MOONLIT CHASE

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Chapter 2 THE MORNING AFTER

Ezra’s POV

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

I did. I did and now he's going to kill me.

He stepped closer, peering at me in suspicion and every instinct I had screamed danger. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I'm—" My hand found the pepper spray I kept clipped to my backpack as a campus safety measure. I'd never thought I'd actually use it but I brandished it at him now. "Stay back!"

He didn't listen, and took another step closer to me. Okay then!

I pepper-sprayed him directly in the face.

He roared, hands flying to his eyes, and I ran.

I had never run faster in my life. My backpack bounced against my spine, my lungs burned, but I didn't stop. Didn't look back. Just ran through the park, across the parking lot, onto the street where actual streetlights and civilization existed.

My apartment was six blocks away. I made it in probably five minutes, fumbled with my keys for thirty seconds that felt like thirty years, and threw myself inside. Then I locked the deadbolt and hoved my broken futon against the door for good measure.

Then I collapsed on the floor and tried not to hyperventilate.

What the fuck?

Wolves don't exist in Seattle. Wolves definitely don't turn into humans. Humans definitely don't turn into wolves.

I must have imagined it. I was exhausted, running on no sleep and too much caffeine. Maybe someone spiked my coffee. Maybe I'd had a psychotic break.

Yeah that made sense. Psychotic break. It happened to stressed college students all the time, where they just couldn't take it anymore and started seeing things right?

My housemate, Sienna, must not be home for her to have not come out at the sound of the ruckus I had been making.

I sighed, and removed the futon. I didn't need it to ward away a figment of my imagination. Then dragged myself to my room, plugged in my phone and went to bed.

In the morning… everything would be fine by morning.

_

Kieran's POV

I woke up with a sigh in my lips, staring at the ceiling of my penthouse, and contemplated murder. Well, more murder.

The murder of one Ezra Hartley, the human who'd witnessed my shift and pepper-sprayed me for my trouble.

I still felt a phantom burn from that shit. Why wouldn't I, when he had basically used the whole can? Werewolf healing meant I recovered fast, faster than a human, but pepper spray was pepper spray, and it hurt like hell.

But I knew I couldn't.

Julius was in my kitchen by the time I walked in, drinking my coffee and looking way too amused for six in the morning.

"So," he said as I walked by him. "You exposed yourself to a random human. Fourth one, is it?"

I ignored the teasing and retrieved a large mug. "I didn't expose myself. I was defending myself from hunters. He just happened to be there."

"And you let him live, new."

I poured coffee, black, and considered drowning myself in it. "I… can't kill him."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both." I sat at my kitchen island, which Julius always remarked cost more than his second car and had never been used for actual cooking. "My wolf… recognized him."

Julius went still. "Recognized him how?"

"What do you think?" I met his eyes. "Mate."

"Fuck."

"Exactly."

We sat in silence while I processed the absolute clusterfuck my life had become.

Eight years. Eight years since the massacre that killed my pack, my parents, my little brother Diego who was only eighteen.

Then some broke art student with terrified brown eyes stumbled into my world and my wolf immediately decided he was ours.

"What are you going to do?" Julius finally asked. “You can't kill your mate. It's literally impossible. Your wolf will turn on you first.”

"I don't know." I ran a hand through my hair. And I had been thinking about it.

“You just have to make sure he never speaks about this to anyone,” Julius suggested as if it was that easy.

“Yeah.” How exactly, though? Did I terrify him? Bribe him? Threaten him with something he loves?

"And one more thing, what happens when the hunters realize he's connected to you?”

“They won't.

“They will, they’ll be watching you more closely now that they know you have your wolf.”

I sighed, swallowing down a large gulp of coffee. "Then I—" I stopped. Because what? What did I do? "I will protect him."

"Your mate," Julius repeated, nodding. "The human who pepper sprayed you in the eyes and now knows about werewolves. This is going to end well."

"Your point?"

"I'm just saying,” he shrugged, “maybe fate is trying to tell you something."

"Fate can fuck off." I stood, opening up my laptop, as it slept on the counter from yesterday. It opened, walking up to what I was looking at last night, the one Julius had put together, basically detailing the human’s life.

Ezra Hartley, twenty four, art student at Seattle University. He worked three jobs— morning shift at Grounds for Coffee, night shift at Rosie's Bar, and freelance graphic design. No family in Seattle. Clean record. Lived in an apartment in Capitol Hill.

The photo at the top left was from his student ID; curly dark hair, warm brown eyes, tired smile. He looked younger than 24, if a little worn-out and more vulnerable than the defiant human who'd pepper-sprayed me.

My wolf stirred. I tamped it down, annoyed.

"I'm going to his coffee shop to see if he's called the cops or told his friends about the big bad werewolf."

"That's not creepy at all."

"Would you prefer I shove him in a van and ship him off somewhere?"

"I'd prefer you remember you're not a monster, even if you keep trying to be one." Julius stood, putting his cup in the sink. "For what it's worth? The mate bond is sacred for a reason. Maybe instead of fighting it, you should consider that fate's trying to give you something good for once."

"Everything good in my life dies."

"Not everything. I'm still here."

I swallowed the counter-point on the tip of my tongue, to add the word yet. I didn't want to jinx it, I wanted to keep him in my life for as long as possible.

He was all I had left.

“See yourself out cause I’m on my way to him right now.”

He nodded and I left to get dressed. Twenty minutes later, I had left.

Driving, I swiped through the shop online. Grounds for Coffee was a hipster nightmare of exposed brick, mismatched furniture, and overpriced macarons.

It was still early when I parked across the street, so early Ezra was just opening the shop. He had just finished wiping down a table when I walked in. He looked up as the door chimed and shut behind me.

I saw him stiffen, then saw his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Whoa!

I rushed forward and caught him before he could slam his head against the floor.

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