Page 11 of His Runaway Mate

“Yes. The reserve will be there when I am ready for it again.”

Fescue tries not to look pleased, and fails.

“You seem to be in an inordinately good mood, sir.”

“I met my mate today, Fescue. The pack will finally be able to stop harassing me for pups.”

He raises a brow. “Where is she?”

“Oh, she half-stabbed me, and then her pack pulled guns on me, so she’s back there, probably gloating to herself.”

“Ah. Is it not practice to claim one’s mate immediately?”

“In the middle of a nouveau corporate office in full view of her pack? I think I can do better than that.”

I smile to myself. The next time my mate and I face one another, things will go very differently.

“You sent guards after me,” I say.

“Yes,” he says plainly. He could deny it, but what would be the point of that.

“Very good,” I say. “Give them a bonus for not shooting any of those upstart little shits who were practically begging for a bullet.”

* * *

Nicky

It’s been thirty minutes since that infuriating man left my office, and I am unsettled. There are a lot of decisions yet to be made. Decisions like what the hell I’m going to do now that I know he’s out there.

Rex fucking Regent just came into my place of business and spanked me like I was, well, not like a little girl. He spanked me like a full-grown woman, a female he wanted to mate. He whipped my ass like he owned it, and I know that deep down he already thinks he does.

I’ve been humiliated. Everybody knows what happened to me. The building is full of a low-level hum of unrest that won’t be resolved until I resolve it, and I don’t know how the fuck to do that.

I’m still trying to think, which remains hard to do with my ass continuing to be so sensitive. I’m leaning over my desk, because sitting down would make for an uncomfortable experience. My mind tells me I can work through this if I just get enough information.

One of the first things I did once he left was get the footage pulled and downloaded to my personal cyberdeck. I don’t use a laptop. Laptops are for people who like being surveilled by the corporate interests they bought them from. My device is handmade, standalone, and fits inside a pink and purple briefcase that used to house outfits for dolls sometime in the nineties.

The keyboard is built into one half, and the screen is on the top, so when you open the case, you have access to everything. When it’s closed, it looks like either a toy or some old school memorabilia. I have stickers on the outside, including one in pink and yellow that says Girls Can Do Anything. I’ve covered the ‘anything’ with another sticker that says Crimes.

I was right about how well the scene was captured by various security cameras in this room. I have three angles on the whole encounter. The way he walked in before I knew he was there… he already had command of the room then. That man is ten thousand percent old school alpha. He’s not actually as old as all that, but there’s a good fifteen years between us, and it shows.

I can’t stop watching the footage. The way he grabs me, swings me around, puts me over my own desk. It’s like he’s done it a thousand times before. He’s so fucking strong and agile. I remember how it felt to be in his hands, to have all control taken from me. It felt terrifying and relieving all at the same time. It has been a very, very long time since anybody was big enough to handle me that way.

“Make sure this is deleted,” I say to Tom, who pulled it for me, and who has been hanging around the gaming machines since, trying not to get in my way even mentally. He’s one of the technicians here. Pretty much everyone in our pack is proficient in one skill or another. It’s how we make most of our money. It’s how we’re undermining Rex Regent’s many companies.

Tom’s tall, thin, and wearing a t-shirt that should have been changed two days ago. He smells like the inside of a sock drawer. Nice guy, but absolutely feral feet.

“Make sure nobody ever sees this. I’ll keep a copy on my deck, but I don’t want it on anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles. He hides the smile when I make eye contact.

“It wasn’t funny,” I insist.

“No. It wasn’t funny. It was…”

“Shut up, Tom,” I say.

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeats. He’s from the south and he has proper manners. I like that about him. A lot of my pack are rowdy. Hell, so am I.