Beyond the Curtain

06 | rule 95

RULE 95: IF SOMEONE CLAIMS YOU AS THEIR MATE, YOU MUST IGNORE THEM. YOU BELONG TO MISS NYMPHADORA.

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My feet carried me for miles—or what felt like miles—until finally, I had to stop to catch my breath. Never before had I run with such purpose. I didn't know where I was headed, but I knew I had to get out of there.

My head felt like it was about to explode, my wolf threatening to resurface. My wolf had stayed in the shadows most of my life. Despite this, I was still able to shift every night, but I had no closer connection to my animalistic side.

Why had my wolf surfaced tonight?

It was clear it had something to do with the mystery man. His face still seared into my memory. He had hazel eyes, a transfusion of green and brown specks dancing around his irises. While his eyes had been stunning, so was the rest of his face. He had a sharp jawline with a shadow of facial hair sprouting on his chin. I caught sight of a small scar under his eyes—it must have only been a nick—but for some reason, I knew it suited him well.

We had only laid eyes on each other for a brief few moments, but I couldn't get him out of my head. All my thoughts would cycle back to him, and I couldn't remove the irrational impulse to turn on my heels and head back in his direction.

I was just as bad as Julia, I thought. But maybe even worse.

My wolf had claimed him as my mate.

Growing up, I had been teased by numerous members of the circus that wolves—not necessarily werewolves—mate for life. Usually, it was one of the older men, after a few too many drinks, who would say they'd never want to be a wolf because they mate for life, and who would want that?

A mate.

Shit, I said to myself. A mate? No, no, no.

Miss Nymphadora would not only have reason to wring me around the neck for my abrupt exit, but I had an inkling she would be at my throat for discovering my mate.

The fear of Miss Nymphadora's iron fist should have been enough to make me gather my wits and head back toward the circus, but I couldn't make myself go back there.

I couldn't make myself go back to him.

Every day of my twenty-two years of life had been typical: I would eat, work, and then sleep. Not a day went by where I didn't do either of those three things. But today, during one of the most important performances of my life, I had to go ahead and add finding my mate to the list.

I was doomed, and my fate was sealed when a voice spoke out from the trees surrounding me. "Quite the exit."

Before the mystery person revealed themself, I knew it was him. His scent clung around every tree and blade of grass he stepped past to get here, and I was once again overwhelmed by his presence.

When he stepped out of the shade of a cluster of trees, he was just as beautiful as I remembered. He was sculpted in sharp lines, but his hair, dark as coals, softened his face. He had tattoos up and down both of his arms, and I caught myself wondering what each one symbolized.

Still in my wolf form, he threw a piece of fabric in my direction. I let it fall to the ground in a heap. I knew that red hue anywhere. It was my circus cloak. Inching toward my cloak, I picked it up with my teeth and retreated behind a few burly trees.