Hunt Me! (I Crave The Chase) - Page 181

And then I went outside, dazed.

Naked.

Lost.

I pulled up the number I’d saved in my phone.

And I called.

When I woke up Mutt was gone. I wasn’t surprised. I knew he’d wanted to spend some time with his brothers today. So I wandered into the kitchen and chugged water from the tap to wet my dry mouth, limping all the way.

My ass twinged in an incredibly pleasant way, and I grinned to myself, more than a little excited for the next time I’d get to take his knot again.

And then…the conversation we’d had in the woods came back to me.

And I panicked.

An hour and a half later I was sitting in the parking lot of my therapist’s office and I had half the country out looking for answers for me. Well…not half the country. That was an exaggeration. But definitely all my brothers.

They’d all been assigned different magic shops in the area, and I had plans after my appointment to head straight for the big hunting lodge east of Elmwood to see if I could get some answers of my own. I’d avoided it like the plague—mostly because I knew I’d get recognized there. Knew I’d have to play my part, the way I always had for Lydia.

But at this point…I didn’t fucking care.

Mutt was worth it.

If I could play Jeffrey Evans for the last sixteen years—I could do it a few more times. Especially if it meant I got to keep my mate.

Because that’s what he was.

Maybe there was a way to turn me? A way to work around the rules. Except that everyone knew wolves were born, not turned. And the movies, comics, and TV shows that said otherwise were full of shit.

I was giving myself today.

Today.

And then I’d give up on this and start hunting for a mate for Mutt.

I nearly canceled my therapy appointment entirely—but…for the first time in my life, I was actually ready for it. Actually ready to speak about what was happening to me. And I needed…well, I needed someone to talk to.

Which was why there was no hesitation when I pushed into the doors of the pristine white office, flopped onto the “thinking couch” and let loose.

I told Doctor Mason everything.

Once again glad that I’d opted to go with a therapist that was sanctioned by SAC as it meant I didn’t have to filter most of my life. She listened, and her expression was gentle and fond. By the time I was done talking, when I glanced at the clock, I realized our time was almost up.

“Sorry,” I managed, throat dry. She offered me a water bottle and shook her head with a wry grin.

“Don’t apologize,” she said softly. “Listening is what I’m here for.”

“Right,” I flushed, taking a sip of the water—and then chugging it, because why not. She’d offer me another, and I was paying her a shit ton of money, so.

“Why did you forgive him?” she asked and I frowned, confused. I crinkled the bottle up, and tossed it across the room. It hit the wall and skipped right into the trash can.

“Forgive him?”

“Mutt,” she clarified softly. “Why did you forgive him for lying about being your dog?”

If she felt bad for telling me my “dog” was just a “dog” it didn’t show. I suppose she did get paid the big bucks to have a pretty spectacular poker face, though. She’d make a killing in Vegas, that was for sure.