Last Chance Mate: Tate (Paranormal Shapeshifter Mystery Romance) Read online

  Last Chance Mate: Tate

  Anya Nowlan

  Contents

  A Little Taste…

  Copyright

  1. Tessa

  2. Tate

  3. Tessa

  4. Tate

  5. Tessa

  6. Tate

  7. Tessa

  8. Tate

  9. Tessa

  10. Tate

  11. Tessa

  12. Tate

  13. Tessa

  14. Tate

  15. Tessa

  16. Tate

  17. Tessa

  18. Tate

  19. Tessa

  20. Tate

  21. Tessa

  22. Tate

  23. Tessa

  24. Tate

  25. Tessa

  26. Tate

  27. Tessa

  28. Tessa

  29. Tate

  30. Tessa

  31. Tate

  32. Tessa

  33. Tate

  34. Tessa

  35. Tate

  36. Tessa

  37. Tate

  38. Tessa

  39. Tate

  Epilogue

  Want More?

  About the Author

  Thank you for reading!

  A Little Taste…

  A bell jingled in the distance, maybe the next street over. Tate strolled along, not in a particular hurry anywhere, turning another corner to see if there were some coffee shops or diners he hadn’t discovered, yet. He’d never been one for quaint, tucked away towns, but necessity bred familiarity and curiosity in this case.

  As he did, footsteps caught his ear, and a moment later, a woman ran into his arms, bouncing off his chest. Her breathing was ragged as she steadied herself, and Tate grabbed her elbows so she wouldn’t stumble over her own feet.

  “Whoa, there,” he said, but it didn’t look like she even heard him.

  Gripping on to his forearms, she drew in a breath, her hair falling in strands around her face.

  “Please, run,” she whispered, glancing behind her. “He’s close.”

  That put Tate’s animal instincts on edge. Someone was chasing this woman, someone she was clearly terrified of. She started to push past him as they still held on to each other. Her feet got caught in his and she almost tumbled down, but he caught her, pulling her up to face him.

  He wasn’t about to let her run off, with god knows who on her trail. At 6' 5" and built firm and strong, he was used to any troublemakers he happened to come across backing off just at the sight of him. And if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was poor excuses for men terrorizing women.

  Cowards, the lot of them.

  “Alright, little lady. Calm down,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Who’s after you, a boyfriend, husband?”

  “No, no, you don’t understand,” she rushed over her words.

  When she finally looked up at him, her huge round blue eyes staring into his, the terror in them was clear to see. Pale, except for her flushed cheeks, the woman’s gaze darted across his face, searching for something.

  Tate had time to notice whoever she was or whatever trouble she was in, she was beautiful, with a spatter or freckles over her button-nose. He bet she was gorgeous when she smiled, and he got a feeling she did that often. Not now, though. But before either of them could say anything else, a voice like no other he had heard before boomed out into the street.

  “Tessa Mayberry!” it said. “Return what is mine.”

  Copyright © 2017 Anya Nowlan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Last Chance Mate: Tate

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Anya Nowlan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover © Jack of Covers

  One

  Tessa

  “Another one? Geez, who even has that much stuff?” Greg complained, plopping a cardboard box down on the counter and wiping his brow.

  “It was a really big house,” Tessa replied, tearing the tape off and taking a peek inside. “From what I heard, Mr. Thompson lived there alone after Mrs. Thompson died, and was a bit of a hoarder.”

  “Well… Now that’s just sad and you made me feel bad about complaining,” Greg said, resting an elbow on the counter. “What’s in there, anyway?”

  “Whatever the family had trouble selling off anywhere else, I suppose,” Tessa shrugged, grabbing a hair-tie from her pocket and piling her strawberry blonde hair on top of her head.

  Dust swirled in the air as she gingerly picked up a porcelain poodle from the top of the pile. With its gold collar and lolling tongue, it looked just like something her grandmother would have collected.

  “Good luck getting rid of that,” Greg remarked, rubbing his graying temples.

  The fact that he was less than enthused by all of this was painfully obvious.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Tessa asked, widening her eyes at him in conjured shock. “This is a valuable piece for anyone looking to add a little whimsy to their Dresden collection. Now look at that lace frill at the collar. Handcrafted to perfection,” she finished her spiel, earning a wide grin from Greg.

  “You sound just like your mom,” he remarked, before catching himself. “Sorry,” he added sheepishly, staring at the ground.

  “It’s all right, Greg,” Tessa smiled. “It’s a great compliment.”

  “And she was a great lady,” Greg replied. “Well, I better get the last two boxes so you can start sorting through them all.”

  “Lucky me,” Tessa sighed, picking up the one on the counter, lightweight despite being packed to the brim. “Thank you, Greg.”

  “No problem,” he said, turning toward the door.

  The little bell above it jingled as he left, and Tessa noted the door could use a fresh coat of paint. The old-fashioned lettering on the window reading Mayberry Antiques might have come off as charming and quaint, but general disrepair did not.

  Despite secretly thinking antique shops were antiques all on their own, Tessa wasn’t going to break her promise to herself. As long as she was around, the doors would stay open to anyone looking to hawk their old tea sets or buy miniature poodles.

  Carrying the box into the backroom, she placed it on top of a dozen others. Her mom might have appreciated what she had called ‘organized chaos’, but Tessa was getting stressed out just by looking at the pile in front of her.

  Better get to work, then.

  The bell above the door jingled again, and Tessa poked her head out behind the corner.

  “These are the last ones. I’ll get out of your hair now,” Greg called out.

  “All right, see you later,” Tessa waved.

  Since she hadn’t exactly been overrun with customers lately, she left the front counter unattended as she started tearing the boxes open, hoping that whoever packed all this stuff up had at least had some kind of a system.

  Once she pulled out a taxidermy squirrel from the same box as a set of costume jewelry, though, that hope faded fast. She couldn’t be too mad about it, however. After Mr. Thompson’s death, his remaining relatives had pro
bably wanted to get everything settled quickly.

  Moving on from death was tough. Even tougher if there were reminders of the person everywhere.

  Sighing to herself, Tessa pulled out item after item, doing her best to come up with some sort of categorization system as she went along. If figurines went in one pile, and dishes in another, where would a sugar bowl in the shape of a swan belong? Now that was a conundrum.

  How did my life turn out to be this riveting tale of excitement?

  She sprang to her feet at a familiar jingling sound out front a while later, dusting off her jeans and rushing to meet what could be her first customer in days. They probably wouldn’t buy anything, most people just liked browsing the oddities that had come to call these walls home over the years, but that didn’t matter. She would still give them her best smile, and chat about the weather or pretend like she knew anything about fishing or hunting.

  But the man she found standing behind the counter didn’t look local, nor did he look like the tourists that stumbled through Whitefish, looking to immerse themselves in small-town charm.

  No, this man looked severe and stern, dressed in a full three-piece suit, black and all buttoned up, despite the warm, sunny weather outside. He cast a shadow over the whole place, looking downright giant next to the small, overstacked shelves of the store.

  Tessa tried to smile, but it died on her lips, as if swallowed up by the grimness on the man’s face. Looking down his long, straight nose at her, he took a step closer, making her back away instinctively.

  A chill went down her spine, the temperature around her dropping, like all the warmth had been sucked out of the room. Despite wanting to run away screaming, Tessa stayed in place, fighting the irrational sense of doom spreading all over her body.

  Just a customer, she reminded herself.

  “Hello, welcome to Mayberry Antiques. May I help you with something?” she asked, her voice coming out shaky.

  “Yes, you may,” the man replied, his voice reverberating right through her, like thousands of tiny needles. “I’m looking for a piece from the Thompson estate. You have it,” he stated, all the while staring at her with dark, lifeless eyes.

  Gripping on to the edge of the counter, Tessa blinked at him, fighting to regain her composure.

  “I did receive some items from the estate, but I haven’t gone through them all yet, so I don’t know if I have whatever it is you’re looking for,” she replied. “If you could come back tomorrow, I’ll have the….” she started to explain, but was cut off.

  “It is here,” the man said, licking his lips as his eyes fixed somewhere behind her. “The others didn’t have it, so it has to be here.”

  “The others?” Tessa asked, even though the man didn’t look like he was up for conversation.

  “It is an amulet. Gold chain, the pendant in a teardrop shape, with a green gem inside. Find it for me,” was all he said in response.

  Stunned, Tessa stared at the man, a crease forming between her brows.

  “Look, Mr. …?” she said, a hand on her hip.

  “Loch,” he replied.

  His glossed-over eyes were trained on her again, and with uneasiness growing in the pit of her stomach, she realized she hadn’t seen him blink yet.

  All right, calm down. It’s just some obsessed collector, looking for some gaudy necklace. No need to freak out.

  “Tessa Mayberry, nice to meet you,” she nodded at him, getting nothing in response. “Well, as I said, the items have only just arrived. I haven’t even had a chance to study them more closely. I’m afraid you’re going to have to come back tomorrow.”

  “I need it now,” Loch replied, his voice rising.

  His wide mouth thinned into a firm line, shoulders tensing as he leaned in, his palms coming down on the counter. Ornate collar links glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, silver, with symbols carved in them that Tessa had never seen before.

  Not the time to be studying his accessories, Tessa!

  “If it is here, I wouldn’t even know what to ask for it! And there’s really no need to raise your voice,” she replied, squaring her shoulders while eyeing the street through the windows behind him.

  There weren’t a lot of people out and about, not at this time of day and in this heat. The street was still damp from the unexpected thunderstorm that swept through the town last night, and the rooftops glistened as they dried in the sun.

  More than ever, Tessa regretted the store not being more popular. What she wouldn’t give to have someone else walk in, just so she wouldn’t be alone with this guy.

  “I don’t intend to pay for it,” Loch laughed, a hollow, scratching sound that made Tessa’s hair stand on end.

  Lips curling into what she would hardly call a smile, he snatched her forearm and yanked it toward him, his fingers digging into her flesh like a vise. Tessa took a step back trying to pull away, but it was useless. He was too strong, too big, and too certain of his own power compared to her diminutive size.

  “Now get it for me,” he said, his grip tightening with each word. “Or I will take it from you.”

  “I’ll get it. I’ll find it,” Tessa replied, the words rushing out.

  “Good girl,” Loch nodded, releasing her.

  Her arm throbbed, with little half-moon shaped marks on it from where Loch’s fingernails had dug into her skin. Feeling the color drain from her face, Tessa scrambled into the backroom, her breath ragged.

  Stumbling over the items on the floor, she grabbed the last untouched boxes, tearing the cardboard on top into pieces in her rush to get them open. Something was very wrong, with this whole situation, with Loch, with how there was a deep, primal reaction in her stomach that told her to run away as fast as she could and not look back.

  Kneeling down, she grabbed worn old volumes of books out of the boxes, tossing them aside, looking for that one thing Loch wanted.

  Fuck, she cursed to herself. Not here.

  Dragging the other box closer, she ripped away the tape and folded the sides away, coming across some hats and scarves. But at the bottom were small wooden boxes, just the right size for jewelry. Fingers trembling, she opened them up. The first contained pearl earrings, clearly imitation. The second, a worn and faded wedding ring.

  But in the third…

  Carefully, Tessa picked it up by the chain. The gold was cool against her fingers, unfurling under the weight of the pendant it was attached to. And there it was, a large green gem, the color of poison vials and seaweed. She didn’t take long to admire it.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she ran back to the counter, where Loch was still waiting, tapping a long finger against his clean-shaven jaw. His eyes turned even darker when he spotted the necklace in her hand, and a menacing smile spread over his face.

  “Ah,” he grinned, gaze fixed on the amulet. “It has all finally paid off.”

  “If I give this to you, you’ll leave?” Tessa asked.

  Loch reached out for it, but she took a step back, holding the necklace up.

  “Will you leave, and never come back?” she asked again, heart pounding against her chest.

  “It is mine,” Loch growled, leaning forward over the counter before she could even react, trying, yet failing, to snatch it out of her hand.

  But in that brief second they both held on to it, her fingers curled around the gold and him yanking on the pendant, she saw him. Truly saw him. A face beneath the one he had shown her, leathered and peeling like her front door, with rotting teeth spreading the scent of decay from his mouth.

  The world dipped and swayed beneath her feet, a strangled sound escaping her throat. She wanted to scream, but her throat was dry and constricted, the sight of this man but not really a man in front of her filling her veins with panic.

  “You saw me,” Loch stated matter-of-factly, as if making conversation.

  And in that moment, Tessa knew her chances of getting out of this store alive had dropped to near zero. Loch was already
heading for the latch at the edge of the counter, his steps thudding heavily on the floor.

  A fuzziness spread in Tessa’s limbs as adrenaline took over, flooding her system and forcing her to take action. Without even really thinking, she lunged over the counter, sliding to the other side and landing on her hands and feet.

  She could feel him turn around, a shadow casting over her, an arm reaching out to grab her. Without even looking up, she gathered up all the strength she had and pushed herself forward toward the door.

  I’ll never make it.

  Two

  Tate

  Only one e-mail today. Tate arched a brow at his phone screen. Does that mean they’re giving up?

  Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he took a deep breath and puffed it out, stopping at the corner he was about to round to turn his face upward and soak in the sun. The air was clear and crisp in small towns like these, and it called out to him.

  The woods were not far away, and his limbs loosened at the thought of running through them at night, the soft dirt sinking beneath his weight. The wolf inside him growled softly, as if in agreement that’s what he needed.

  The phone in his pocket felt heavy, weighing him down and pulling him back to the real world with an unpleasant yank. Wasn’t he already running, all the time? That’s what they said he was doing…

  I just need more time.

  Flicking his hair off his forehead, Tate continued walking, glancing at the watch on his wrist that said it was lunch time. Perhaps after getting some food, he would finally go get a damn haircut, maybe even shave the scruff off his jaw.

  Or he could go back to his room, pull out his map, and find another place where no one would bother him. Somewhere he could rent a cabin maybe, or with some seasonal work he could take on.

  A bell jingled in the distance, maybe the next street over. Tate strolled along, not in a particular hurry anywhere, turning another corner to see if there were some coffee shops or diners he hadn’t discovered yet. He’d never been one for quaint, tucked away towns, but necessity bred familiarity and curiosity in this case.