I figured she’d have more than one mate. She was barely five, and already, the power she held was captivating. Enough to marvel at, to behold with astonishment and joy.

I’d met her that first time when Seth had, and he’d attacked her. Even as my wolf had been snarling at me to tear out his throat, the enforcer in my soul, a duty that was written into me by the Mother’s word, which bound me by the covenant that had gifted me Grace, had forced me to hold him back.

To take him away.

To keep him from her.

She was only a child. Barely ready for pre-school. I was getting ready for junior year. My other mates were children too. It was strange to have three mates all under seven, made me feel like some kind of freak, but seeing them grow wasn’t a privilege I was allowed to have because of Seth.

My driving urge was to protect them. To keep them safe. But that wasn’t something I could do because of him, and any sense of duty that bound me to him was slowly turning to hate. With every letter I read, with every call from home, I missed my family. Not just the little kids that would, ultimately, become adults that were as bound to me as I was to them. But Sabina, Ethan, Eli, Austin. I missed their counsel, their wisecracks. The security of their love, the way they grounded me just by being them.

I even missed Lara and Todd. Missed the Thanksgivings and Christmases I wasn’t allowed to visit home for, and only the Mother knew when I’d be able to.

I was homesick, and it was way worse than when Sabina had found me, my grubby hands on a candy bar that I’d pocketed to ease the gnawing ache in my belly, when I was older than my mates were now.

My mother had died, my father had been slain in a challenge, and though I’d been cast out of my pack, the pain in my heart was nothing in comparison to this.

The gnawing ache inside me.

“Come to bed,” Seth grumbled. “Shut the curtains. We have to be up early in the morning.”

“Since when do I always do as you tell me to?” I growled back, not even bothering to twist around to glare at him.

I knew he sensed my mood.

That was the bitch of it.

Seth was sure I was his mate.

Talk about a clusterfuck.

But I wasn’t.

He wasn’t mine.

I had enough mates to know what that kind of connection felt like, even if they were all kids and there wasn’t anything other than a small link between us. One that tied me to each of them. Like a sparkler flaring to life instead of an atomic bomb.

With Seth, if we were mates, we’d have been at each other like rabbits. And though we’d messed around a few times last year, something he wanted more of, I wasn’t interested.

Fucking for the sake of fucking wasn’t fun. Not when you knew your destiny.

Not when you were waiting for the slow passage of time to crawl on by so that your mates were old enough to fucking graduate.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, wiping away the fatigue that hit me. I was, I knew, getting maudlin, and that was leading to me being depressed. Of course, that made me tetchy.

Dumbfuck that I was, I thought that was understandable, only Seth didn’t get it.

He didn’t want to be in Highbanks, ergo, I shouldn’t want to be there either.

He loved Miami. Loved it. Loved the nightlife, the energy, even the fucking heat.

Me? I was miserable. Absolutely goddamn miserable.

I heard his sheets rustle as he climbed out of bed and stepped toward me. His hand moved to my shoulder, gripping it gently as he asked, with a softness no one outside these four walls would believe him capable of, “What is it? What’s wrong?” When I didn’t say a word, his hand moved down, around to my waist and to my dick. “If you can’t sleep, I can help you with that.”

Grabbing his wrist, I yanked his arm up and out, before I twisted it behind his back.

“I told you not to touch me.”

His nostrils flared. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Daniel? We’re mates.”

The words were enough to have me letting go of him. He tried to get into my face, tried to move into my space, but I shoved him back, shoved him away, deeper into the bedroom where our twin beds, with the oak head and footboards, lay flat to the walls.

But I pushed him too hard. Too fast.

He moved back, all right, skidding on the rug as he went. I watched him, his feet sweeping out from under him, as he toppled, his head cracking against the solid footboard as he went down.

For a second, I could only stare at him.

Could only gape at his still form.

Then, the blood started to seep from his head, pooling into the navy rug below, creating a stain that was close to black with its density, and I knew, I knew he was dead.

I’d killed him.

I should have felt shame. Guilt. Terror.

But the only feeling that whispered through me was relief…