Warrior's human mate

Chapter 10

James

The next day, I arrived early. I stepped out of the car and made my way to the front door, holding a dozen yellow roses in my hands—an apology for the way I’d acted. She stepped outside, and I saw her eyes widen in surprise when she noticed me standing there. I guess she hadn’t expected to find me waiting.

“Oh, you’re here,” she said, her voice soft with surprise.

“Hey!” I smiled, extending the flowers toward her. “These are for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, a frown tugging at her lips.

“As an apology for my… outburst,” I explained, my words feeling awkward, but necessary.

She studied me for a moment, her gaze lingering. What was going on in her head right now?

“Okay,” she finally said, her tone a little hesitant. “I accept your apology.”

She took the flowers from me, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Good.

“Well,” she said, her tone lighter, “I’ll just run up and put them in a vase, then I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” I replied. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

She gave me a small hum of acknowledgment before disappearing inside. Should I have gone upstairs with her? The thought crossed my mind, but no, next time, maybe. I should at least know which floor and apartment she lives in. Though, honestly, I’d probably be able to find her just by the scent of her.

A few minutes later, she returned.

“Would you like to grab some coffee before we head to lunch?” I asked. My night had been restless. Without her beside me, I felt... unsettled. Both my wolf and I are quit antsy these days.

“I don’t drink coffee,” she said, shrugging.

“Oh,” I replied, surprised. Who doesn’t drink coffee?

“Well, then…” I began, but she cut me off.

“If you want, you can grab it,” she said, her voice serious.

“It’s not that important,” I said quickly. “I know a great pizza place in the local mall. Would you like to check it out?”

“Sure!” she agreed, but then yawned, her exhaustion evident.

“Are you tired?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. Had she slept poorly too, without me beside her?

“Yeah,” she replied, stretching a little. “Work, work, work… work…” She hummed Rihanna’s song as she swayed her head from side to side, clearly a bit playful.

“We had a meeting, and, as you know, the time difference with Europe is a killer. There’s a nine-hour gap. The meeting started at five a.m. They actually wanted it to be even earlier—like, three a.m.—but I begged them to have mercy on me. So, ‘mercy’ meant five a.m. because one of the big bosses couldn’t do it any other time.”

She yawned again, rubbing her eyes.

“Man, I might need that coffee after all,” she admitted, looking at me with a small frown.

“But you just said you don’t drink coffee,” I pointed out, confused.

“I don’t!” she exclaimed, as if that was perfectly clear. “But look at me—I can’t stop yawning! Maybe some black or green tea will do the trick.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, then yawned once more. We reached the mall and stepped out of the car.

We walked through the mall in silence, but her distracted expression told me she was somewhere far away in her thoughts. Then, as if a switch had flipped, she started moving to the rhythm of the music playing in the background. Her shoulders swayed, her head bobbed, and she hummed along, fully immersed in the beat. Her face softened, the lyrics spilling from her lips.

“I saw you dancing! And I’ll never be the same again, for sure. I saw you dancing! Say: Yaki-Da, my love!”

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her, so carefree and cute. But I couldn’t resist teasing her just a little.

“You know you’re singing out loud, right?” I asked, smirking.

She shot me a questioning frown.

“Yes?” she replied, almost as if asking herself.

Then, she simply shrugged, unbothered by the attention, and continued singing with a quiet smile on her face.

“I guess I’m just tired,” she said, shrugging. “I’m doing it absentmindedly. And this is a helowa old song, which is hilarious in itself.”

She looked at me, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Oh, are you embarrassed by me?” she asked, a teasing smile spreading across her face.

I chuckled and shook my head, a grin tugging at my lips. Then, without warning, she jumped on me, hooking her left arm around my neck and pulling me slightly to the side, trying to compensate for the height difference.

“I KNOW THIS GUY!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the mall. People began to glance our way, intrigued.

“HE WANTS TO DATE ME!” she shouted again, louder this time, and I could see some people start to smile at the spectacle.

I laughed, a deep, genuine chuckle, and gently pushed her off me. I made sure my push was soft enough not to send her tumbling to the floor, but her laughter only grew louder.

“You’re crazy!” I said, still chuckling.

She looked at me, eyes sparkling, before her face turned serious, her head tilting slightly.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, a mischievous grin curling at the corners of her lips.

I laughed harder and shook my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Hmph,” she said thoughtfully. “And here I thought I was pretty believable.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking while she pinched her arm. “Yup, definitely believed that.”

She gave me a teasing smile, but her eyes were twinkling with mischief.

“I’m not sure if you can twist my words like that,” I replied, a playful glint in my eyes.

“Me neither,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “But English isn’t my first language, so... whatevaah.” She said the last word with a British accent, striking a dramatic pose as if she were a drama-queen addressing her subjects.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you always behave so... carefree?”

She paused, her expression turning thoughtful, a slight frown tugging at her lips. Her face was so expressive, I could almost read everything going on in her mind—almost.

“I think so,” she said after a beat, her tone more serious now. “But I don’t think it’s me being crazy or carefree. I just really don’t care what other people think of me. Especially strangers. They don’t know me, and I don’t know them. So at the end of the day, no one gives a flick about each other. You know, I have enough self-esteem not to depend on other people's opinions. Of course, I’m not immune to criticism. What my close ones say, that matters to me. But that’s a different thing.”

She explained. It was the most I’d heard her talk, and there was something raw in her honesty, something real. She seemed to be letting me in, piece by piece.

We walked into the pizza place, and I led her to a quieter corner, wanting to keep things more personal. We placed our orders, then sat back, waiting for the food to arrive.

“So, what do you think about the States?” I asked, trying to gauge her feelings. I wanted to know if she’d ever consider staying here for good.

She scrunched her nose, her expression thoughtful. “Well, I’m not really a fan of the States.”

My heart sank. I could feel the weight of her words in my chest.

“Would you ever consider living in America?” I asked, anxiety creeping into my voice. I hated the tension rising inside me, but I had to know the truth.

“No,” she answered immediately, her frown deepening.

I winced, as though she’d slapped me. That felt like a punch to the gut—unexpected and sharp.

“I wouldn’t want to live here for good,” she added, shaking her head firmly.

“Why not?” I pressed on, needing to understand, to hear it all, no matter how much it stung.

She hesitated before answering, her words cautious, measured. “I dislike a lot of things here.”

My curiosity spiked. “Like what?”

Her lips tightened in a slight frown as she considered. “Well, a lot of people here can be shallow, or stupid, or double-faced. There’s too much junk food and too much sugar in everything. And healthy food is way too expensive. The water in my shower has so much chlorine in it, it makes my skin itch and my hair dry out... ugh.”

She shivered dramatically at the thought, her face wrinkling with distaste.

“So, you think we’re stupid, huh?” I asked, a playful edge to my voice. The idea of her disliking the States hurt, but I wanted to keep things light, besides werewolves had a different community. Maybe, just maybe, I could change her mind.

“Unfortunately...” She shrugged, her expression casual, but her words hit harder than I expected.

“Try me. I’m smart,” I said, flashing her a bright, teasing smile.

She raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “What is Europe?”

Easy question, I thought. “Well, it’s part of a continent...”

She cut me off with a laugh. “Well, most Americans think Europe is one country.”

“Really? We do?” I asked in disbelief, laughing a little, but also feeling a bit incredulous.

“Haven’t you seen those videos on You.Tube where they ask geography questions to random people on the streets?” she asked, her tone a mix of humor and frustration. “They have no clue where Europe, China, Australia, France—you name it—are on the map. It’s hilarious… if only I hadn’t experienced it myself way too many times.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Okay…” I murmured, processing her words. The difference between her experiences and mine was starting to feel more real.

“What else?” I pressed, wanting to understand more about what bothered her.

She shrugged, her smile softening. “Well, small things here and there. Maybe it’s just different from my country. I prefer how things are back home, not how they are here. I have my own standards for quality of life. Money isn’t it.”

Laila’s words lingered, her calm demeanor hiding the deeper layers of her feelings. It wasn’t just about what was wrong with the States—it was about what mattered to her. And I had a feeling this conversation was just the beginning of unraveling the complexities of who she really was.

“So what are those small things that you hate?” I pressed, wanting to understand her better.

She exhaled slowly. “Well, 'hate' is a strong word. But I dislike those random guys who whistle at me and make s.exual comments on the streets. It’s frustrating that I don’t feel free when I walk around. It’s annoying to feel like I can’t dress how I want without attracting unwanted attention.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. My wolf stirred inside me, the protectiveness kicking in, and suddenly, everything felt more intense.

“They do what?” I raised my voice a little, unable to hide the anger creeping into my tone.

“Who did it?” I gritted out, clenching my teeth.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I don’t know. Just some random guys on the street.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“Which street?” I pressed, my anger rising.

“Does it even matter?” She shot me a look, clearly irritated. “It’s not like they stand there all day waiting for me to walk by! And haven’t you noticed that guys here do that to lots of women?”

“No,” I said simply, my voice laced with confusion.

“Well, maybe if you actually walked the streets, you’d know something more about your own country and people,” she snapped, still annoyed.

I forced myself to relax. She was right. I never paid attention to things like that, and as much as I hated the thought of it, I had to admit I wasn’t exactly in touch with reality when it came to stuff like this.

And when it came to her—my Laila—the idea of other guys eyeing her, even in the most innocent of ways, set me off. I tried to push the jealous thoughts down, but they just kept bubbling up. She didn’t wear revealing clothes, but sometimes her dresses were tight on her perfect body, showing off her long, s.exy legs. I couldn’t help myself; my mind wandered. I licked my lips. I wanted to lick and eat her whole.

“You’re right…” I murmured, my voice softer now. “I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “Do you always have such emotional swings, going from calm to berserk in a second?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Only when it comes to you…” I said, my voice playful, but my eyes shining with sincerity.

She narrowed her gaze, sizing me up. “Are you flirting with me?”

I flashed a grin. “If I am, is that a bad thing?”

Her face scrunched up in disbelief. “So, am I pretty enough for you to want to get in my pants?”

I shook my head, chuckling. She was bold, no doubt about it. That feisty spirit was something I found absolutely irresistible, even if it did drive me crazy at times. Actually, scratch that—it always drove me crazy, whether she was right next to me or not.

I was head over heels for her. And even though we’d only met a weeks ago, I felt this magnetic pull toward her that I couldn’t ignore.

Part of me wanted to just say it—to admit the overwhelming desire that I felt. “Yes, I really want to get in your pants,” I thought, but I didn’t. I knew she’d be frustrated enough with me as it was.

Laila always seemed to have a frown on her face when she was around me, scrunching her nose, scolding me. What happened to the mate bond? Why didn’t it seem to work for us? I thought it would make her feel at least some kind of attraction to me, but I didn’t think she did.

“Did I do something to you that makes you assume things like that?” I asked, and observed her as she seemed to pull back, almost like she was thinking about what I’d said.

“Well, not yet... Look, I’m just here to do my job, okay? I appreciate your company, and thank you for treating me.”

She tried to sound formal, but her words were sincere.

I could feel a pang in my chest. Was this what I’d reduced her to?

“If I’m being honest, you do make me edgy.” Her words stung, but I couldn’t deny the truth in them. “I’m sorry. I don’t think highly of rich people, especially young men.”

“Okay,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “So, as an American, you’ve decided I’m d.umb. But what’s wrong with being wealthy?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with it if you stick to your own circles,” she replied with a shrug. “I just don’t usually mingle with people like that.”

“Why not?” I couldn’t help pressing her.

She hesitated, avoiding the question. “I don’t want to insult you,” she said, her voice dropping. “I’ve probably done enough of that already. In Europe, we’re very straightforward. We don’t beat around the bush.”

“Try me,” I said with a mischievous grin. I was getting the feeling that Laila didn’t really mince words, and I loved that about her.

“Well…” She raised an eyebrow, her expression turning a little more serious. “I’ve seen too many rich people, especially men, who are self-centered, narcissistic, self-righteous… basically just egotistical brats. They get what they want, play with it for a while, get bored, and toss it aside. Even if it’s another human being.”

I couldn’t stop myself from frowning. “That’s a pretty stereotypical view, don’t you think?”

How could she go from a state of boxing with her words to being this sweet, wise girl in just ten seconds was hard to comprehend.

She shrugged. “Yeah, I know. It’s a very black-and-white opinion, but when I first came to America, I wanted to believe there were good people here. I wanted to believe that, beneath the surface, people had good hearts. But all I encountered were exactly what I just described.”

I felt a tightness in my chest, but I fought to keep my voice calm. “That’s based on just one experience, though.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice softer. “But until someone proves me wrong, that’s my perspective.”

I could feel something stirring within me. I could change her view on this. I wasn’t like the guys she’d met, and I was damn sure I wouldn’t let her box me in with those assumptions. My pack, my family—we weren’t like that.

I took a deep breath, trying to shift the mood. “How about we watch a movie together? There’s a new hit in the cinema.”

She shook her head, a small frown on her face. “I’m not really a fan of movies.”

“What?!” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “When was the last time you watched one?”

She thought for a moment. “Maybe six months ago.”

“No way.” I was still incredulous. “Really?”

She shrugged. “Movies just make me tired.”

“What?!” I laughed. “That’s bullsh.it!”

“Well, now you know!” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “I haven’t had a TV at home since I was eighteen. I’ll watch a movie on my laptop if the IMDb rating is higher than 7.0, but if not, it’s a waste of my time.”

I had to laugh. “No TV? That’s... so strange.” I couldn’t wrap my head around her habits. Was she poor? She seemed to have a well-paying job, but nothing about her habits added up in my mind.

"So, what do you do in your free time?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I meditate," she deadpanned, her gaze sharp and pointed. What had I done now?

"Really? That’s interesting."

I was genuinely impressed. Meditation was something I hadn’t tried, but I’d heard it worked wonders for some people.

"How do you do it?" I continued, eager to learn more about her.

"You really wanna know?" she asked with a frown, clearly skeptical about my interest.

I nodded earnestly. "I'm intrigued." I flashed her a smile, hoping it would convince her I wasn’t just making small talk. I wanted to know eeeeverything about my mate.

She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. D.amn. Was I failing again? Was there anything I could say to get her to take me seriously? I couldn’t seem to get anything right with her.

Just then, the pizzas arrived, and the delicious aroma pulled my attention away from our conversation. We dug into the food eagerly, but before I could ask her more about meditation, my peripheral vision caught movement. I turned slightly, and my senses immediately told me who was approaching—our pack’s slut. The blonde girl’s scent hit me like a slap in the face.

"Hey, James!" she called out, her voice high-pitched and sickly sweet. "It’s so nice to bump into you. It’s been a while."

I looked up, feeling my muscles tense involuntarily. The last person I wanted to interrupt my time with Laila was her.

Laila

I was munching on my pizza when a flirty blonde approached us. James immediately turned away and shook his head, muttering under his breath.

“For f.uks sake.”

I almost laughed but kept it inside. There was this strange, fleeting impulse to be frustrated, but I quickly tamped it down. Was I jealous? I hoped not. But a tiny voice inside me told me it might be.

Previously, as I realized he was flirting with me, annoyance crept in. Was he being serious? This rich, self-assured guy—how could he be this blatant? I didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

I knew I had been playful with him today, but I wasn’t sure if I’d sent the wrong signals. I kept a mental distance, not wanting him to think about me that way. Well, okay, part of me was flattered. Maybe a big part. It was hard not to feel that way when someone like him showed interest.

But then again, he grew up with wealth. He had that model-like body and face, and he knew how to use them. I usually avoided guys like him—self-centered, egotistical, and far too aware of their own charm. Still, he wasn’t running away. No matter how much I pushed, he stuck around. And it made me wonder... maybe he wasn’t as typical as I thought. Maybe I was starting to get used to him.

When I mentioned meditating, I was hoping to throw him off. I didn’t want to talk about anything else, so I said something that would hopefully make him back off. I had other things I did in my free time, but meditation felt like a good, passive option.

But just as I was about to get comfortable, I noticed the blonde girl coming our way. Her presence instantly tugged at my attention, and I couldn’t help but feel my irritation flare again. But this time, instead of glaring at her, I put on a smile and decided to make my move.

“Hi there, I’m Laila—James’s cousin. It’s so nice to meet you. How are you?”

She gave me a fake smile, almost too sweet. “Oh, I’m Tiffany. James’s girlfriend.”

Another girlfriend? Were all these girls delusional?

James immediately shot back, “Shut up, Tiffany! We’ve never been together.”

Her response was a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s a shame.”

“We should do it at last. Don’t you think?” she added, her voice dripping with sweetness.

“No, I don’t,” James replied flatly, but she ignored him.

Tiffany then raised an eyebrow. “So, you never mentioned you had a human cousin. From which side?”

I frowned. Human? Was that really a thing? I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Shut up, Tiffany!” James snapped, his frustration bubbling over.

“Oh, I’m a very distant cousin from Europe. You know, far, far away,” I added with a little sarcasm. I wasn’t sure if she even knew where Europe was, and a part of me hoped she didn’t.

“I visit James and his family once every five years,” I continued, trying to keep the story straight. Honestly, this was getting a little ridiculous. Was this going to be my story for every lunch?

“I had my birthday recently. And since I just got to the States, James remembered, and we decided to celebrate today. Isn’t he sweet?” I batted my eyelashes at Tiffany, hoping to end this conversation.

“Yes, he is,” she replied, mimicking my sugary tone.

“So, we really would like to celebrate my birthday with just the two of us. Would you mind?” I asked, hoping she would get the hint and leave us alone. But why am I the one that is doing these favors to James by getting rid of them?

Tiffany looked at me for a moment, clearly hesitating, but then James intervened.

“Tiffany, get lost. I don’t want to talk to you. Not now. Not ever.”

Her eyes shot daggers at me.

- Girl, don’t look at me like that. We both know that James can be such an a.ss sometimes!

I said, while James' eyes shot up to meet mine, glaring at me. Why does everyone keep trying to kill me with their looks? Am I the villain here? Am I the villain here?

"She's right, James!"

She said in her irritating, high-pitched voice.

"You really are such an a.ss!"

And with that, she turned and stormed off, swaying her hips in that overly exaggerated way, her short pink skirt fluttering behind her. Classic.

I looked at James, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me.

“James, you’re such a manwh.ore...” I said, shaking my head slightly.

He pushed his plate away in frustration, slamming his forehead onto the table.

“This is a disaster,” he muttered under his breath.

For a brief moment, a small wave of sadness washed over me. Why did I care? Why did I even bother? Maybe it wasn’t just the girls that bothered me—it was everything.

"From a third point of view, I almost pity you," I said honestly.

James lifted his head and placed his chin on the table, looking at me with a blank expression. He looked almost funny with his broad shoulders hunched over the table. I held back a smile. Maybe playing the role of "cousin" was giving me a new perspective on him.

A teasing smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

"A boy tries to swoon a girl, but like Murphy's Law, things just keep going wrong. And to top it off, the girl already isn’t interested," I added with a light laugh.

He straightened up, his expression turning into a frown.

"Not interested? Why?" he asked, confused.

"Because he is a rich, handsome playboy and womanizer. That’s not her type," I explained.

"So, now having money in bank account and good genetics is a bad thing?" he asked, still frowning.

"Come on! I have money too, but that's not the same thing," I replied, feeling a bit frustrated.

"Have you ever dated ugly guys?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. They were handsome," I answered with a shake of my head.

"Then how does that add up?" he asked, confused.

"Well, they didn’t use their looks to get girls into their beds every week," I said plainly.

"Are you sure?" he asked with a sharp edge to his voice.

"Ninety-eight percent sure," I said confidently, nodding.

"Anyway, I feel like the universe is trying to protect me," I added with a grin.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, curious.

"Well, it's like the universe is warning me, 'Don’t be fooled by his sweet talk! This is who he really is,'" I teased, my smile growing wider.

"That’s just my ugly past. Don’t you think it’s unfair to judge me based only on that?" he asked, a little defensive.

"Partly, yes. But it’s the side of you you’d probably prefer to keep hidden. Isn't that true?" I said with a touch of triumph.

He sighed and shook his head.

"It’s true. But as I said, it's in the past. I’m not like that anymore. I’ve met someone special," he said, looking at me with an intensity that made my heart flutter.

Was he trying to imply something with that? The "special one"? I chose not to think too much about it, shaking my head and looking down at the table.

"James, do you know how you sound to me? Like an alcoholic who says, 'I’m a changed man. I’ll never drink again,'" I said, attempting to mimic a deep voice.

"But it’s true!" he almost shouted, his frustration evident.

"Yeah, that’s what they say too," I replied, giving him a sarcastic grin.

"Sorry, I’m not convinced," I added with a shrug.

"Well, my actions will prove you wrong!" he said, clearly irritated.

I shrugged again, this time more seriously.

"You don’t have to prove anything. I’m nobody, and I’ll be gone soon," I said, trying to end the conversation on a lighter note. I wanted him to understand that trying to persuade me was futile.