ARIZONA COLLEGE, SEVEN YEARS AGO…

GRACE:

In silence, we studied each other on the bed, evaluating, doubting, and considering by turns, because it was so sudden, so unexpected.

We were merely strangers turned drinking buddies a few hours ago. We didn't even know each other's names yet. He jokingly called me Ms. Budweiser because I'd said I loved beer, while laughing hard and loud, calling him Mr. Chardonnay because he said he only drank wine.

But my friends and I had made him take a beer. It was our way of apologizing for bumping into him and ruining his white T-shirt.

If I remember correctly, I'd been on my way to get another round of drinks at the same time he'd been heading to the restroom. However, due to the excitement of finishing finals and the way I was hurrying, I bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink all over himself. At the same time, he held me to keep me from tripping.

He snaked a firm arm around my waist to steady me, and our eyes locked.

In that instant, the world suddenly went silent, the deafening music from the blaring speakers around us a distant sound.

His steel-grey, heart-stopping eyes drew me in and drowned me. My head buzzed, and my heartbeat accelerated to an unnatural speed, jamming itself against my ribcage. Thousands of angry butterflies sprang up in my stomach, fluttering like they were being chased by a predator.

All that happened at once.

If I'd read this experience in a romance novel, I'd sneer and scoff at the writer for being unnecessarily corny and cheesy. I'd call the book cliché, but I'd still go ahead and finish it.

However, this particular cliché wasn't happening to some lucky female protagonist.

It was happening to me, Grace, the nerdy, boring twenty-three-year-old virgin about to graduate college without a boyfriend or a mate.

And I don't mean I'd had one and broke up with him for some reason. Nope. I'd never had a boyfriend. At all.

The only term for what just happened was 'love at first sight,' and I was sure he felt the same way too, judging by the way he kept his eyes locked on mine for an eternity.

Have I finally found my mate? I wondered vaguely. Finding one's mate was one of the most difficult things to do now. In werewolf kingdoms of the twenty-first century, most just found themselves partners and called them boyfriends or girlfriend or wives or husbands, just like humans did. We shared almost the same fate.

After our collision, we muttered repeated sorrys to each other between effusive awkward gestures. I couldn't just let him go with all the chemistry between us, so I was forced to come out of my shell of shyness and awkwardness and ask him to join me and my friends at our table.

Now here we were, in my tiny dimly lit dorm room, inhaling each other's scents. With our eyes locked and our breaths rapid, we stood so close our noses could touch. We were both drunk, but we knew this feeling wasn't from the alcohol.

I wanted him, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't ashamed to admit it. I'd vowed not to do 'it' till I found the one that made my heart flutter in my chest. Or I found my mate.

I wasn't sure about the latter, but my heart was testimony to the effect this young, beautiful man had on me.

I took two steps backward to get a better view of the first man I'd ever share my bed with.

He was much taller than I was, literally towering over me with his firm, broad shoulders. Strands of dark brown hair fell across his temple and accentuated his sexiness. His angular face was the kind I could never forget.

And his mouth. I could go on and on about his full lips, how my breathing hitched whenever I stared at them.

As we stood a few inches apart, I yearned to press my lips to the bare skin that ran from his throat to his chest, to press my breasts against his stained white shirt.

With a sigh that was really a surrender, I ignored my racing heart and took a step closer.

Our lips met and lingered. I felt myself sinking into the bliss of this sweet sensation, and my hands came up to touch his face. I knew I was desired, but just for a moment, I also felt loved, and it was exactly what I'd needed.

We both knew it would be okay to wait, to get to know each other and talk more; however, we also knew we couldn't wait. This felt too right. I didn't feel a single pang of guilt or any need to be cautious.

There was no way I was going to change my mind.

He crushed me to him, one hand on my back, the other on my hips, pressing me against his hard body. I gasped in sheer pleasure, but then, to my horror, I began to tremble. This was my first time. I wasn't familiar with the moves, and I felt awkward, unable to respond as I wanted to.

"Hey…" he murmured against my hair, and his arms loosened as though he understood, as though he was well aware that he was my very first. He began to stroke my hair gently, persuasively, so that my eyes closed and I began to relax.

His hands moved to my back, beginning an unhurried exploration that made me shiver again—this time in the most delicious manner.

I began to respond, my hands sliding up his back and across his shoulders in a thrilling exploration of my own. I opened my eyes, saw smooth skin of his throat where his collar was open, and pressed my lips to it. I felt a deep shudder run through him. I reached up to thread my fingers through his hair and used it to pull his face down to mine.

Our lips met and fused with an ecstasy that seared me to the depth of my being. We broke apart and gazed at each other, and then he was pressing kisses all over my face. I held my head back to expose my throat for more. I was awash with sensation, but it only added to the urgency to kiss him again…and again.

His hands were on the zipper in the back of my dress, and I began to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged out of it as I stepped out of my dress and kicked it away in a frenzy. Then, he pressed me back against his chest, only the fragile silk of my slip between us.

He kissed his way down my neck, to my shoulders, and slid the straps off them. The slip caught on my hips, but neither of us noticed because now my bare breasts were pressed against his naked chest. We both gasped.

He turned me slightly away from him, lifting his face to kiss me. Then, his hands moved down to my breasts, grasping, massaging, and then playing with my nipples. My groan of pleasure was lost against his lips, and as I felt my legs go weak, he picked me up and carried me onto my bed.

He kicked off his shoes, threw back the quilt, placed me on the bed, and stood, looking down at me, as he took off the rest of his clothes.

The curtains hadn't been closed, and a surprisingly bright moon bathed us both in a silvery glow.

"Do you know how lovely you are?" he asked as he lay beside me.

He didn't expect an answer, and I was quite incapable of giving one because his mouth had fastened onto my breast and his tongue was flicking my nipple, whipping me into a frenzy of desire. He moved to my other breast, and the delicious torment began anew.

"Chardonnay…" I breathed, but he took no notice, sliding the slip from my hips, then my stockings and garter, and kissing his way over the warm flesh he'd exposed.

"Chardonnay…" I breathed again, writhing in the most exquisitely unendurable ecstasy I had ever known, but his own passion overwhelmed him and he entered me, going real slow. When my core welcomed his huge member, he began thrusting, hard and desperate, in the need to quench his own desires.

I held onto him fiercely, pressing his hips against mine as we each sought and found our final explosion of passion.

Mr. Chardonnay kissed me with hot, spent, and grateful lips, then collapsed against me, moving down to rest his face between my breasts. I pulled the quilt over us and cuddled him to me as our breathing returned to normal.

It was a long time before he stirred. He rolled off my body, propped himself up on his elbow, and looked down at me.

"I'm crazy about you, Ms. Budweiser," he said huskily. "How do you feel about me?"

I couldn't answer. The whole thing felt so surreal. "I'm here, and I'm not one for one-night stands," was my response.

"We don't even know each other's names yet. I'm—"

"Tomorrow," I cut him off in a sleepy tone. "Let's tell each other our names tomorrow, along with all the other things we should know about each other," I said, finality in my voice.

He sighed.

But he didn't understand. Seeing him in my bed tomorrow morning when I woke up was the only thing that would convince me that these wonderful moments we'd shared weren't a dream. That I'd finally found the love of my life.

I'd gone through college as a boring, nerdy girl with no boyfriend, and as a werewolf with no mate and zero rank. If not for my two best friends, my life would have been more than the hell it had been.

But here I was, on the last day of my last year, making love with the most beautiful man I had ever seen, a man who could possibly be my mate—or at least my boyfriend—after today.

I felt giddy with happiness and relief. But it had all happened too fast, too perfectly. I dreaded disappointment.

"Let's tell each other our wolves' names at least," he murmured, dragging me from my thoughts.

I pushed him over onto his back, then propped myself up next to him, my breasts brushing against his chest.

"I don't want to talk tonight. We'll talk tomorrow. Go to sleep." I kissed his eyes shut and then studied him once more. It almost hurt how handsome he looked with his face relaxed and the moon turning the sun-bleached tips of his brown hair silver.

I kissed his forehead, squeezed my eyes shut, and let myself drown in a dream.

GRACE:

I woke up at sunrise, feeling round my bed for the beautiful stranger I'd slept with, but all I could feel was my empty bedsheets. The stranger had disappeared.

I fluttered my eyelids open as morning light washed into my room. I sat up and forced my mind to be alert. I was half puzzled, half astonished. Did the stranger go use the restroom? I wanted to call out his name.

But how funny. I didn't even know his bloody name.

He'd given me the best—and first—ride I'd ever had last night, and I didn't even know his name!

I decided to get up from the bed and go search the bathroom.

"Hello?" I knocked on the door.

No answer.

I opened the door to confirm. It was possible he was taking a shit and was too embarrassed to answer me. But the restroom was empty. And my towel was neatly folded, just as I had left it.

I shut the door and headed back to my bed, making sure to check the bedside table for clues—a note, a map, a phone number—anything to assure me the wolf hadn't just upped and left, that he would come back.

But I found nothing.

Then it hit me:

I had been played.

The fucking guy had played me. I wasn't usually a deep sleeper. But I'd slept like a baby. When did he wake up? How did he sneak out without me noticing? We were under the same sheets last night. There was no way he could have slipped out of bed without causing me to stir. But even if that wasn't enough to wake me, the sound of his belt would have. Men are generally clumsy when putting on their belts. The clack of metal against metal would have woken me up. The sound of him turning the keys in the keyhole would have woken me up. But instead, I'd slept like a…

A drugged bitch.

I didn't think I'd been drugged, though. I hadn't abandoned my drink at the bar to use the toilet or anything. And I'd been with him the whole time up until the sex. It must've been the sex. Google says sex itself can be a sedative. A great sleeping pill.

I lifted the duvet and a small red stain caught my eye. It dawned on me without warning.

I had lost my virginity to a one-night stand.

And it was all my fault that I didn't get his name last night. I had refused to exchange names thinking I would see him when I woke up. Then again, who's to say he wouldn't have given me a fake name?

The once-bright sunlight suddenly went dim, and my room felt as though it was closing in on me, like it was too small to contain me.

I was about to start crying when my phone buzzed. The urge to cry temporarily faded as I thought, Perhaps he found my number before he left and is sending me a message to let me know he's home safe and to ask if we can grab lunch soon, maybe even pick up where we left off last night…

I picked up my phone with enthusiasm. But it turned out to be messages from my two best friends, who were dying to know how my night went. They'd sent me so many texts, especially Jody, and I didn't even know how to start replying.

Jody: "Hey badass gurrrrl! ;)"

"How did it go!"

"Omg I can't wait to hear all the details."

"Spare nothing. Spill it like spoilt milk."

"Why ain't you replying, Gracie? Is the D so good you can't get up?"

"Should I come over? You're still going back home today, right?"

"Call me!"

I cringed at Jody's messages and dropped my phone.

On my bed, I brought my knees to my chest and grabbed my folded legs, feeling angry. Although, honestly, there was nothing to be angry about. It was just a one-night stand!

Then again, there's no reason a one-night stand couldn't still be respectful. I didn't deserve this sudden abandonment, him sneaking out without the simple decency of leaving something as small as a note.

It was like he'd never even existed. Like yesterday never happened. Like I'd imagined the whole thing.

***

NK: "Hey girlfriend, how are you? Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

"Did you get some with that white-shirt Mr. Chardonnay guy? You guys seemed so smitten with each other I wouldn't be surprised if you turned out to be mates."

"Text or call me back or I'm coming to your room!"

NK, short for Nkechi, was sweet but a little authoritative, as usual. Jody and NK were my best friends, and they didn't mean to be insensitive (they had no way of knowing their friend had been dumped by the so-called Mr. Chardonnay), but I felt as though they were being nosy and pushing me into a corner.

I was definitely going to tell them, but it was going to be later. Surely not anytime soon. The whole thing still felt raw and biting.

I still wanted to die.

I turned off my phone and went back to bed, not bothering to wash up or make breakfast or do anything that required physical strength. I slept until noon, still harboring a teeny-tiny bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, he was going to show back up.

I'd finished my final exams last week and had stayed back to celebrate with friends. Yesterday was the deadline my parents had given me to return home. I couldn't stay here any longer, but I felt that if I left today, I would lose my chance of ever seeing him again.

If my phone were still on, they would have definitely killed my battery with calls by now. So I got up, washed myself thoroughly—like I was washing stains off a rag—and took my time packing up my bags and stuff. I wasn't going to come back here again.

I inadvertently dragged out the packing process into the late evening, secretly hoping, wishing, and praying that he would come back.

But he never did.

With frustration and anguish, I hauled my pathetic possessions outside, after saying a pained last goodbye to my beloved college room. I'd made so many happy memories in this room, and it was utterly depressing that I was leaving the day after such a horrible one.

I left for the airport that same night, and by dawn, I'd landed on the outskirts of London, where my parents lived with our pack.

A few weeks later, barely crawling out from my bouts of depression, I started sending resumes and applications to publishing houses and magazines.

I was tired of the self-loathing and despair I'd plunged myself into. I even felt bad for my parents, who'd had to endure all of it, so I decided to job hunt.

I'd majored in creative writing, and my grades were excellent, so I wanted to work where I could put my skills to good use, hoping that it would make me feel better.

The whole time, I'd avoided my friends like a coward, like they were the reason I'd been fooled and played.

However, things didn't get any better.

Two months after leaving school, still jobless and depressed, I made a shocking discovery:

I was pregnant. About eight weeks pregnant!

My parents were livid. They wanted me to abort the pregnancy after I admitted that I didn't even know the father's name.

"This will ruin you, Grace," my mother wailed, hitting me on the back softly.

"We went through so much to put you through school! Werewolves without a rank have to work ten times harder than the privileged ones. We expected more from you, Grace," my dad yelled through gritted teeth.

I was torn, devastated, pushed to the edge. I didn't believe in the Goddess like everyone else, but I blamed her for heaping such a tragic responsibility on me.

I felt sorry for my parents. I wanted to make them happy, but I couldn't let this innocent budding life in me go. I wanted to keep whoever was inside of me alive.

They pressed me for days, saying I was in no position to keep the baby. I didn't have a job to take care of myself, let alone the child I was expecting.

I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran away from the house with just a few clothes, nothing else.

I fled into the center of London with no place to stay, no cash on hand, and a baby in my womb, not to mention the fact that I knew absolutely no one there.

I knew that Jody and NK lived in London, but I had no idea how to locate them. And even if I did, I couldn't go to them for help, not after refusing to speak to them for more than two months, ignoring their calls and texts without any explanation.

After a few months of pure struggle and hardship, I decided to go back to my parents and my pack. But when I got there, I was told by my father's distant cousin that they'd both died in an accident while looking for me.

Life can't get any worse than this, I thought. But I decided to stay in my parents' house as, according to my uncle, they'd left it to me in their will.

By that time, my pregnancy was already obvious, but another dilemma was waiting for me.

As rankless werewolves, my parents and I had always had a hard time keeping a firm hold on our property, especially when it came to land.

Just a few days into living in my parents' house, still trying to settle in, an agent from the biggest real estate company in a neighboring pack came to my house asking me to sell it to them.

Of course I protested. Of course I was adamant and stood my ground, saying I would never concede, no matter what they threw at me.

However, I had no one to fall back on, even my pack refused to protect me or stand by me because my parents were unranked wolves. They even accused me of killing them. If I hadn't run away, they'd probably still be alive.

I was lobbied, pestered, and threatened to the point that I just had to give it all up, for the sake of my child and my sanity.

Shelby Realtors, Ltd. That was the company's name, a name I'd loathe for the rest of my life.

I used the paltry sum they gave me to get a little flat in London, and that was where I continued struggling until my best friends found me.

Jody and NK found me working as a waitress in central London.

And that was how my new life began, with a pregnancy that was almost due.