CHAPTERTHREE
RUX
Rux ran through the foggy hillside, adoring the way the wind blasted through his thick fur. It was a ritual he had succumbed to since his father’s death, one that was both exhilarating and a little painful.
If he’d had a therapist, they would have said it was a form of self-punishment. Especially on the days when he ran himself ragged, exhausted, nearly fainting in his panther form in the middle of nowhere.
That morning, though, there was enough on his mind to keep him spritely. He enjoyed galloping over the hills and into the woods on his acre-upon-acre manor property, where he spent most of his time when he didn’t have meetings in the city.
There weren’t any cars for miles, nor a single soul who could disrupt the freedom he felt in his bones as he moved across the sublime natural land.
Rux was panting, on the edge of getting a cramp in his side, so he stopped on the hill on the way back. He overlooked his giant estate fit for a king, but a lonely one, at that.
Rux watched as the fog rolled upon the ancient brick and cast it in eternal mystery. Rux, a lover of the arts and a poet at heart, thought of the house as a symbol for himself.
Living like a king, lonely as a king, a haunted heart cast in fog.
Rux knew many shifters who had met their mate, and the constant theme that ran through their narratives was how wonderfully their lives had changed. Rux had experienced an event that had changed him forever, locking his heart away from any potential threat that might rip it apart once more.
Because of this, he rarely indulged in such thoughts of a mate. Barely considering that a change in his life for the better could happen at all.
He looked over the vastness of the property, the glistening green lawn, the way the dew from the morning sat like diamonds across the fields ...
How could this not be enough for me?
He had a garage full of the most expensive cars he could have ever dreamed of. His sister was the conductor of the Philharmonic Orchestra, giving him access to virtually any musical event of his liking.
Rux had tried to convince himself that it was enough. He couldn’t open himself to anyone. The loss, the heartbreak, would surely kill him, the way the passing of his father nearly had.
He trotted to the manor, ruminating about his meeting with Gerri. She had asked him what he wanted in a mate, and he sighed, giving an honest answer for once.
“I honestly don’t know,” he had huffed. “I’ve never given it much thought.”
But Gerri had been adamant. She was able to see through him in a way no one had in a long time. He thought of himself as a locked vault, bursting with darkness and secrets he had decided no one was worthy of catching a glimpse of.
She’d tapped him on the leg and said he deserved someone who would see him. Rux felt the tightening of his chest, that strange combination of fleeting hope being suffocated by a determined cynicism.
Rux shifted into his human and then showered before any of his attendants arrived. He wanted to be alone most of the time, but the manner in which he lived required a reasonable amount of maintenance.
The people he hired were quiet and respectful, which was exactly how he was to them.
His sister and mother would be picking him up soon in an executive car to take him to meet the match Gerri had already found. It had only been a few days since he’d spoken to her, so the speed made him feel a little uneasy.
He chose sleek black slacks with a dark-blue blazer and an identically shaded dress shirt.
Rux was fixing his hair in the mirror when he caught his reflection. It had been a long time since he had spoken to his father, but he often had the urge during times when he flirted with the idea of crossing boundaries.
His amber-green eyes were the same as his father’s. His jet-black hair and the way he pushed it back were also the same.
There are some things that we can avoid becoming when it comes to our parents, but sometimes, genetics reign supreme.
He sighed into the mirror.
“Could use a chat right now, Dad,” he whispered.
Rux heard a loud honk coming from the front yard. He rolled his eyes, knowing Nyssa was probably leaning over the driver and pressing her hand against the horn. He turned back to face his reflection, then spoke softly.
“Just go with it. Don’t expect anything. Just do it.”