Warrior's human mate

Chapter 18

James

We were sitting in another vegetarian-friendly place I had found online, waiting for our food to arrive. I looked at Laila with a satisfied smile.

"So… A million reasons why Latvia is the best country in the world?" I teased.

Her eyes widened. "Oh no! You found that?"

She hid her face in her hands, embarrassed, then peeked at me again.

"Well, that’s the ugly truth about my country," she admitted with a nod.

"Did you understand it?" she asked curiously.

"Most of it, yeah," I replied.

"Did you have fun?" she asked, smirking.

"Yeah, actually, I did. And I could relate to a lot of it. People make similar mistakes here, so you’re not alone."

I winked at her.

"Good to know," she said, smiling softly.

"I like this laid-back, playful side of you," I said thoughtfully.

"Well… That’s me," she shrugged. "Besides, thinking of myself as your cousin makes me relax around you."

Wait—did she just put me in the platonic corner again?

"Otherwise, your flirting makes me rather… edgy," she added.

"Edgy?" I frowned. I was pretty sure she’d mentioned this before.

"Yeah. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but I feel like there’s something else about you. It’s not just this playboy act. Maybe it’s your personality… or your past. It’s like you’re hiding something big from people. From me."

I froze, inhaling sharply. Could she sense it?

She noticed my reaction immediately, her eyes narrowing to study me as if trying to dig through my soul.

"James…" she said in a warning tone.

"I saw that," she added, pointing a finger at me.

I blinked, feigning innocence. "Saw what?"

"You hesitated. Are you hiding something?"

"No," I lied. I had to. She couldn’t know—not yet.

"I was just wondering if one of my exes might pop up again to ruin my life," I added, hoping it sounded believable.

"Hmm…" She squinted at me, unconvinced.

"Do you have a kid?" she asked suddenly.

"What? No! Why would you think that?" I frowned.

"Considering how many girls you’ve had, I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one got pregnant," she said matter-of-factly.

Dear Goddess, I hope not. As far as I knew, I was in the clear. I always used protection.

"No. I’m always careful," I said firmly.

"Ever heard of ‘broken condom’? Two of my friends were born like that."

"That can happen," I admitted, shrugging.

"But don’t worry, I won’t make you a stepmom," I teased.

She frowned. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything! You just refuse to admit it," I said, grinning.

To my surprise, she didn’t argue. She just shook her head. Our food arrived, and we started eating.

"This time, I’ll pay," she said suddenly.

"No, definitely not," I protested immediately.

"You’re still a guest in my country. I have to show you how hospitable Americans are! It’s my duty to take care of your needs. Maybe that’ll change your mind about me," I added with a wink.

"Take care of my needs… How sweet and naïve that sounds," she mused.

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"So, is it your duty to take care of my… ca.rnal needs as well?" she asked, a teasing smile spreading across her lips.

I shook my head with a chuckle. "You’re brutal."

"I’m brutal because I say out loud what’s already in your head?" she shot back.

Then she put a hand over her heart, her expression turning overly dramatic. "Is that even fair?"

She was mocking me, but I couldn’t be mad. I loved this side of her. With her, everything was open, easy, truthful. And in that moment, I wanted her more than ever.

I’d known her for barely two weeks, yet I already felt like she was mine. My girl, my girlfriend, my mate… my wife. Though I’d settle for mating, I knew I should make her my wife.

Would she like that?

A pang hit my chest. She didn’t even know I was a werewolf. Would she accept me? Accept my wolf? My pack? D.amn, I wasn’t even sure she’d accept me as just James, the rich, handsome playboy she was so determined to resist.

But that made her even more special. She wasn’t a gold digger…

"I’m a sweet lady," she continued playfully. "Between you and me, you are the beast here."

That word—beast—made me freeze for a split second. my wolf was a beast. I tried to relax and make it look like that word didn’t get to me. But Laila, being Laila, looked at me and squinted her eyes. She never let anything slide. Not a single gesture.

"What was that?" she asked suspiciously.

"What was what?" I played d.umb.

"You froze when I said ‘beast.’"

Sh.it. She never let anything slide.

"Well… you’re right," I said smoothly. "They do call me a beast. A beast in bed."

Smart move, James.

She looked momentarily surprised, then scowled. "I really didn’t need to know that."

Phew, lucky me.

"Are you into BDM? Or what do you call it… submissive daddy stuff?" she asked, frowning.

"Actually, forget, I don’t wanna know" she shooke her head but added, " But I’m curious. Wow, I sound bipolar!"

She laughed and shook her head. She was cute.

I laughed. "You mean b**m? No, not really. But if you like kinky stuff, I’m open to trying."

I wiggled my eyebrows at her with a smirk.

She groaned, shaking her head. "I’m not even dating you! What kind of delusion are you living in?"

"You’re not dating me yet," I corrected.

She rolled her eyes.

"But eventually, you will, baby," I grinned and winked at her.

Her face twisted in disgust.

"Baby!"

She spat with disgust as if the word po.oped in her mouth.

"Who do you call baby?"

F.uck. She scares me when she talks like this, especially becayse connection is so fragile. I can’t f***k this more than I already have.

"Y-you…?" I stammered.

Her glare sharpened. "Call me ‘baby’ one more time, and I’ll walk out that door to never see you again."

Sh.it. I started sweating. I smiled awkwardly.

"Babe?"

Her frown deepened. I mentally face-palmed. Id.iot. Now was not the time to tease her.

"You like being punched by women, don’t you?" she deadpanned.

"Honey?" I tried again, hesitantly.

Her face softened. A small smile appeared.

"That, I can tolerate," she said with a nod.

Yes!

"Phew, cherry pie, you scared me back there," I grinned.

"Oh, you have no idea what I’m capable of, pumpkin pie," she shot back.

We locked eyes, mischief twinkling in hers. Then we burst into laughter. Once our laughter died down, she smiled, shaking her head.

"In my country, we use animal names as nicknames couples or children. But now that I think about it in English, it’s more about food. can’t imagine someone calling his lover “honey” in my language. That sounds hilarious in my mind."

"What are the nicknames?" I asked curiously.

"Rabbit-y, mousy, bear-y…" She shrugged. " I know a couple where the guy is like two meters tall and his girlfriend calls him mousy. And the guy is even OK with it. But when his best friends – guys – heard it... Oh! They never let him live it down." She explains with a broad smile.

"You can be my mousy," I teased.

She laughed. "No, please stop! It sounds so d.umb in English."

"Well, it does sound weird, but you can be my exceptional rabbity. " I said with the same teasing smile.

"No, please, stop! It sounds plain st.upid! "

She laughed with her head thrown back. Then she looked at me and smiled widely. Alas... I wish she would never stop smiling like this at me.

Then, her expression turned serious. Her arms crossed.

My stomach dropped. What happened? Does she have some secret earpiece and there is a voice that keeps saying bad things about me to her or something?

"What?" I asked seriously, suddenly nervous as dread was bubbling up in my chest.

" OK, Mr.Sweet-Nicknames. Who am I to you?" she asked, her voice steady, her gaze sharp.

"My everything," I blurted out.

Her eyebrows knotted together in a frown as her face twisted in confusion and disbelief.

Crap. I said too much. I am freaking her out. As always. She is just a human. She doesn’t understand my world, the mate bond, my true interest in her.

"I want you to be my girlfriend," I added quickly.

"James… "

She said in that tone I deeply hated already.

"What?"

I said agitated

"You know I’m leaving in a few months." I know that for Pete’s sake, I restrained from rolling my eyes.

"I know. But you’ll be here for five more months. I want to spend that time with you. And I want you to be my girlfriend. We’ve had a great time together so far, haven’t we?” I asked hopefully.

Her expression shifted, serious and unreadable. “Being friends is different from being in a relationship,” she replied.

Did she just… friend-zone me? f***k.

All my life—since my teenage years—girls have wanted to be with me. And now? My own mate has friend-zoned me. I’m f.ucking doomed. I groaned inwardly.

“Did you friend-zone me?” I asked, my voice tight with pain. The idea alone stung.

Her lips pressed into a grimace. “Of course, I friend-zoned you! I warned you I would. Don’t you think it’s a lovely, safe choice for me?” Her voice was sharp with frustration. “Oh, but you probably didn’t think about me at all—you’re too focused on your own agenda. Besides, you know what I told you about you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes, irritation bubbling up. “You don’t do relationships with rich, handsome playboys… blah, blah.”

This is bullsh*t. The very things that have always drawn women to me are the same things that push my mate away. What the h.ell, Moon Goddess? Are you punishing me?

“James…”

That tone. I hate it. I hate it!

“So what?” I snapped.

She hesitated, then exhaled deeply. “And what if I wasn’t a rich playboy?” I asked, frustration thick in my voice. “Would you consider me then?”

She looked at me, her face unreadable. Seconds stretched into minutes. The silence was unbearable.

“Please.” My voice softened. “You don’t have to commit to me for a lifetime.” But deep down, I hoped she would. That over time, she would fall for me. “Just… give me a chance. Let me be your boyfriend.”

I was begging now. If someone had told me years ago that I’d be pleading with a girl to be with me, I would’ve laughed my a.ss off. But now? Look at me. Pathetic. Desperate.

But I need her. After years of waiting, I’ve finally met my mate, and she’s amazing. I want her. I have to have her.

“Well, maybe that’s the thing, James.” Her voice was laced with sadness. “Maybe I don’t want something short-term. Maybe I don’t want to get attached just to end up heartbroken. It’s painful. And it’s a waste of my time.”

Heartbreak. Has she been through it before? There’s still so much I don’t know about her.

If I wasn’t certain she’d flip the table and walk out without a second glance, I’d ask her to marry me right now.

“Maybe this could turn into something lasting,” I murmured.

“James,” she said, her voice low and firm.

“I’m leaving in less than six months,” she continued, frustration simmering beneath her words. “I don’t do long-distance.”

She was p.issed but trying to hold it together.

I intertwined my fingers, staring down at the table. “We can figure it out later…”

I sounded broken. Pleading. Desperate. The more I knew her, the more I wanted her.

I want to wake up to her every morning, have lunch with her, spend my evenings with her. I want to hold her hand, to hug her and kiss her. I want to make love to her.

I’m pathetic. There’s no dignity left in me—just an aching need to keep her close. And I’ll do or say anything to make that happen.

She looked at me, her sharp edges softening for a moment. Then, she turned to the window, lost in thought.

We ate in silence. I wanted to say something—anything. But the words never came.

Laila

My rational mind has always been stronger than my heart. My intuition is sharp, but when it comes to making decisions, my mind always wins. Logic and reason have always been my guides.

It’s easy and fun to be around James. It’s effortless. Even when he calls me sweet names, I don’t mind. For a moment, I forget who I am, who he is. It’s just… us.

Us?

Yes, us. But there is no "us." A moment later, I remember that.

My protective instincts scream in warning whenever I get too close to him. And yet, there’s a part of me that enjoys replaying our kisses—over and over again.

Now, he sits in front of me, saying he wants to be my boyfriend. But my mind refuses to believe him.

He claims he hasn’t dated anyone in five years. Why me, then? Why now? I need to understand. What does he see in me? Surely, he has met women more beautiful, more charming. Am I interesting to him? Maybe I stand out from the local girls. But why is he so fixated on me?

“You like the challenge and the chase, don’t you?”

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. That’s just how I am. I don’t dance around questions. I don’t avoid conversations. If something is on my mind, I confront it head-on. I believe it deepens connections. I’ve never been one for small talk—I want to know people, truly know them, down to the depths of their hearts. So if I have a theory about someone’s character, I ask. Sometimes they agree, sometimes they don’t, and sometimes they haven’t even thought about it themselves.

“What do you mean by that?” James asks, his brows drawing together.

I tilt my head. “I’m trying to figure you out. Why are you so persistent? Why do you keep asking me out, keep wanting me to be your girl—even after I’ve said ‘no’ so many times? Even when I push you away?”

I study his face, watching for micro expressions, for the tiniest flickers of truth beneath his words.

“As I see it, men have this hunter instinct. They love the thrill of the chase, the challenge. They don’t want someone who’s easy. That’s fine for a one-night stand, but for something more? That’s different. So tell me, James, is this about the chase?”

He becomes thoughtful. “Well… if I’m being honest, I do enjoy a good challenge.”

He grins slightly.

I shake my head. “I thought so—”

“But it’s not that simple.” He cuts me off, his tone shifting. “Every time you push me away or say ‘no,’ it feels… heartbreaking.”

Heartbreaking? I frown. He sounds sincere. Hurt, even. But why? I need to figure him out.

“I am truly interested in you,” he says.

I narrow my eyes. “Really? Or is it just the adrenaline of the chase? The thrill of the unknown? The electricity it creates? The curiosity of ‘how it would be with this girl in bed’? The satisfaction of conquering a challenge?”

I mock him slightly.

“No. It’s different.” His voice is steady. “I want to know you better. I want to be close to you. I truly like you. And as I’ve said before, I like you for you. I’m 100% sure it wouldn’t work with anyone else. It’s about that special connection. You are my special girl.”

How can he be so certain? He barely knows me. Do I feel the same way? I don’t know him well either.

A special connection. Is that what this is? Shouldn’t these things be mutual? Or am I just denying something because of my first impression of him?

“Are you sure?” I challenge. “What if the moment I give myself to you, you disappear the next day? Off with the wind, chasing the next thrill?”

He shakes his head firmly. “Definitely not. My attraction to you way stronger than just s.exual interest”

“Really? How can you be so sure? You don’t know me. I’m just an ordinary girl. You might get bored of me in a month.”

That’s how it happens, doesn’t it? I don’t understand how a playboy’s mind works. I’ve never even been friends with one. I usually make an extra big loop around guys like James.

“Oh, you are everything but boring.”

He chuckles, his voice full of amusement.

I cross my arms. “Care to elaborate?” I say in a feisty tone with lifted eyebrows.

“With pleasure.” He leans in slightly. “I don’t know you well yet, but I see how you think differently. You’re bold, honest—sometimes bordering on rude—but you own up to it with maturity when you cross a line. You don’t put on a facade. That’s rare. I admire that. Your past experience is rich and shows a bits of your inner richness. You think deeply—so deep that sometimes I wonder if I can keep up. You’re feisty and stubborn, but I love that fire in you. You’re unique, in the your own way. Sometimes even a little weird—but it’s cute. You’re funny and cheerful, too. You have this way of lifting my mood without even trying. And I know I’ve only seen glimpses of you, but I can tell there’s so much more.”

I stare at him, stunned.

“Wow…”

That’s all I can manage.

How can he say so many good things about me after such a short time? And what’s more—he’s right. Every single thing he said. Has he truly seen me this clearly, or am I just an open book to him?

“You’ve thought about me a lot.”

He smiles. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe how much.”

Our eyes lock, and something shifts in the air between us. A zing of energy. My stomach flips, and my legs suddenly feel weak. Good thing I’m sitting.

If only he weren’t so handsome. I sigh. If, if, if only...

“I’ve always valued truthfulness and honesty. I try to be the same inside and out. Authentic, with integrity. You are right, I don’t put on facades, though sometimes I do build walls for protection. People sometimes think I’m rude, even get angry with me, but I believe in truth, even when it’s ugly. Better to accept it than to be angry about it. If I can accept the truth, no one can hurt me. Don’t you think?”

He hums in thought. I put my left elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand.

“Your thoughts run deep. You’re truly mature.”

His deep baritone sends a shiver down my spine.

I try to brush it off with words and conversation. “Well, I’m twenty-eight. I should have some maturity by now, right?”

He nods.

"I’m surprised you’ve paid so much attention to my character to notice all these things," I said softly. His words caught me off guard—in a good way. No other guy had ever observed me so closely, let alone seen me for who I truly was after such a short time. It was… nice. It warmed my heart more than I would expect.

He gave me a gentle smile. "Well, I have a feeling there’s so much more to you. What I’ve seen so far is just the surface."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but that 'more' includes a lot of shi.tty stuff too, you know."

He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made something in my chest tighten. It sounded… comforting. I let out a small, wistful sigh. If, if, if…

"I don’t doubt that," he admitted, still grinning. "You do love to argue with me, after all. But nobody’s perfect. And when it comes to you, I don’t care about your flaws. I just see the good in you."

I pursed my lips, letting his words settle. "Hmm…"

A part of me wanted to believe him. But another part—one shaped by logic and self-preservation—was skeptical.

"You’re right," I finally said. "I haven’t been very nice to you… Well, most of the time." I exhaled, meeting his gaze. "Sorry."

His expression softened, but I wasn’t done. "Still," I added, narrowing my eyes, "that whole ‘going berserk in a split second’ thing? It still makes me suspicious of you."

His smile tightened just slightly, but he didn’t argue.

I glanced at my phone. "I have to go home and work."

"I know," he said simply. "I’ll take you."

We sat in his car in silence. My thoughts spun in circles. If… But only if… If everything he said was true, if he truly saw me for me and still wanted me, then what?

I was leaving in five months. Was I being selfish by keeping him in the friend zone? Was I leading him on?

My fingers absentmindedly brushed over the necklace he had given me on our only date. We hadn’t ended that night on the best of terms, yet I had never given it back. I couldn’t give it back. I wanted to keep it. I wanted to go home, pull it out from time to time, and remember him.

The thought alone sent a wave of warmth through me while at the same time it squeezed my heart as a breath stuck in my throat. How much had I really grown attached to him?

When we reach my building, he walks me to my door. He’s still the perfect gentleman. I almost wish he weren’t. I turn to face him to say goodbye.

“Can I… Can I hug you?”

His voice is hesitant.

I shrug. “Sure.”

It’s just a hug, right? Friends hug. Right? He came closer to me and pressed me to his firm body. At first, he hugged me as if I was as fragile as glass. But as I hugged him back, his arms tighten, as if afraid I’ll disappear.

I tease him. “You know you just sounded like a shy teenager.”

He chuckles but says nothing. Instead, he leans toward my neck and inhales deeply. Who sniffs another person? That’s a bit weird, isn't it?

“You smell amazing.”

Goosebumps erupt across my skin. His voice—da.mn his voice.

"Thank you?" I said, though it came out more like a question than an answer. Was that a compliment on my choice of perfume?

"You shouldn’t even wear perfume. Ever. Your natural scent is incredible."

I blinked. My scent?

What did he mean by that? The scent of my sweat? Oh God. Had I been sweating? Did I smell? A wave of panic shot through me. This is embarrassing. And gross. Why would he like that?

I tried to rationalize it, but my brain was spiraling. Maybe he had some weird scent obsession? Or maybe I was overthinking this. Lately, I hadn’t even trusted my own thoughts.

I pulled away, subtly creating space between us. Better safe than stinky.

But the moment I stepped back, I saw it—just a flicker of something in his eyes. A small flinch. A flash of hurt.

Why?