move to hurry away. “Like… What? A tutor?”
I consider this. “It would be very fair to consider her my tutor. One of many.”
Her eyes narrow again, making my hearts sink. “Where are you from? And you better have a good answer,” she declares with challenge and suspicion.
I gulp. And when her eyes fly right to the substantial amount of thyroid cartilage that surrounds my larynx, I realize she’s watching my throat bob in nervous agitation. Against my will, I also nervously clear my throat. “I’m from a suburb outside of Chicago.” Very, very far outside of Chicago.
She points her cell phone at me. “Okay. Something about you is off. But I’m trusting you to be harmless—”
“I am,” I assure her, my gibbous shoulders (unnaturally gibbous; they have a humped appearance on account of my wings being tightly bundled along my back) dropping with my relieved breath. “I would never harm a female.”
She looks me up and down again. “Riiight. I’m leaving, and you’re not going to follow me this time and you sure as hell better not chase me down another block.”
At this, I feel quite ashamed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I vow that it was absolutely not my intention. I thought we were both hurrying from a threat,” I try to explain.
She studies me again, but it’s only the most cursory of searching looks. She takes up her cell phone to tap things at it, finger stabbing forcefully, and I receive the strong impression that this female would be a formidable opponent should she be moved to acts of self-defense. “I forgive you. Now, you’ve managed to keep me here long enough that I can’t stop in and chat with my friend,” she flings her arm out, indicating a section of shops and stores, one of which has a brightly colored bobbin and needle rendering suspended on a hook over a cheerily-decorated doorway, “so I’ll have to catch up with her later. As for you: goodbye.”
“Farewell,” I manage with a gamely smile.
With a shake of her head, she turns enough that her back is only half-towards me, perhaps not entirely trusting me enough not to keep me in her sights. “You’ve got a cluelessly charming vibe going on, I’ll give you that.”
“This is not the first time I’ve been complimented in such a fashion,” I murmur.
But to this, she says nothing, because she’s moved far enough away not to respond.
Sighing, I glance around, wondering where in this place I can meet the female who will want to be my lifemate.
If I’m meant to have one. My human friends tell me I will feel a spark. Some recognition. Some signal that my soul recognizes its mate.
I’ve never felt that spark. For a long time, I looked into every pair of new eyes wondering if this was the person for me. Perhaps I don’t have a match. I’m of the mind that my soul has developed a weary acceptance that it's actually meant to go its lifespan alone.
I shake myself, shake my thoughts and even my wings where they lie hidden against my back, and I take in my surroundings. Inadvertently, because I was following the female dashing ahead of me, I’ve ended up in a part of town I did not study on the map I was provided with. I look for street signs, but the names aren’t familiar.
Swallowing, I glance to the shops that the woman indicated, seeing the decorated doorway of the bobbin shop.
Resetting my shoulders to look confident, I stride to the white strips painted on the transportation tarmac, using them to access the other side of the street when walking lights indicate it’s safe for me to travel them.
And then I’m at the door of the bobbin shop, a curious—but welcome—feeling of excitement building me.
An internal voice suddenly announces, Your mate is close.
My eyes shoot wide and my wings instinctively snap open—but the cloak I’m wearing binds them too tightly to expand.
And with an inhale, my hearts start to hum. Hope, long dead, flaps to life in my chest. Because there’s a faint, faint scent, one I’ve never chanced upon before in my lifespan—but I recognize it with every fiber of my being.
My mate is here.
THE THANKS PAGE
Thank you to Ronika Williams and Janet Seavey for LAUGHING. And for your kind encouragement. And for dropping everything to beta read. Kitty Smart, you too!! YOU ROCK!!!
To Connie Perez, who prefers her heroes on the dominant side.
To Marissa Olesen, for Kodiak pancakes, dangerous cookies, and a