Chapter 3

Several gators slide beneath the swamp surface, leaving a rippling wake where eyes once watched me.

“You have a True Mate.”

My chest constricts, and excitement races through me. All those years of holding out weren’t for nothing after all.

“Who is she?” I ask. “And where do I find her?”

“She is a wolf named Luna. Look around you, and you will find

her.”

“Luna?” I scratch my head, trying to remember if I’ve heard the

name mentioned in any meetings with other packs. I know all the Jacksonville wolves, of course, and she’s not among them. The only other wolves in the area are the poacher triplets who like to hunt on our territory to piss me off instead of finding unclaimed land to hunt. But that’s a different story, and those fuckers are thugs who definitely don’t carry a delicate wolf name like Luna.

I try it out in my mind. Luna.

It’s the perfect wolf name, beautiful and ethereal, like a morning glory or a moth.

And here I am, waxing poetic at just a name. Since having my dick balls deep in Trixie didn’t have the same effect, I can safely say she’s definitely off the list of potential mates.

Hell, I don’t even have to keep a list of potentials anymore. I don’t have to pick a suitable mate to help me run the pack, give us heirs, and carry on the bloodline. I have a True Mate.

“I don’t know a Luna,” I admit to the witch. “Can you tell me where to find her?”

The sound of wood scraping wood meets my ears, as if a door has opened. Then, the door slams shut with a loud thwack. I blow out a breath. I know when I’ve been told to fuck off.

Damn it. I kick a stone as my boots crunch over the stones to my

truck.

I have a name. That’s it.

Still. Damn. After all this time, I don’t have to wonder. I have a name.

I have a True Mate.

Excitement speeds my pulse as I hop into the cab of the pickup.

There could be countless women in the world with that name, but only one of them will be my mate. I won’t know for sure until we mate, but I’m counting on having a real good fucking idea before that. They say when you meet your True Mate, the whole world shifts.

But then, they also say you might live next to them your whole life and never know. So, yeah, there’s a fuckton of legends and lore around True

Mates. Guess I’ll know which parts are true when I find her.

I crank up the truck and ease away from Sterlina’s domicile, heading home. The windows are down, and the wind rushes in my ears as I speed along the potholed road. I try not to look like a giddy teenager in love. I have a fucking True Mate. The best news I’ve had since I fought and kept the Alphahood from the last man who dared challenge me—Warrick Armstrong, who was banished from the pack for that stunt.

A True Mate will make me even stronger than choosing a mate on my own. Having a True Mate gives a man respect, as it’s rare. I hope she’s strong like me, a good fighter, a political strategist.

The only trouble is, I don’t know who or where she is. Sterlina said to look around me, and when I asked again, she shut the door in my face. Guess I insulted her by asking what she’d already answered. “Look around you” doesn’t mean shit, though. Was I supposed to look around right then, under her treehouse? Is Luna coming to the Jacksonville area soon? Or am I supposed to look for her across the country, across the world?

I’ll fucking do it. I have to find her—the sooner the better. The vampires are getting way too fucking cocky.

Ama can help me find her. That’s the sort of thing a Second does while I’m running the pack here. Only the last thing Ama wants to do is to find the woman who will fill the role she so desperately longs to fill

Luna

Standing knee-deep in murky swamp water, I thrust my bare hands into the catfish hole I discovered a second ago. Some of my wet hair lands in my eyes, making it hard to see. When my fingers curl around the slimy beast, I yank back, lifting my prize high.

“Gotcha!” I crow to the wriggling critter, avoiding its stinging spine. “Dinner is served.”

Clutching the fish with both hands, I use my upper arm to push the hair from my eyes. Mama always tells me my light hair reminds her of the swamp buck’s hair when it’s standing in the sun. Then she always adds, “and your eyes are the color of the sky on a winter afternoon.”

Right now, I’m guessing I resemble a drowned fox more than anything.

As I wade out of the water, hauling my bare feet from the mud with each step, a scream pierces the air. I stand stock-still, attentive. The dying fish flapping in my grasp jabs me with its dorsal fin, immediately flooding my hand with an explosion of venom. “You bastard,” I say to the fish. I pick the spines from my skin with my teeth.

Another howl lances my eardrums.

“Mercy on the swamp dogs, that’s got to be Mama!”

Still clutching the catfish with my now-swollen hand, I take off

at a sprint. Nothing can happen to my mother—nothing. Mama has been through enough, and on top of that, she’s all I’ve got. After losing Daddy to

murder while I was still a pup curled in her belly, Mama broke with the

savage pack of demon-dogs nearby and headed for the safety of the swamp. We’ve been here ever since.

When I was young, Mama took care of me, filling me with the knowledge of every danger in the swamp, the skill to hunt, and the companionship of each other. She taught me that ogres might look scary, but they’re harmless to us, since they only eat magic. She taught me how to know when a storm means rain and wind that could take down the little house I built for us six years ago on a hillock in the swamp, so we need to take everything we own and get up in the trees, where the water won’t rise.

Most of all, she taught me that danger comes in the form of man, even when they wear the disguise of a panther or wolf. I’ve never spoken to a soul besides my mother in my life, though when Mama’s not looking, I

sometimes sneak a wave to the panther shifters in their fishing boats that glide silently through the swamp like gators. If more than one of them’s in the boat, sometimes I hear them whisper to each other, “There goes Looney Luna.”