on the sofa while we wait," she suggested, nodding toward it while holding both cups.

I walked ahead of her and plopped down on the sofa. She set both cups on the coffee table and got comfortable in the opposite corner. I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back. Now what?

"Okay, how about you translate those lyrics now?" I asked.

"Ahh, right." She stood up, grabbed her phone, and returned to her spot on the sofa.

"Let's see if I can find them in written form," she murmured while typing. She frowned as she scrolled.

"No." She shook her head.

"Not this either," she muttered again, frowning even more.

"No, I guess not. Okay, I could just listen to the song and translate it line by line. I know it by heart, but if I have to think about translating, I forget it all," she admitted, eyes still on her phone.

The song started playing, filling the room with a strange wickedness. As the first lyrics came up, she listened intently before pausing the music.

"Okay, this might not make much sense, but in a direct translation, they sing about truth—not the lies that come from old people's mouths—that on the night of Midsummer, young girls went to become witches and werewolves," she explained.

She hit play again, listening carefully. When she stopped the song, she tilted her head, thinking.

"So, tonight is the Midsummer Festival, and to whom does this night belong? It belongs to witches and werewolves," she translated.

"But in this context, ‘werewolves’ refers only to females. I don't know if you have a separate word just for female werewolves," she added.

"She-wolves," I said without hesitation.

She looked at me, a bit surprised. "Oookay. She-wolves," she repeated, though she sounded uncertain.

Maybe I shouldn’t have blurted that out. Why would I know something like that? She hit play again and listened to more of the song.

"Hmm... how could I translate this part?" Laila mused out loud, then rewound the track to listen again. She hummed softly as she focused on her translation.

"So, basically, it says that the sun comes into the yard where the house is being built with needles and... Oh, wait! I don’t know this word."

She quickly typed something on her phone, then looked up at me after a moment.

"Scythe?" she asked.

I stared at her, momentarily blank.

"Is that the right pronunciation?" she added, her brow furrowed with uncertainty.

"Yes," I confirmed with a nod.

"So, the house and roof were built with the help of needles and a scythe... But I think there’s a deeper meaning to it," she continued, her voice trailing off. "Unfortunately, I’m not sure what that might be."

I nodded thoughtfully, my curiosity piqued. The words had a strange resonance, but I couldn't put my finger on why. Just then, her phone rang, breaking the moment. Was someone calling her?

"Ah, looks like time’s up," she said, glancing at her phone. Her timer had gone off.

"Great. Let’s eat!" she announced, standing up and heading to the oven. I stayed where I was, unsure how I could be of help. Not like I could offer any advice on cooking.

"Okay, everything looks soft enough," she said aloud, testing the food with a fork. The rich scent of chicken filled the air, making my mouth water. She pushed the dish back into the oven and turned it off.

"I’ll let it rest for five more minutes. In the meantime, I’ll mix the salad with the sauce, then we can eat," she continued, her voice light and effortless.

"Okay," I replied.

"Do you want to eat here, or on the sofa?" she asked, still mixing some spices.

"As you wish," I said with a casual shrug. She was trying to accommodate me, but all I wanted was for her to feel comfortable.

"Well, I guess it’d be more comfortable here, at the island," she decided.

"Sure," I agreed, getting up to take a seat at one of the bar stools. A few moments later, she began serving the food onto two plates.

"Okay, I’ll give you half of the chicken now, and you can have the rest later," she said as she arranged the meal.

"Sounds good," I replied, though I was hungry enough to eat it all in one go. Still, I wanted to be polite in front of my cute, human mate. She placed the plate in front of me, the portion heaping high. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.

"Voilà! Bon appétit!" she said with a playful smile.

I stared at her, surprised. Did she speak French too? I realized there was so much about her I didn’t know yet.

"Thank you!" I said with a bright smile. It felt so natural, sitting here with her, her cooking in front of me. I waited for her to settle, placing her own plate on the island, before she sat across from me. I gave her another smile, which she returned with one of her own.

"Go on! Dig in!" she urged.

"I’m hungry, but I want us to eat together," I said, taking a full forkful of chicken and savoring the moment. She smiled softly, watching me.

As I chewed the juicy meat, my taste buds exploded in pleasure.

"This is really good!" I moaned through a mouthful. Whether it was because I was famished, or because my mate cooked as well as my mom, the food was delicious.

"Good to know," she replied, chewing her own food thoughtfully. "I have no idea what it tastes like, but if you say it’s good, I trust you."

I finished my portion quickly, rising to get more without even pausing the conversation.

"Wow, someone was really hungry," she said, her eyes wide with surprise.

"You have no idea," I said, heading back to the oven. "Plus, I have a fast metabolism, and training is demanding. I always need extra calories to keep up."

"Crazy stuff," she said with a shake of her head, a playful glint in her eye.

"So, is this your signature recipe, or a family secret?" I asked with a half-full mouth, wanting to keep the conversation going.

"Neither," she said with a laugh. "I just found it online. It’s simple and easy, but it always works—everyone seems to love it."

I hummed in response, my mouth full but happy. The meal wasn’t just satisfying—it was the warmth of sharing this moment with her that made it unforgettable.