Chapter 22

Mac drove on autopilot, barely seeing the road in front of him. He had his window down, and was driving around the city in concentric, hopeless circles. He hadn’t even talked to Bruin yet because he didn’t want the male to see how despondent he was. His one true mate hadn’t responded to him at all. To her, he’d been just anyone, a meat shield, a… hostage to use to get herself out of the building, and all the other cops thought she was a murderer.

He’d barely slept, eking out maybe three hours of fitful slumber, and he’d been in the truck driving around since before the sun went down, but he didn’t know where to go from here. Fate had turned him over a barrel and fucked him hard, and if his mate really was a murderer, she was most likely gone already. He’d never see her again. Unless they caught her, and then she’d go to jail.

Fuck that. He shook his head. She wasn’t. She just wasn’t. When she’d touched him, he’d felt the steely strength of her, exactly how he’d known she’d be, but he also had gotten a soul-ful of her goodness. Maybe it was down-deep goodness, hidden under a few layers, but it was in there. She was not a murderer, cold-blooded, premeditated, or otherwise. Someone had set her up. He felt it in his bones, in his blood, in the deepest part of him that was more animal than human, more instinct than reason.

His phone rang and he ignored it. Bruin had tried to call a few times, but Mac had let it go to voicemail over and over again. That was the one thing he didn’t know if he could handle, if he saw it in the bear’s face that he thought Mac’s female was a murderer. All the rest of them could go to hell. But Bruin? That would hurt.

So he drove. And ignored.

The wind hummed through the open windows of the truck, plucking at his short hair and his scruff he hadn’t bothered shaving off, until he couldn’t stand the lonely noise of it anymore.

But he couldn’t close the windows.

He snapped on the police radio just to break the constant pull of that hum. Gentle chatter greeted him. Lots going on, but most of it attended to. No one yelling, no one even excited. Good, quiet nights were always best. Unless they meant you were driving around in a fucking shambles, with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

“Argh!” Mac voiced a guttural yell to the sky as he dropped his head back for just a moment and tightened his hands on the steering wheel until he felt it bend under the strain. He eased up.

A dispatcher’s voice came over the radio. “Central to 634, report of vandalism and graffiti at Sinissipi Park.”

No one answered. Of course no one did. 634 was a ghost unit. The unit they called when everyone was busy, but they wanted to make it seem like someone was heading to a simple call like vandalism of a public place. Unlikely anyone would get hurt, more likely that the perpetrators would get scared away, if they had a scanner on them.

Mac ignored the call, the tires of the truck eating up the miles underneath him, until he realized he was in front of Sinissipi Park. He glanced over, unable to see much of the park from the road. It covered almost forty acres, much of that bike and exercise paths, part of it a large, sprawling playground, one of the best in the city. He knew the park intimately, because it divided two forests; one they’d trained in when he was a teen in the war camps, and the other had been the home of the volleyball camp his first teenage crush had attended. He’d snuck out repeatedly, just for a glimpse of her, most of the time taking the underground tunnel-

Mac’s thoughts ground to a gravelly halt as one word stood out in his mind like a neon sign. Graffiti. He remembered the wolf in that room under the post office in Chicago, the one with all the curlicues, and the words scrawled beneath it. Graffiti. He remembered the wolf drawn on the art in the park near Mik Maks. Images of pictures of more wolves drawn at various places around the city, almost always with a cryptic message painted nearby flashed into his consciousness, along with the one true mate prophesy. He didn’t have it memorized, or he didn’t think he did, but the first part of it played through his mind as easily as if he’d written it himself.

In twenty-five years, half-angel, half-human mates will be discovered living among you.

This is how you will rebuild .

Warriors, all, with names like flora.

Save them from themselves, for they will not know their foreordination.

They will not be bound by shiften law, but their destinies entwine so strongly with their fated mates, that any not mated by their 30th year will be moonstruck. Those who are lost may be dangerous.

A pledged female will have free will that shiften know not. Never forget this or it will cause grave trouble.

Mac stopped the truck dead in the middle of the quiet road, his mind racing over a few of the lines again and again.

Save them from themselves. Not bound by shiften law. Destinies entwined with their fated mates. Moonstruck. Dangerous. Free will.

Motherfuck. His mate didn’t know who or what she was, didn’t have any reason to trust Mac, even if she had felt the same things he had. It wasn’t her fault, none of it. And it wasn’t a rejection of him.

A weight rolled off of him and he pulled the truck to the side of the road so fast his tires squealed.

He picked up the mic. “Central, this is SRT-436. I’m heading into Sinissipi Park, will make checks.”

“Roger.”

“No backup needed.”

“10-4.”

Mac practically jumped out of the truck, his heart light, his steps fast. She was here. He knew it. He could sense it, as surely as if she were a magnet and he a big piece of metal. And he knew why she was there. She was crazy. But that was cool. As soon as they got together, it would stop. She would have him. He would ground her, level her, plug that hole in her being that she didn’t know was there.

Mac grinned. His night was about to turn on a dime. He stuck his nose in the air, not scenting her yet, but he would.

He would use every bit of charm he had to convince her that he was the one for her. Only after she came to him smiling, arms open, would he spill all the rest of that crap.

He wanted to give them both the chance to choose each other because they were right for each other, before she ever knew anything about who they were to each other.

Free will, and all that.

***

Rogue examined the damage the boys had done with a sour bitterness in her heart. The circular turret that covered one of the main parts of the playground was cut almost all the way through at two support beams. This park would have to be shut down until someone could fix it. She knew Serenity didn’t have unlimited funds for that kind of thing. Shit. Maybe the community could get together and do the work, pitch in the money to fix the playground.

She couldn’t stand the thought of the playground being closed for any length of time. She knew all too well how, in some children’s life, places like this were the only opportunities for joy they had. Sometimes home was too… loud, too violent-

Rogue crouched in the dark and quiet as a knowing grabbed her by the back of the neck and forced her down. Someone was… what? Not watching her. There were no eyes on her. But someone was in the park… looking for her specifically.

Squatting, she felt outwards, and found the someone, coming in from the main street, walking quickly. She was dressed all in dark clothing, and would be hard to see, but her face and her hands were visible and would give her away. She had only a moment to get down off the playground and melt into the forest.

She didn’t take it. Something held her right where she was, until the minute had passed, and the someone came into view.

A man. Her hostage. Why was she not surprised to see him out here? He looked good enough to eat, wearing work khakis, heavy work boots, a dark long-sleeved shirt that covered him like a second skin, showing the muscles of his abs and torso as he moved. His big arms swung as he walked. He hadn’t shaved, and that scruff on his cheeks and chin made him look like a Greek god come to life. Pure attraction to him licked through her insides, heating her from the inside out, making her think of both the faceless cop that played in her mind movies, and the one from Yosemite four years ago.

Her eyes narrowed as she wondered if all three were the same man. Could such a thing even be possible? And what would it say about him if it were? A single word pounded through her brain, making her frown in the darkness. Destiny.

Fuck that. She had a life. She had a plan. Destiny didn’t exist.

She wasn’t losing herself, though, that was good, even though she was thinking about cops. Should she test it and think about wolves, too? No, she couldn’t afford to pass out here, or whatever she did when she lost it.

But before she was even done making that decision, he stopped on the path, his hands curling into fists, and raised his head to the sky. The moon wasn’t completely overhead yet, but a soft yellow light above the path illuminated his face just enough that she could see his nostrils flaring. He was smelling the air. He moved forward a few steps, out of the circle of light, then stopped again.

His eyes glowed a freakish yellow that both soothed her and scared her and she pushed herself backwards, until her ass hit the wooden posts behind her. Wolf! her mind screamed. The yellow faded, and his face turned toward her, and she instantly wondered if she’d imagined it.

There were no lights over her. He shouldn’t be able to see her.

“I know you’re here,” he said, his voice a low, sexy rumble that made Rogue weak and pissed at the same time. She hated how insanely attracted to him she was.

She didn’t say a word, just in case he was bluffing.

He stood still on the path, but his eyes slid off of the place where she was hiding, to the forest beyond the playground. Ah, he might know she was there but he couldn’t see her, mostly hidden behind the posts, in the dark. Either that, or he was playing with her. The thought that he might be playing with her sent new thrills of emotion through her body, and her very core swelled with wanting. Fuck. That. This guy was dangerous, and not cuz he was a cop, or bigger than her, but because she wanted him, plain and simple. She had to get out of there.

And still, she stayed put.

Then he said something that changed everything.

“I know you didn’t do it. I won’t let anyone arrest you.”

Holy shit. His actions in that crazy orgy came back to her with stunning clarity. Put the guns away, or I’ll have all your fucking badges!

Rogue always thought her attraction to cops had been a bit of a taboo thing, her being a criminal practically since she was old enough to walk, her uncle filling her head with propaganda about how cops were all lying, corrupt assholes who stole and lied just as much as anyone else. But now that she was an adult, she’d realized that could apply to some cops, but certainly not all of them, not even most of them. But shit, the way he looked? All muscles and clothes that said he was here to kick ass and take names but he didn’t give a fuck what your name was. And the overt authority he exuded. He made naughty images play through her mind of him giving orders, sensual orders, and her scrambling to obey them. She’d never had such a thought in her life! And the way she just knew he wouldn’t be scared of her, even a little bit. She scared men, she knew she did, with her height and her muscles and her own attitude, and she didn’t mind doing it, but she would never, ever do a man she scared.

Rogue stayed quiet, conflict raging inside her.

He spoke again, his voice softer. “I want to help you.”

Rogue stood up. His eyes went to her almost lazily. He had known where she was. Eye contact with him made her brain scorch. “Why?”

He smiled and Rogue wanted to fall to her knees at the simple masculine beauty of him.

“Hi,” he said on an outbreath, almost a whisper that barely carried through the chilly, moonlit air.

Rogue ignored her feelings, her desires, every single thing her body was telling her. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked out a hip. “Why do you want to help me?”

“You’re just as beautiful as I knew you would be.” His voice was firmer now, but still airy, like he wasn’t even talking to her.

She scowled at him. “So that’s what this is about? Sex? You help criminals stay out of jail so they’ll fuck you?” The words stirred something primal in her and suddenly that was all she could think about. Getting fucked by this man. Him bending her over every piece of furniture in her home, in his home, maybe the desks at the police station, shit, right here on this very playground, with the moonlight in her eyes.

No! He was playing her, and she would not let her body invite him to do it. She wanted to know what his game was.

He frowned, genuinely perplexed by her words, but then he recovered himself, and his face became all smooth charm, as if he knew exactly how he looked to her and was willing to use it to his advantage. “Not at all. I want to help you because I know you didn’t take out that guy, and because I know you are… special. But it’s not about sex.” He began walking toward her, his body moving like something big and deadly would move over its home trail in the forest, knowing it owned everything it saw. His voice dropped an octave as he came closer, intimacy dripping from it. “Unless you want it to be about sex. I’m down with anything you want from me.”

Rogue tried to concentrate on his earlier words. Special? What? But her mind kept playing over what he’d just said. Unless you want it to be about sex. Anything you want from me. Fuck, she couldn’t even keep a thought in her head! And he was closer. Coming up to the stairs on the wooden structure that would lead him to her.

“Stop,” she cried out, grabbing the railing behind her to keep from spinning off into space. He didn’t stop. He kept walking. She could feel the vibrations his body made in the structure as he placed each heavy foot on the steps.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he practically purred. “I’m Mac, by the way. I never did get your name.”

Rogue gripped the railing behind her tighter. “That’s because I didn’t tell you what it was.”

“You should.”

I shouldn’t! Oh man, but she wanted to. She wanted to spill her full name, hear how it sounded coming from his lips. Her thighs quivered as he came closer and closer and she thought about his mouth… on her. She looked to her left. He was big, but she was fast. She could outrun him.

But she didn’t. She believed him when he said he wouldn’t let anyone arrest her, and she had to think that meant him, too. She wanted to see what he would do when he reached her, God help her, she did.

He crossed the wooden bridge, his eyes locked on hers. And then he was there. One more step and he was in her space. She stared up at him, putting him at six foot three inches, easy, maybe six foot four. At six foot even, there weren’t many men she could look up to, and she relished doing so. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the railing outside hers, locking her in the cage of his arms.

“Hi,” he said again, his lips curling up slightly, his body so close she could smell him. Denim, attitude, a whole lot of clean man. She wanted her lips on him. Wanted his lips on her. Heat poured off of him, driving away the chill in the air. She couldn’t form a thought in her head that didn’t have to do with this man taking her in his arms, doing things to her that would relieve the sudden throbbing in her core.

And she fucking hated it. Hated him for making her feel this way, for being so perfectly the kind of man she’d always wanted but never had. Hated that she found him completely and totally irresistible.

Fuck. That.