A Runaway Mate

Chapter Eighteen.

Finn’s Point of View.

            Rebel excused herself from the table, the stench of fear trailing her like a lost dog. But it wasn’t strong for my parents to sense it, and if they did they would write it off as fear of meeting them.

            My Wolf whined loudly in my chest, begging me to find his mate and console her. She needed her space, if one thing Mom has ever taught me about females is that they needed their space. So as much as it pained me, I gave Rebel her space.

            Dad waited until Rebel was out of sight when he said, “Why couldn’t I ask her about her parents?”

            I sighed, slacking my body into the chair and ran a rough hand through my hair. “Because, I don’t think she has any.”

            Mom gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as Dad replied. “Why do you say that?”

            “I found her walking through town—alone.”

            Dad shrugged. “So? Maybe they were in one of the stores—” he stopped abruptly as he stared at me. “You didn’t kidnap her did you, Finn?”

            Sighing in aggravation, my hands ran down my face. The answer was technically yes, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. “Dad, you’re missing the point. I think something happened to her parents.”

            “How so?”

            So many questions, damn. “It’s just, like, whenever I bring up the subject, she gets…” I frowned. “Sad.”

            Gazing at their confused faces, they exchanged glances before Mom whispered, “What do you think happened?”

            “I don’t know, but I know her dad was a horrible parent.” The image of Rebel and I in the field sprang to my mind, the look of anger on her face as she talked about her father. Unconsciously, my hand had tightened around the fork I held, causing small indentions to appear. “But, I don’t know what happened to her mom.”

            Hurt and concern flashed in Mom’s eyes. It was comforting to know Mom was worried about my Rebel. Mom was a caring person, a trait that made her a good Luna.

            Dad asked another question, but it faded in with the white noise of the restaurant as relentless waves of fear crashed over me, but it wasn’t my own. Rebel, she was petrified. The emotion grew every passing second, getting to the point where I couldn’t stand sitting without Rebel at my side.

            Standing from the table, Dad’s Alpha-tone snapped me out of my thoughts.

            “What’s wrong, Finn?” he asked, slightly tilting his head to the side.

            “It’s Rebel,” I said quietly. “Something’s wrong with her.”

            “What is it?” Mom asked, reaching out her hand to hold mine.

            “She’s scared—really scared. I can feel it.” Looking in the directions of the bathrooms, traces of a foul odor lingered in the air. It was light, barely there and the scent of food mixed in made it almost impossible to distinguish.

            “Most couples are scared when they meet the parents for the first time,” Mom reasoned. “She needs her space, Finny.”