Love at First Mate - Badlands Territory

“Welllll…”

By the time the sky outside is dark, I feel like I’ve been transported to some alternate universe. My head is fuzzy from the whiskey but also I’m trying to absorb the information that Josephine dumped on me over the last hour and a half.

Shifters are real.

And Ragnar is a shifter.

Grizzly bear shifter.

My personal favorite.

It explains a few things, but not why he’s been so bi-polar with me.

Josephine stretches her legs straight and reaches down to touch her toes, then leans back, looking at me in the dim light.

“You gonna be okay?”

I nod. “Sure.”

I’m not sure it’s the truth, but I hope for the best.

“We should get going. I need to meet Aiken in like, half an hour. He’ll rip the town apart if I’m not home when he gets there.” She chuckles, then pushes to her feet, swaying a little before grabbing her purse and the empty flask.

It turns out that Aiken, her boyfriend, is a wolf shifter. And she is too.

I stare up at the pretty blonde and wonder what it must be like to have that animal constantly inside of you. She explained about the Badlands, the torn-up clothing, how around here being a shifter is a yawn for most of the residents, even the non-shifter ones, and my brain is still racing to catch up.

I get up, following her to the door, the keys to my new business venture still clutched in my hand. Once outside, I lock up and fumble in my purse for the VW keys.

“You okay to drive?” she asks, turning and taking a few steps backwards.

“Yeah. I think I’ll go back to the bar for a burger before I head home. Raspberry virgin Lemonade and greasy food should fix me right up.”

We say our goodbyes and I stare up at the sky, already getting dimpled with stars. There are so many stars here. The fall air has turned cooler but it’s crisp and fresh and I take a deep breath until my lungs hurt, trying to center myself and process everything I’ve been told.

Ragnar…my mind churns with all the dish Josephine served me about him.

He’s thirty-five years old and his only family left is his grandmother. Gran, as he calls her, according to Josephine. He works construction and does all sorts of handyman and trades work, but lives in an enormous house he built himself back in the woods on the land his family has had for over a century.

I turn toward the bar, but suddenly my hunger isn’t for a burger. The tension I’ve had down low in my belly since I saw Ragnar that first day tightens into a prussic knot and I’m frozen on the sidewalk, unsure if I should go forward or back.

When I asked Josephine why she thought Ragnar acted the way he did around me, she said she couldn’t be sure, but there’s been tragedy in his past and maybe that has something to do with it. She also said, if I’m his mate, sooner or later he’ll come around. He’ll have no choice. The pull will be too strong.

My heart sings at that thought, then I remember the next thing she said.

If I’m not his mate, I should stay far away, because getting attached to a shifter when you’re not mated has heartbreak carved hard into that stone.

How would I know which is which? Josephine couldn’t say. Which is more than a little frustrating.

Ragnar.

His name makes me wet.

God, I need to get a grip.

The street is quiet, but when I hear the sound of a car door slam shut, a bolt of fear races through me, remembering why I moved so far away in the first place.

Ragnar, opening the shop, this place…they’ve all distracted me and given me a false sense of safety that could be dangerous.

I spin around in the direction of the sound, bracing for the sight of the one person I never want to see again, but instead it’s him.

Ragnar.

Stomping toward me like a…bear to his prey.

His shoulders are wider than most doorways and I’m sure he bumps his head constantly because the world just isn’t built for a man his size. Except, maybe here in the Badlands.

My legs feel like Jello as he comes closer. The darkening sky doesn’t hide the massive hard-on he’s sporting and it takes all of my functioning power to not stare directly at the sex torpedo stretching his jeans to their breaking point.

“What are you doing out here on the street? Alone?” he seethes through clenched teeth. His eyes are angry, darting around like we’re being stalked by some otherworldly, dangerous force.

“Uhhhhh…standing?” I answer, swallowing the drool that’s pooling in my mouth as the biceps on his arms flex under his shirt and his chest seems to grow like the Hulk is about to appear.

He makes this grunting sound as he steps into my space, leaving only a few inches between us. It’s taking tremendous effort to keep from panting like a bitch in heat. His masculine, outdoorsy scent fills my nose, and I swear it has a direct connection to my clit.