Page 35 of Alaska Lights

Alaska is the type of man a person never forgets.

Two thirty in the fucking morning.

I can’t sleep worth a damn because my mate is in my bed and it’s all I’ve been thinking about. His scent is everywhere. The fragrant aroma of honey has seeped its way into every room. All I want to do is wrap myself in him.

It’s taken all I have not to climb into the bed, wrap an arm around him, tug him close, and sleep. Truly rest. The kind of rest I haven’t had in a century and a half.

I stare up at the ceiling, my arm draped behind my head, waiting for the damn sun to rise so I can get to work.

If I’ll be able to work.

The storms are more intense than they usually are as we prepare for winter. September is a transition month in Alaska as we get ready for cold, shorter days.

I’m curious if it will snow too. It usually doesn’t until October, but I’ve lived here long enough to know weather is always unpredictable.

“Right. Thinking about the fucking weather will get him off your mind.” I flip to my side, annoyed, frustrated, confused, happy, curious, excited, and angry.

Anger wasn’t new. I’m always angry. I can’t remember a year of my unusually long life when I wasn’t. But the other emotions? Those are new to me as of recently. I had shut them all off for the most part, or I honestly wouldn’t have made it the full two hundred years.

There were so many times I wanted to stake myself. Year after year, the days blended together. Time didn’t matter anymore. Everything felt the same.

And now, my dying body is trying to come back to life for my mate.

Leo has slowed time for me. I haven’t known him long, but every second I’ve had with him, even the awkward tension, has felt brand new to me. He’s reset my life expectancy, my hopes and dreams; even the day has a different energy to it.

He’s saved me from hating every second to looking forward to every minute.

And that scares me.

Again. I’m not gay. The fact that my fated mate is a man is something I haven’t really been able to wrap my head around. Fate doesn’t care about gender and most paranormals don’t. Whoever your mate is, you’re happy about it. End of story.

I am. Don’t get me wrong. Out of all the men Fate picked, she picked the best one for me. He’s beautiful. Those thick black curls and pink pouty lips have me fucking feral for things I’ve never done before with another man.

Now that I’m lying here thinking about it, I’m nervous about what the fuck I’m doing more than I’m nervous about Leo being a man.

I truly don’t care. It’s just a new feeling that terrifies the hell out of me because for two hundred and something years, I’ve been with women. That’s a long fucking time.

I’ve never been good with change or new things. Maybe that’s why I’m in my head so much, because what if I love him to the point of eternity and he decides loving me is too much of a hassle?

There it is. There’s the truth.

How can he love me when I’ve never loved myself? There’s nothing to love. I’ve made sure of that.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes as they start to burn. “Damn it, what the hell is going on?” They feel like they are on fire.

I pull my hands away and notice red.

Blood.

“What the fuck?” I bolt up, staring at my palms, the blood smeared across my callouses.

“Ooooh, yeah. That’s not good.”

I jump to my feet when I hear a voice that does not belong in this damn house. I spin around, looking for the intruder, but I can’t seem to find him.

My vision is blurry. Literally.

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub them again, the clarity returning.