He was cleaning up.
I dropped the hand covering my face to my lap and looked at him. He said nothing as he got on his haunches and started picking things up off the floor, never saying anything, never looking at me.
I should have gotten up and helped, but I was shocked, something in me so rooted to the spot.
He looked up at me then, his gaze seeming to look right into me.
I felt that sadness leave me, felt it being replaced with this warmth that started to form from the inside out and spread to every single inch of my body.
“What’s your name?” the shifter asked.
I felt that darkness, that numbness, trying to take control. But being in this man’s presence was like a bucket of water on that dark fire inside of me.
“India,” I found myself saying.
“India.” The way he said my name had my breath hitching.
He said it as though it was the greatest thing to ever pass his lips, as if he’d been waiting his entire life to utter that single word.
I opened my mouth to ask him the same question, but nothing came out, as if I weren’t strong enough to say it.
“Oli,” he said without me having to ask, and hearing his name was like a lightbulb had been turned on inside of me. That light grew until there was no more darkness, no more bitterness.
“Who are you?” I asked again, whispering the question, not sure what was really going on but realizing that I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted him to hold me and kiss me. I wanted him to show me that I wasn’t alone anymore.
He straightened, packs of gauze in his hands, his body so big and powerful, so muscular that my arousal renewed, causing this electricity to move through my cells and take root in the very center of me.
“I’m your mate.”
And as he said those three words, I knew in that moment that everything would be okay.
Chapter Five
Oli
I knew as she looked at me she questioned how she’d found herself in a diner with me at midnight.
She kept glancing up, catching my gaze but quickly looking away. She was human, that sweet smell of fragility making me even more protective of her.
After we’d cleaned up the van, something I’d found myself doing instantly, hoping the small act would ease her pain, I’d asked her to have coffee with me. I’d expected her to refuse. It would have been natural. She didn’t know me, and although she was my mate and I felt as though we’d known each other for our entire lives, it was slightly different for a human. Her body recognized me.
She knew there was a connection, felt it. Her realization of it was strong, smelling like the crisp winter air in my nose. But she was confused, not quite sure what was happening.
I wanted to clear it up here and now, tell her everything, lay it bare.
I leaned back in the booth and watched her raise her mug to her lips and take a slow sip. She didn’t drink coffee, and instead liked tea with just one packet of sugar, although she’d asked for honey first.
Her nails were painted this powder pink, her fingers delicate almost. She was a healer, helping people because it made her feel good, gave her purpose. I didn’t have to be a shifter to have sensed that, to see it. It was in her dedication, how she’d reacted as she’d looked at the trashed van.
And on the heels of that, I thought about the motherfuckers who’d hurt her. My gaze landed on her upper arm, where her sleeve had lifted up slightly. I saw the bruise forming, the black and blue mark in the shape of a hand.
I had to stop myself from growling, had to push my bear down because the bastard wanted out, wanted to hunt down the fuckers who’d hurt their female and tear them from limb to limb.
“Are you okay?”
Her soft, sweet voice pierced the fog of rage starting to consume me. I looked at her, realizing I was seconds away from shifting right in this diner. I cleared my throat and nodded. “Fine.” Her brows knitting told me she didn’t believe me, but I knew she wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t pry.
But everything I was was because of her. Everything I did was for her. I was born to be her mate. I’d left my home in search of her.