Semua Bab Her Second Chance Mate: Bab 1 - Bab 10

How is this my life? Sometimes, it feels like I was a carefree high school student just yesterday, brimming with dreams and the ache of unrequited love for my best friend. Things took a wild turn when she returned from summer camp, eyes sparkling with excitement and nerves, revealing that she was a werewolf and had found her mate in an older man. Yes, I still refer to Logan as an old dude—he’s twelve years older than us.I would have never pictured Aurelia with someone so much older, let alone a guy who stands shorter than her. It’s a thought I can share here and in the safety of my mind, but I know better than to voice it aloud. Logan and his pack are not to be trifled with, and I quickly learned the hard way that his height is a taboo subject. I’ve lost count of the times friends have covered my mouth or jabbed me in the ribs to hush my remarks.Aurelia’s happiness was all that mattered to me. Logan has kept her happy twelve years and two kids later, but I can’t help feeling left ou

Holly Boland. A name that had lingered in the deepest corners of my mind for a decade. “Haunted” wasn’t quite the right term—it was too much of a shadowy word, conjuring images of dark corridors and restless spirits. No, she haunts me like a bittersweet memory that tugs at your soul. She was meant to be mine, a thought that twists in my stomach like a knife. I could easily surrender to the murky waters of regret—wallowing in the what-ifs and could-have-beens—but I refuse to let myself drown in that despair.If only I had dared to go to her when the truth hit me. Yet, even then, there were no guarantees of a glorious happily ever after. I’ve immersed myself in more paranormal romance novels than most men my age. Hell, I even started a book club that boasts ranked members from packs from every corner of the globe. So, I was acutely aware that rejected mates are woven into the fabric of our world, often leading to heartache rather than reunion. Holly wasn’t from Bloodmoon, where the la

Fuck me. I loved how Holly said my name in a breathy voice. I yearned for her to say it like that in a more intimate setting, perhaps hidden in the woods or a parked car, where our boys could watch and listen. I had hoped for a stronger reaction, maybe her wolf surfacing or her calling me “mate.” I thought I saw a flicker of gold in her blue-gray eyes, but that worried me. It could mean she and her wolf weren’t ready for a mate bond, especially in front of the kids. As an optimist, I believed it was simply a matter of privacy. I understood her hesitation; we needed to discuss our feelings away from the boys. When we eventually tell them, it must be done thoughtfully, allowing them to react as they would. I suspected my son would be excited about having a mate and gaining a mom, but I was unsure how her son would feel. For now, I’d take the small win. Holly agreed to let me drive her to the farm and take her rental car to my dad’s shop. That rental company would hear from me, and I’

I couldn’t believe how foolish I had been. What was I thinking when I reached over to touch Holly’s leg? I knew exactly what I was thinking—I wanted to comfort her. I had noticed her posture change as I turned onto the private road beneath the arched ‘Boland Farm’ sign. I intended to ease her tension and pain, but instead, I only made things worse. I startled her. I should have known better. I trained horses and understood that, for some people, comparing them to animals could feel like an insult. Maybe it was, especially if Holly had been an ordinary woman. But Holly wasn’t normal. She was a supernatural being—a werewolf, which meant she had a wolf spirit. Like all animals, wolves could get spooked if someone moved too quickly. Given that she had told me not to touch her, I realized I had moved too fast. Or perhaps she was trying to minimize contact with me because of the mate bond. Either way, this didn’t bode well for my plans to win her over and show her that the Goddess wasn’t w

I discovered a great deal about Samuel during our little adventure together, and the experience was nothing short of enlightening. For one, I quickly realized just how incredibly sharp he was. He proudly shared with Tristan what he had been listening to on his phone—an audiobook titled “Washington: A Life” by Ron Chernow. I remembered grappling with that book during my senior year of high school at seventeen. Yet here was Samuel, just nine years old, diving deep into material that had only come to me much later in life. You might be tempted to dismiss it as merely an audiobook, presuming he couldn’t quite grasp the complexities within. But when we started discussing it, I was taken aback—he understood the nuances far better than I had at his age. In contrast, poor Tristan was visibly bewildered, bless his heart, struggling to keep up with the conversation. Fortunately, Tristan was a master at finessing social interactions; he skillfully redirected the dialogue, averting the spotlight