Becoming His
BECOMING HIS
ALBANY WALKER
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Also By Albany Walker
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© Albany Walker 2017
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
Albany Walker
Cover design done by MG Book Covers and Designs
Editing done by My Brother’s Editor
Created with Vellum
I’d like to give a huge thank you to my mom and dad for giving me the courage to write this book, and the feedback they gave me all along the way. Even when my dad told me I was a good storyteller, but a terrible writer. Totally true by the way my editing needs editing!
Next comes my baby girl Emmy Lou if I hadn’t been holding you in my arms for countless hours every day I never would have taken the time to put the words that crawl around in my head on paper.
Without the constant encouragement from my hubby and our three boys, who are so very proud to tell people that their momma is a writer, I probably would have stopped perusing publication a long time ago.
To all my Academy girls that never stopped rooting for not only me but all the writers in the group, you are AMAZING.
Lastly, I’d like to thank Wattpad for giving me a place to let my words roam, and for all the readers that took time from their lives to not only read my stories but also express to me what they thought of them.
To you, my readers.
Thanks for being part of my journey.
PROLOGUE
Five years earlier
I smile, looking up to my mom as she playfully bats my dad’s hands away from her so she can finish making my birthday cake. I’m fourteen today. Big deal, right? If I’d only known then that it would be my last birthday with them I wouldn’t have whined that my dad had a surprise for me, that did not include my friends and a party.
“I know you want to hang out with your friends, sweetheart, but tonight give an old man a break. Let me keep the two most beautiful women all to myself,” my dad said while giving me puppy dog eyes.
I rolled my eyes. “Old man, yeah right,” I scoffed. My dad is so handsome that after age twelve every one of my friends got tongue-tied if he even walked in the room. “Whatever, Dad.”
“Cake’s almost ready, Sophie. Go on and get ready. We have a reservation at eight o’clock,” my mom interrupts, looking as beautiful as my dad is handsome.
“Okay, Mom. Where are we going? Do I need to change?” I look down at my jeans and Scooby-Doo t-shirt.
“No, sweetheart, you look pretty.” I run upstairs to check my long, wavy hair for frizz and grab my phone. I have a couple text messages from friends wishing me a happy birthday and asking if I was coming out later. I ignore the messages, intending to respond when I get home.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up to my favorite restaurant. The downtown area of our upper-middle-class neighborhood is quaint. Black streetlights fashioned after antique gas lamps line the relatively busy sidewalk.
There’s even an old-fashioned movie theater that still plays black and white movies that my parents like to watch on date nights and a few trendy boutiques lining the road.
As soon as I step out of the car, I feel funny, butterflies making my tummy feel sour. When we pass a small pub, the feeling intensifies. My dad notices me holding my hand over my belly and asks if I’m okay.
“Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t have had that spoonful of icing. My tummy is just a little off,” I reply, grimacing to myself about how I found my mom and dad sharing a kiss in the kitchen, so I stole the wooden spoon Mom was using to decorate my cake.
Mates! I think with an eye roll. My parents were lucky enough to find each, other not all shifters do. The few that do find their mates live out their lives with the other half, content that they have the other piece of their soul beside them. Unfortunately, the rest make do, hoping that one day it will be their turn.
At dinner, my belly seems to calm. We eat, laugh, and eat some more while the men at the grill sing happy birthday to me. My cheeks light like lamps as every head turns to stare at our table. Looking down, I finish my meal quickly, embarrassed by the attention.
After dinner, we decide to walk up the street and get ice cream. I leave my parents, lost in each other, sitting on a bench sharing a cone and go grab my sweatshirt from the car.
“Hurry back, sweetheart,” Dad says while pulling Mom closer.
Back at the car, my tummy churns again. Agh. “What is wrong with me?”
The door to the pub opens, and the butterflies explode in my stomach, causing me to suck in a gasp. The scent of forest, frost, and leather hits me first. Holy biscuits, that smells good. I won’t shift for two more years, but my body knows what the smell affecting me so profoundly means. Mate. A man rounds the door and stops dead in his tracks.
My eyes rise and rise to meet his. The shadows keep the details hidden, but his strong jaw and large frame tell me he is much older than me. After what seems like years passing, he takes one step closer and clenches his fists. Dark hair falling just past his ears blows back from his rugged face showing me his scruffy jaw tensing repeatedly. Fear lashes at me, not from this man but from not knowing what’s next. I’ve never heard of mates meeting so young. It happens after the first shift, not before.
“Mate,” he utters so deep and quietly that I almost miss it, but his voice soothes my nerves.
The door opens again as a group of boisterous men and women stumble out. Only seconds have passed when a gorgeous blonde grabs his arm and slides her hand into his, looking at him with love clearly written on her face. He doesn’t push her away, nor does he look away from me. We stand frozen as the world moves around us.
One of the men slaps him on the back and says, “Mase, you missed it, man. Roxanne just slapped that girl that kept staring at you all night.”
He turns to the man that was just speaking, and the spell is broken. I look down, rubbing my hands across my belly, not sure what’s happening when the same man speaks again, “Who’s the little lady?” Head cocked to the side like he’s trying to figure me out. By this time, I have everyone in the group’s attention. Stepping back from the weight of their stares, I fumble with the sweatshirt I retrieved from the car.
The blonde woman slits her eyes at me and asks, “Mase?”
“No one,” he growls. The ache in my stomach instantly moves to my chest, hollowing it out.
No one, I repeat in my head.
“I almost ran into her when I came out just making sure she’s okay,” he grates.
“She looks great to me,” the other man says as his eyes run up and down my body making me squirm. A low rumble sounds and everyone freezes turning to him.
“Don’t,” my mate says. To me, to them? I’m not sure. Everyone in the group is still frozen staring at him, except for her. She looks at me. I would run if my feet would let me, to him or away from her, I don’t know that either.
“What’s your name, little girl,” she spits like a viper.
I open my mouth to reply when I hear my father call, “Sophia.” I turn to his voice and hear from behind me, “let’s go. Now!” Spoken like a curse from my would-be mate.
My mom and dad reach me seconds later, asking if I was okay and why I never came back.
“I’m not feeling well, Dad,” I say, and it’s no lie. The hollow ache in my chest intensifies as I rub just above my heart.
“Okay, sweetheart, let’s get you home,” he says, looking to my mom questioningly. We turn toward the car when I see him holding the woman’s hand. Roxanne, I’m guessing. They’re almost around the corner. He doesn’t look back once before walking out of my life.
Two weeks later my parents are dead, and I’m alone.
CHAPTER 1
“Piss off,” I mumble acerbically as I drag my bags up to my new front door. The condo I just purchased is right on Main Street. When I look out my front windows, I see Torch Lake with its crystal clear water and beautiful, sandy beach. My kindle and I dream about that beach.
About a half mile down, I see small tourist shops and a few smaller restaurants. In the opposite direction is the Hair of the Dog Bar, crazy name, right? The four men leaving the bar are just as crazy, shouting at me about the beauty of my ass while I lug my stuff up the walk. Throwing my bags through the open front door, I turn and give them a two-finger salute. They laugh and coo like it’s foreplay. “Jackasses!” Slamming the door, I put my back to it and slide down.
I’m home. I haven’t had a home in five years, not one that felt like home anyway. “Not now, Sophie,” I say out loud. I’ve already had all my new furnishings delivered. After a few adjustments to the kitchen, I have just my personal stuff to unpack. An hour later, I’m done and drinking a big cup of coffee to celebrate. Today is Wednesday, my nineteenth birthday is Saturday, and my first day as a college student is Monday. I can’t believe I’ve finally made it to this point.
Michigan is new to me. I’ve always lived in some random Kentucky city. One of the first things I noticed about my new home, at least for the next few years, were all the lakes with beautiful beaches. I came for the small, private college located just a few blocks from my new condo. Why did I pick this college, you ask? Well, it all started with the name, Hope. Hope College in Point Pleasant, Michigan, cool right? That’s something I need, hope. So here I am.
The death of my parents orphaned me. With no family to speak of and being too young to be on my own, I, an underage shifter, ended up in foster care with humans. The first home I went to wasn’t so bad; I think they knew I had money and thought they could get it. I wasn’t there for very long before they figured out there was no pot of gold with this rainbow. My second home was horrible; the third night the woman, Beth, backhanded me for speaking at the table. I’d never even been spanked by my parents. Things escalated quickly. I think the worst was listening to the other kids get hit. I hadn’t shifted yet, but was still stronger than your average fourteen-year-old. More often than not, I would get myself into trouble to distract the Check Cashers from the other kids. Some hated me for it, but for the most part, they didn’t understand why I’d do it. I don’t always understand it myself.
After I shifted for the first time, things became easier and harder all at once. I healed even quicker and was able to fight back better, but I needed much more privacy. There were times I only shifted once a month, just barely enough to let my wolf run. I had to learn to control her alone and quickly.
I don’t remember how many nights I wished my parents lived in a pack so I would have been taken in, cared for by my own people, but they lived off the grid as they called it. I never knew why they never hid things from me; they just didn’t live long enough to tell me everything.
I did know it wasn’t safe to seek a pack alone as an underage or un-shifted wolf. I could easily become someone’s property. Dealing with the humans was bad enough.
I never did tell my parents I met my mate that night all those years ago. Maybe if I had things would have been different, they could have explained to me why he left, helped me understand what to do with the rest of my life. We assume there will be time to tell the people we love the secrets we keep, whether from embarrassment or just thinking there will be time tomorrow. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.
When they first died, I was sure my mate would come for me. Every night, I would dream of him saving me. I even held out hope that after my first shift he would find me. Those thoughts evaporated when one of my dad’s tried to rape me not long after I turned seventeen. I walked away that night with the hope of a Prince Charming coming to save me gone. My foster dad didn’t walk away that night. In fact, I don’t think he’ll ever walk again.
As soon as I turned eighteen and could get to the money my parents left me, I was gone. I lived in a small apartment and finished high school. I took every self-defense and martial arts class available, making sure I’d never be a victim again.
Hello, pity party, table for one. I need a distraction, stat. Grocery store, here I come. Hours later, I’m loading the back of my white, vintage Jeep Wrangler with everything from a broom, vacuum, and cleaning supplies to all the groceries I could fit into the second cart. I love to cook, and it shows. Since I’ve been on my own over the past year, my hips, butt, and boobs thank me for not starving. I’m still short, just not as wiry as I used to be. My long, dark hair catches on the roll cage as I shove everything in. The broom and mop handle stick straight up out the top.
As I pull from the parking lot, I catch the scent of another shifter; it’s the first shifter I’ve smelled since my parents passed. I’m so taken aback I gun the engine before anyone can scent me.