Chapter 45: Idiot Mate

Chapter 45: Chapter 45: Idiot Mate

The car jolted violently—a metallic thud followed by the screech of scraping plastic. Something had definitely, unequivocally, rear-ended them.

Kyler’s tablet slipped from his grasp, clattering against the leather seat before he caught it by sheer reflex. His expression didn’t so much as twitch. But the temperature inside the vehicle plummeted so fast that Wilson’s coffee—which was in a sealed thermos—briefly considered turning into a slushie.

Wilson’s soul performed a quick out-of-body experience, floated up to the ceiling, looked down at the mess, and then reluctantly returned to its fleshy prison.

"...Alpha," Wilson said, his voice eerily calm, like a man who had accepted his fate. "I think the tornado just rear-ended us."

He twisted around in his seat, craning his neck to peer through the rear windshield. But the angle was wrong. He could only see the sky, some clouds, and a pigeon that looked like it was judging the entire situation.

The two women on the scooter were presumably lying somewhere on the road, crumpled like discarded napkins, but from his vantage point, they might as well have been invisible.

Outside, chaos had already begun to brew.

Pedestrians had pulled out their phones—some to call an ambulance, others to record the spectacle for what would surely become the most viral video of the month. Some good Samaritans had already started rushing toward the fallen duo, their arms outstretched with the universal "we’re-here-to-help-don’t-sue-us" energy.

But Wilson could hear the gossip spreading like wildfire.

"Isn’t that the scooter from hell that nearly turned a bus into a pancake?"

"I saw it try to rob a bank!"

"It triggered the Great Canned Food Avalanche! The one that sent three people rolling down the street like human bowling pins!"

"The poodle witnessed everything," another added solemnly. "That poodle is the key witness."

Wilson’s mouth twitched. He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or file an insurance claim.

He turned back to face Kyler, who had returned his attention to his tablet as if nothing had happened. The man’s composure was frankly terrifying.

"Alpha... what should we do?"

Kyler didn’t look up. His voice was flat, cold, and completely devoid of mercy.

"Drive. Leave them behind. But before that—find out their identities. Make sure they pay for the damages. And find out which pack they belong to." He finally lifted his gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. "If they were sent to spy on us, I want to know who sent them."

Even without stepping out of the car—even surrounded by human city noise and the lingering smell of exhaust fumes—Kyler could sense it. The two women crumpled on the road were werewolves. A perk of being a top-tier Alpha.

Wilson hesitated.

"...Uhhhh, Alpha," he said slowly, choosing his words like a man defusing a bomb, "given how... foolish they seem, I’m fairly certain they’re not spies. And if they are dangerous..."

He paused.

"...it’s a completely different kind of dangerous."

Kyler’s eyebrow twitched. A rare flicker of curiosity crossed his otherwise stoic face.

"Explain."

Wilson wasn’t sure how to explain that the "danger" he sensed was less "assassination plot" and more "will accidentally burn down your mansion while trying to boil water."

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

"I think the only thing they’re after is the Darwin Awards," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Those two are more interested in taking their own lives with their sheer, spectacular stupidity than in hurting us. If they’re spies, they’re the worst spies in the history of espionage. I’m talking ’showing up to a stealth mission in a neon yellow tracksuit’ levels of bad."

Kyler stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment.

"...."

The silence stretched like taffy.

His expression didn’t change, but somewhere in the cold, dark cavern of his chest, a tiny ember of disbelief flickered. He replayed Wilson’s words from moments before the crash.

"Alpha, I think you need to see the tornado that’s currently having a personal crisis behind our car."

And then the whispers from outside—about the scooter from hell, the bank that was almost robbed by a delivery vehicle, the canned food avalanche that turned pedestrians into bowling pins, and the poodle who was apparently now the star witness in a case of vehicular chaos.

Kyler’s conclusion?

Ah. Two mentally ill patients who just escaped from a psychiatric hospital. Two werewolves with a death wish, who had apparently turned traffic into a real-life demolition derby.

He decided that his spreadsheet on international trade routes was infinitely more interesting than discussing the cognitive deficiencies of werewolves with a collective IQ lower than room temperature.

He returned his gaze to the tablet.

"Fine. I trust your judgment."

Meanwhile, up ahead, the triplets’ car had become a tiny speck in the distance.

At that exact moment, a mind-link crackled into Kyler’s consciousness—strong, clear, and tinged with mild concern. Caelus’s voice echoed in his skull like a stone dropped into still water. Even across different packs, the mental discipline of two top-tier Alphas allowed for a direct line, a privilege few others possessed.

’Uncle. You stopped. Is something wrong? Do we need to turn around?’

Kyler’s mental reply was as dry as week-old toast.

’Some lunatic hit my car. Minor delay. Keep going. Wait at the destination.’

’Understood.’

The link severed.

Kyler gave Wilson a curt nod. "Move."

Wilson signaled their driver, and the SUV began to roll forward.

But as the tires turned, as the engine hummed back to life—

A scent drifted through the crack of the window like a thief in the night.

Sweet.

Warm.

Intoxicating.

It hit Kyler like a freight train made of pure, primal desire. His fingers froze mid-tap on the tablet. His breath caught in his throat.

His wolf, Zephyr, who had been lounging in the recesses of his soul like a bored predator, suddenly lunged forward, clawing at the inside of his mind with a ferocity that made Kyler’s hand jerk.

’Mate.’

Kyler’s dark eyes flickered.

Gold bled into the irises like molten honey.

Zephyr’s voice rumbled through his consciousness, deep and triumphant, the bastard practically purring.

It’s our fated mate’s scent, Kyler.

And she’s literally right behind us. On the ground. Where she just crashed her scooter into our car like a goddamn idiot!