The Reluctant Mate

Amanda

“Amanda,” he said behind me after I scrambled off of him. I was stupid. So, so stupid.

“No!” I bolted towards the door. I was getting out of here. Screw Porter and the rest of the werewolves. I felt like an idiot and so unwanted and I needed to get away from him before I did something stupid like crying.

He was right behind me and leaned his weight against the door just as I grabbed the handle to prevent my escape. I didn’t look at him. “Amanda, listen. You’re drunk.”

“I was drunk last time you fucked me, too. And the first time.”

“Not this drunk. And I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“What? So you regret everything now? Why don’t you just do that whole rejection thing and be done with it! Or does it have to be me who does it? Or what, Porter?” I was so done with this mate bullshit. I stomped down the hall, almost tripping in my haste. How was I this stupid drunk?

“I don’t regret anything, I just wish things were different!”

“I don’t care!” I half screeched at him as I ducked into the room I had figured out was his. He had the most throwable stuff out of the three guys and I was going to make good use of it.

“Amanda, could you shut your damn mouth and listen for once in your life?”

“No!” I snapped. I wasn’t too drunk to be pissed that he was implying I talked too much. I grabbed a book and turned to throw it when he came around the corner. As soon as he was in sight I threw it, but he caught it, and set it on the dresser next to him. Before I could grab something else, he sprinted forwards.

“No more throwing stuff!” he growled and I was knocked backwards onto the bed. He pinned my hands, although he held himself beside me on the bed rather than in a more suggestive pose. I was torn between furious anger and building disappointment. I was horny—I had been deprived way too long now—and I wanted his control to snap so he could soothe the part of me hurting at his refusal. My fuzzy brain didn’t know why it bothered me so much that he didn’t want me as much as I wanted him anymore.

Maybe I was too much trouble. I stopped trying to struggle away and went limp. He didn’t release my wrists.

“My only regret is that things aren’t better between us. You’re not going to remember what I say tomorrow anyway, so I’ll just be straight with you. The fact you’re going to leave me makes me feel like I’m dying, but if I try to force you to stay you’ll only hate me more so I can’t even do that. This isn’t what I want, Amanda. Do you think this is what I want? Fuck, I just want all of you not just your body but whenever I make that clear you push me away harder.”

I was having trouble focusing on his face, and the room was sort of spinning, but his words made my chest hurt. This felt worse than anything. Stupid tears welled up in my eyes and he finally released my wrists. “It’s not like I want to be like this, you know,” I said, a whimper breaking through my voice. I curled up in a ball on the bed.

“I know.”

“I don’t know how other people do it. Or maybe I do—or at least I did. But the idea of being trapped with anyone makes me want to throw up, Porter. And you remind me of him a lot.”

He growled, but it didn’t even scare me.

“I’m sorry I can’t be what you need.”

“You’re already what I need.”

I just sniffled. He sat stiffly on the bed beside me, obviously uncomfortable, and I started crying again, wiping my eyes as all my sadness leaked out of me carried on a wave of my embarrassment and guilt. I wanted to send him away, but I couldn’t form the words so we just sat there in awkward silence only broken by my pathetic sounds.

Finally I got some control of myself, and I pushed myself up on the bed, trying to make my brain come up with something smart to say to salvage the situation. The room spun, and my stomach lurched.

I held still for a second, trying to keep my stomach contents settled. Just as I thought I had won the battle, it heaved again. I scrambled from the bed and dashed to the bathroom. Porter asked what was wrong but I ignored him and made it to the toilet just in time before everything I had drank came rushing up. I tried to shove my hair back with one hand while I clung to the edge with the other so I wouldn’t fall over.

Porter walked in and sat beside me and pulled my hair back in a ponytail with his hand. I felt like crying again, wishing he wasn’t seeing me like this. I was a mess, but I liked to pretend I wasn’t. It was so embarrassing. But then my stomach sent me into round two and I didn’t have time to keep thinking about it.

When I stopped heaving, I groaned. “I didn’t actually drink that much.”

“No?”

“Like two beers and two other drinks.” My thoughts were scattered. “That’s nothing.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Wait, what did you drink?”

I couldn’t even picture the bottle. “I don’t know, vodka.”

“Vodka? Oh. Shit.”

“What?” I asked, and my stomach roiled again, although nothing came out.

“The bottle in the back of the cupboard behind the others? Yeah, that’s not vodka. At least not just.” He sounded worried.

“What did I drink? It tasted like vodka.”

“It’s magically enhanced vodka. Fairy juice. Definitely not for humans.”

“Fairy? Magic? Or some sort of drug because I’m hallucinating if you’re seriously talking about this.” I closed my eyes. I could barely feel my body in a disturbing way.

“Well, I am a shape shifter, so…”

I groaned again. Everything was still spinning. “Are there seriously fairies?”

“Well they’re usually called the fae, but yeah.”

“Vampires?”

“Yes.”

I glanced at him through bleary eyes long enough to get my point about how insane this was across. “Zombies?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Urgh.” I felt like I was going to vomit again. The feeling gradually passed, but I felt so weak I could barely move and so, so tired. I let myself slip down onto the floor, and I passed out.