Warrior's human mate

Chapter 15

Laila

My Sunday was slow—at least until noon. That’s when my boss called, sounding frantic, telling me there was some kind of disaster and begging me to help out with another project due first thing Monday morning.

After grumbling and negotiating an extra payment, I agreed. For the next three hours, I typed like my life depended on it, skimming and editing at lightning speed. But by three p.m., the panic set in—I still needed to get ready for my date. I typed even faster, reread everything in record time, and finally hit send.

3:20 p.m. I had fourty minutes. I could pull this off.

Wasting no time, I jumped in the shower. My head was pounding from all the intense work—hopefully, the hot water would help clear it. I lathered shampoo into my hair and rinsed it out, moving on to shaving. Ugh. Why did this beauty standard even exist? Just sixty or so years ago, women didn’t shave at all, and no one cared. My spiteful self wanted to rebel, but I was too much of a coward to challenge centuries of expectations.

I glanced down at my slightly overgrown situation and sighed. I didn’t have a boyfriend, so usually, I didn’t stress about it. But this was a date. Where did I want this night to go? Hmm. Sometimes, we have plans, but in the heat of the moment, things take a different turn. Better safe than sorry. With an exasperated sigh, I grabbed the razor.

I was determined to resist him as much as my willpower would allow. Though with the face and body he had it was getting harder and harder to do it. And on top of it, he was nice and sweet to me.

As I scrubbed my skin, I noticed how much dead skin was coming off. A sauna session beforehand would have been perfect—the steam warming my bones, a honey scrub leaving me baby-soft and smelling divine. Mmm, that sounded amazing.

Lost in my daydream, I didn’t realize the water was getting colder. Crap. Unlike back home, this place did not have endless hot water. I hurriedly rinsed my hair again and body before shutting it off with a groan. This sucked. One more thing to add to the “things I miss from home” list.

Shivering, I grabbed my towel and dried off quickly, humming a random tune. I started combing my hair and reached for the blow dryer when—

Ding-dong.

I froze. James? Already? I stared at my reflection, wide-eyed. Sh.it.

I cracked open the bathroom door, listening carefully. Maybe it was a neighbor’s doorbell?

Ding-dong.

Nope. Definitely mine. I darted around the room, searching for my phone. Wrapped in just my towel, I grabbed it and checked the time.

4:00 p.m. on the dot.

A string of curses flew from my lips. No way. I swore I had only been in the shower for 20 minutes, tops.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no no no. Great. Now I was quoting silly t****k videos. Focus, Laila!

This was about to be so awkward. And lame.

I tiptoed to the door. Wah, i***t. This was going to be… yeah, just great. There goes my self-image, crashing and plummeting yet again.

I dreaded opening that door. This was about to be peak awkward.

Then again, we had already gone swimming together. He had seen plenty. But somehow, this felt way more intimate.

I just prayed my towel wouldn’t get caught in something and—God forbid—slip off while I waltzed around the house. Oh yeah, that would be perfect. Just me, standing naked in front of James.

F.uck. Sarcasm wasn’t helping. With a deep sigh, I unlocked the door.

I cracked it open and immediately ducked behind it, peeking out like a guilty child.

Yup. Definitely James.

The scent of his cologne hit me like a dream. Yummy.

And him? He looked so good. Like, so, so good. I could easily skip the whole date, grab him by the shirt, and drag him straight into my bedroom.

Maan…

And me? Standing here, dripping wet in a towel, looking like an absolute mess.

Lame. Lame. LAME. I wanted to cry. How did I get so carried away?!

James

I had been buzzing all day. Cloud nine? Way too low. I was somewhere in the stratosphere.

My family immediately picked up on my mood. So, naturally, I shared everything—from our last two days together to the details of our upcoming date. They cheered me on like I’d won a championship.

I was ecstatic. Butterflies? Check. Stupid, love-struck grin? Double check.

Oh, Goddess, the things this mate bond was doing to me.

I didn’t bother with a tux or a suit. Instead, I went for black jeans and a dark blue long-sleeve shirt. Lately, jeans were my only option when I was around Laila. She was so delicious—dangling right in front of me, teasing me with every look, every smile. But in reality? She was still so far from where I really wanted her.

Only jeans could somewhat hide my hard-ons. Somewhat.

I left the top two buttons undone and ran a little gel through my hair to keep it from falling into my face. Nothing too fancy, but I still wanted to look good for her.

Before heading to her place, I picked up a small gift and stopped by a flower shop. Then, right at exactly four p.m., I rang her doorbell.

Nothing.

I had been standing here for five minutes already, but I didn’t want to seem too desperate, so I had timed myself before ringing.

Still, silence.

Weird. I could’ve sworn I heard her humming just a moment ago. I rang the bell again.

This time, I heard a door open inside, followed by the soft sound of feet padding across the floor. Then—cursing.

At least she was home. Good. She didn’t ditch me. But what was going on?

Finally, the door creaked open.

No one.

Then—Laila peeked her head around it.

I tilted my head. What the—

Her wet hair clung to her face, her skin was fresh and dewy, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

Was she planning to cancel on me? And why the hell was she hiding behind the door?

One eyebrow lifted in question, and she offered me a nervous smile.

“Umm… hey, James. So… sorry, I’m not ready…”

Her face scrunched up apologetically, then she opened the door just wide enough for me to see— I sucked in a breath.

F.uck. Me.

She was wrapped in only a towel. A small towel.

“Can you come in and wait for me while I get ready? I promise—twenty minutes tops.”

Oh, I dreaded stepping inside.

I knew this was going to be another time to exercise my self-control grandly. My d**k twitched in my jeans. If I could just skip the date, pull that towel right off, and—

I clenched my fists. Hard. Then I remembered—flowers.

Right. Flowers. Focus on the flowers.

I stepped inside, and the second I did, her fresh scent hit me like a wave of warm summer air. Hay, sunshine, something soft and uniquely her.

Goddess. I wished my room smelled this good. Soon. Maybe really, really soon.

“It’s okay, I can wait,” I said, slow and measured.

Waiting was fine.

But this? Seeing her like this? Not fine. Not fine at all.

She shut the door and stood in front of me. In just that towel.

I stretched out my hand. “These are for you.” I tried to focus on her face. I didn’t want to look down and rake my eyes over her body. That would be my downfall.

She took them, smiling warmly. “Thanks!”

She brought them to her nose, but they had no scent. I should’ve thought of that. Mental note: get flowers that actually smell nice next time.

Laila headed to the kitchen, and I tried to look anywhere but at her. I failed. Just a towel. Just one slip, and— f***k. I groaned internally, shifting my stance to accommodate my hardening situation.

She started talking, her voice rushed with apology.

“I’m really sorry I’m late. This never happens. There was this issue at work with one of the projects, and I had to handle it asap. I thought I had enough time to get ready, but I guess I got… distracted in the shower…”

Distracted in the shower? How does someone get distracted in the shower? My mind immediately went there. Did she—? f***k. I smirked. I hope she was distracted by me in her fantasies.

She reached up to grab a vase from the top shelf, and her towel lifted— I saw the bottom curve of her ass. f***k. Me. My d.ick responded instantly, precum leaking into my boxers.

I bit down on my lower lip. Hard.Focus. Think about something else. Anything else.

I clenched my jaw so tight it could c***k. I was one second away from bending her over the kitchen island and—

Nope. Control yourself.

She poured water into the vase, her movements graceful and completely oblivious to my internal war. I dragged a hand down my face, rubbing my chin. Breathe. I looked around the room but my eyes trailed back to her. She was my magnet. I couldn’t resist her.

She finally placed the flowers on the windowsill, then turned back to me.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave you here. Make yourself at home. Do you want something to drink?”

She looked so apologetic. I forced a very strained smile.

“No, it’s okay. Take your time. No rush.”

Lie. There is a rush. There is an extreme, overwhelming, borderline painful rush going through my veins and straight to my d.ick.

But she didn’t need to know that.

She turned and walked toward another door—probably her bedroom or bathroom. I followed her with my eyes, hoping for a sign. Something—anything—that would tell me maybe she didn’t want dinner. Maybe she wanted to skip straight to dessert. Maybe she wanted me as her dessert.

F.uck. Water. I needed cold water. I marched to the sink and poured myself a glass.

She disappeared behind the door, and the moment she did—I exhaled sharply, my entire body releasing tension. Better. But barely.

Her scent lingered, calming me and driving me insane at the same time. My wolf was bipolar, jumping between two states—completely at peace because she was near, and utterly restless with the need to mate and mark her.

I dropped onto the couch, yanking out my phone.

Distractions. I need distractions.

I scrolled through social media, watched a few videos—anything to keep my mind from picturing what she was doing in that room and me acting on an impulse destroying this fragile thing between Laila and me.

Still, I could hear her—the hum of her fan, the way she padded across the floor, the way she hummed softly while getting ready.

I could look. But I wouldn’t. Because the moment I did? My control—already thin as a blade—would snap.

True to her words, she was ready in less than twenty minutes—one of the longest, most torturous twenty minutes of my life, I might add.

When she finally emerged, I stood and raked my eyes over her, drinking in every detail. She wore a gray-blue knitted woolen dress with long sleeves, ending just above her knees. A black and golden belt cinched her waist, accentuating her curves just right. A delicate gold pendant rested against the fabric, teasing me with glimpses of her collarbone. No cleavage, no bare shoulders—completely covered, yet still managing to be the s.exiest thing I'd ever seen.

She already had on knee-length heeled boots, and her hair, as always, was loose and effortlessly perfect. Her makeup subtly highlighted her eyes and lips, and I was mesmerized. How did she pull off looking so d.amn s.exy without revealing any skin? It was a mystery that would drive me insane.

"You look beautiful," I said, a cheeky smile playing on my lips.

She smiled back, soft and demure. "Thanks. Sorry for the delay, but I'm ready now, so we can hit the road."

I chuckled. "Always the bossy one."

She frowned. "No, I’m not."

With an exaggerated flourish, she gestured toward the door. "The door is this way, kind sir."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Okay, let's do this."

Let’s get out of here before I lose all control, rip off that dress, and make sure we both end up as sweaty messes. No. First, the date. I could do this.

I was taking her to an Italian restaurant—safe choice, right? Everyone likes Italian. Plus, I had checked that they had plenty of vegetarian options. Should be good.

As we drove, she suddenly turned to me. "I warn you, if you ruin this, I’m friend-zoning you."

"What?" I asked, surprised.

"Why are you so negative? Haven’t I been nice and sweet all this time? My personality is charming," I defended myself.

She snickered. "Yeah, sure. But I ain’t naive Little Red Riding Hood. I’m not going to your place tonight, Wolf."

Wolf.

I stiffened. My grip on the steering wheel tightened. My eyes widened slightly before I forced myself to relax, schooling my expression back into a casual smile. Did she suspect something? She frowned, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

I prayed she would let it slide. If she asked, what would I even say? Could I lie to her? No. Lying to my mate was out of the question.

"We’re here!" I announced quickly, thankful for the distraction.

She looked around, curiosity lighting up her features. We entered the restaurant, and I led her to our table by the window. Unfortunately, the secluded corners had already been booked, so we were seated in the middle of the dining area.

Still, I pulled out her chair like the perfect gentleman. She glanced up at me, one corner of her mouth lifting in amusement before she sat down. The waitress brought our menus, and soon enough, we placed our orders—Fiorentina steak for me, cheese ravioli for her.

Now, I was on a mission. I wanted to know everything about her.

"So, I realized that you’ve met all of my family, but I don’t know anything about yours," I said.

She smiled softly. "Well, there’s not much to tell. It’s just me, my mom, and my younger sister. My sister is six years younger, and all three of us look pretty similar. And that hilarious granny I mentioned before? She lives with us too. Of course, we’ve moved away from my mom’s house now."

"So, where’s your dad?" I asked the obvious question.

She shrugged. "Somewhere drinking his life away. Maybe he’s already dead. I don’t know."

I hesitated. "What happened?"

She exhaled lightly. "When our country gained its independence again, the economy crashed. My dad lost his job, just like a lot of people. He started drinking. He was desperate, I guess. But unlike most, he never bounced back. He just drowned himself in alcohol. So, after my sister was born, my mom had had enough and kicked him out. Since then, it’s just been us girls."

Her words were casual, but there was weight beneath them.

"Is that why you don’t drink alcohol?" I asked, digging deeper.

She frowned slightly, as if considering it for the first time. "Maybe. Maybe my subconscious is protecting me. I’ve seen how alcohol destroys lives. I don’t need that kind of addiction."

I nodded, filing that detail away. "So, you said your country got its freedom back. What was that about?"

She gave me an exaggerated gasp. "Ahh! You didn’t Google my country?"

I choked. "I—I was—"

She pointed an accusing finger at me. "I knew it! You’re not interested in me, you just want my body!"

"No!" I almost shouted. "I—I was about to—"

She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "Excuses, excuses…"

"It’s not like that!" I groaned, frustration bubbling up. I was thinking to Google it but was distracted with daydreaming and work…

"If you really cared, you’d have Googled it already," she teased, raising a brow.

Just then, the waitress arrived with our food. The topic hung heavy in the air.

I sighed. "I’m sorry. I will Google it. But for now, tell me about it. Please."

She smiled, her expression softening. "It’s okay, James. You don’t have to."

"No, I do. It’s part of you. It matters."

She tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "James, you contradict yourself so much."

I clenched my jaw. Frustration, disappointment in myself—why did this feel like I was failing? Wasn’t a soulmate bond supposed to be easy? Uplifting? Instead, all I felt was this nagging sense of inadequacy.

After a moment, she continued. "In the '90s, the Soviet Union collapsed, and fifteen countries regained their independence. Mine was one of them. But when the previous government left, they took everything. Factories were emptied, money disappeared. We had to start from scratch."

I nodded. "And how are things now?"

"We’re okay. Could be better, but what can you do? It’s tough when you have less than two million people."

I blinked. "What? Only two million?"

She nodded.

"That’s almost three times less than the population of Colorado alone," I said, still trying to process how small her country was.

She shrugged. "Could be."

I frowned. "Why even have your own country then? Couldn’t you just… I don’t know, join a bigger one and be like a separate state?"

Her face dropped to annoyance. She glared at me. Sh.it. I had just said exactly the wrong thing.

“No, we couldn’t,” she said firmly. “We have our own language, our own mentality, and our own culture. We don’t want to be part of anyone else. We want to be independent.”

Alright then. Touchy subject.

“Besides, we’re already part of the European Union,” she added, her tone calmer but still resolute.

“I see. No offense, I was just curious,” I said, trying to smooth things over.

“Sure,” she replied, but the dissatisfaction in her voice was clear.

Alright, mental note: do some research on her country and its history later.

Sensing it was best to move on, I steered the conversation toward safer territory—her work and the project that had made her late. Then, I asked how she felt after soaking in the water the other day.

As we waited for dessert, I realized it was the perfect moment for my gift.