Lessons learned

…

[Ryker]

The dark brown hair that is fanned around her face falls back behind her head when I help Layla up from the mat and look into her green eyes with golden brown flecks that are still bright even though I have worked her to the bone. A few errant hairs must have fallen out of her ponytail during our training session, and for a long moment I contemplate pushing them back from her beautiful face. Instead, I clench my hands at my sides to prevent myself from reaching out when I am not sure how she will respond.

It's only been a few days since she has stopped responding to the mating pull, so I try to tell myself not to worry about it, but I can't help but second guess my every move and every word when I am around her. Even though I was only able to experience it for a short time, I already miss the feeling of being near a potential mate and the memory of it has me nearly salivating every time I am near her.

For a moment, we had her. My wolf whines in tune with my thoughts, mournful and frustrated with unrequited yearning for our mate.

My gaze subconsciously goes back to her neck while once again I imagine marking her there and making her mine. Being around her is a serious test of my self control. But I hold myself back from acting on my urge to mark her because I can feel that there is something wrong, that something is off between us. I question if she has already rejected me, even if the both of us don't know it yet.

The only solace I have is that the more time I spend with her, the stronger I can feel our bond building. Though, it is muted, strained even - I know it is there and I hold onto that sliver of reassurance.

I have been pouring through the books at the library, staying up all hours of the night in hopes of finding answers, but I have yet to find any. I know she is still capable of feeling the pull, because during that first morning in the cafeteria I could smell it on her. A typical attraction between wolves wouldn't smell nearly as strong or happen as abruptly as her reaction to someone else was in that moment. I didn't see who the asshole was that she was responding to, and my inquiries around campus into who he might have been has not turned up anything useful yet.

Although it doesn't happen often, the moon may grant us more than one option for a mate. We learn of who the moon deems compatible when we feel a mate pull towards another werewolf that is suitable in power, strength, or in personality. The pull lets us know when we find a match, but we make the choice whether to fortify the mate bond between us or not.

This is not how I imagined meeting my mate would go. When my father met my mother, his mate, it was a whirlwind and profound romance that was made official after only a short while. My parents love each other deeply and unconditionally. Their affection and love for each other knows no bounds, and I have always revered their bond and have planned meticulously for how to be the best mate when I meet mine. That being said, I knew it wasn't always easy. My father is a good man, but he has made mistakes.

Before he had met his mate, he was raised by a merciless and cold father. He was led to believe that you find your value in your power and that the strongest rule the weak. That he should take what he desired and what was owed to him by force if necessary. With those lessons, his life was dark and cruel, filled with bloodthirstiness, power struggles and schemes. Women fled to him, and men wished they could be him.

By the time he had met my mother, he had bedded and condemned many. His cutthroat nature softened when he met my mother, irrevocably changing him into the protective, quiet man we know today. But his past caught up to him, and my mother was subject to the schemes of jealous women and misogynistic dicks.

But my father was so egotistical that he believed those females wouldn't touch my mother, so he stayed silent and let them stay busy with what he thought were meaningless games. It wasn't until my mother nearly died that he realized he was wrong, and that by not taking action against it, he was empowering those women's childish and jealous behaviors.

The scar that mars my mother's body from her chest to her navel, left by one of those delusional women who had wanted to gut her, is the result of my father's inaction and arrogance. He has instilled this hard learned lesson in me, ensuring that the decisions I make would not result in repercussions that will come to harm those I chose to stand by in the future, including my future mate.

So I have trained, I have been smart and listened to my head rather than my heart to keep me out of tricky situations. I have kept my weaknesses to a minimum and have shielded my vulnerabilities from others by keeping everyone at an arm's reach.

I must be strong enough to make my enemies hesitant, and I must have enough tact to entice potential allies. It is a balance that takes effort to achieve, and is an undertaking that my father will not let me abandon.

Every day my father sees my mother's scar is a new reminder and punishment for his past mistakes, but it has left him bitter and overprotective of our family.

I find myself so desperate for answers these days that I considered calling my father and asking him about my situation with Layla, but I know what he would tell me so I stayed my hand. He would think that I am being fooled, that there is no bond between us since she is not of old blood and could not have been matched as a mate. It is likely he would go as far as accusing her of employing a Sage to manipulate me into thinking otherwise.

I look into Layla's eyes once more, and I am confident that is not the case. I see so much honesty and fairness in that single cursory glance. Of course I see the undercurrent of fury, too. And it nearly brings a chuckle to my lips when I think of the fire in her. She is not a simple young woman - there is more to her than meets the eye.

There is more to her than I have yet to figure out, and I will make sure that I am given the chance to do so. Perhaps I have a little more of my grandfather in me that I would like to admit, because if the chance is not given to me, I will take it. I'm not above using less dignified means to ensure that what is meant to be mine will not be lost to me.

In this, I will not yield.

Throughout my youth into adulthood, others have told me who to be, how to be and what to do. I've been molded, trained and beaten to be the man my family wants me to be. And all the while, I have waited patiently for my mate. I haven't been in charge of my destiny yet, but that is soon about to change.

She has already been bitten once against her will, and every moment I spend with her is a constant battle to keep it from happening again. For when I decide that it isn't worth the battle any longer, she better run, because I won't be holding back anymore.