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    Unwanted Mate
     
     
    Gunther West’s eyes flew open. Something had awakened him, something still in the room with him. He’d gone to bed alone, but as he inhaled, his senses confirmed what his subconscious had known: a female stood in his bedroom. Not just any female either—Judy Bristol. His mate. Although she’d yet to admit it.
    The woman who filled his nights with erections he couldn’t find relief for. Maybe he dreamed still. If so, all he’d have to do is get up and shove himself in her sweet little pussy and warm up inside of her.
    “After two years, have you finally come to fuck me?”
    She quivered in the darkness, grief flowing from her. “Denise died and it’s my fault.”
    He sat up, the sheet falling. To his canine senses, her scent tasted sour and wrong, and her pulse beat too fast. Damn it, he’d been so fucking horny from the first moment he’d smelled her, he hadn’t noticed her sadness. He could not feel any illness, just distress. His inner wolf raged to make things better for her even as he calmed himself. It would do him no good to scare her off. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body, but years of learned bigotry against werewolves couldn’t be undone all at once. He had to act the gentleman, and not the wolf. Even if it killed him.
    “How did you wake up so quickly? I just stepped in the room and I didn’t make a sound.”
    “It’s a wolf thing. And you are you. I think I could scent your approach across a continent, let alone a small room. Sleep is nothing for me.” He gestured her closer. “Tell me what happened.”
    She stepped forward, and he wondered how it could be that simply by coming closer to him, she managed to increase the temperature in his bedroom by at least ten degrees. Hell, he’d be lucky if he didn’t start sweating.
    “Tell me.”
    Rather than answering, she looked away as she took another step. Dark circles marred her face.
    For Judy, she’d dressed downright conservatively. Then again, he usually saw her downstairs in his bar, dressed in biker attire, which included leather and snakeskin. Wearing jeans and a black cotton T-shirt, she looked sort of…soft. His hands clenched. He wanted to protect her even though she’d never allowed it.
    “Judy. Tell me what happened.”
    She began a slow, steady rhythm of removing all of her clothing. Not that he would ever dare to complain about her getting naked, but she’d come to him because she’d suffered a tragedy. He’d been pursuing her for years—since he’d discovered her and known them to be mates—but she’d laughingly resisted her desire for him, not wanting to give up her independence to become his other half. He suspected her upbringing played a large part in her resistance. She might not speak to her parents anymore but that didn’t mean their brand of hatred hadn’t turned part of her soul against the idea of a mating.
    She stopped moving and regarded him. “Do you like what you see?”
    The shake in her voice told him she actually worried about it. If she had ever bothered to find out what it meant to be mates, she’d have no reason to fear that he wouldn’t be attracted to her. To him, she would always be perfection embodied.
    Her bra was black and satiny, frillier than he would have expected. Tattoos of various designs covered her, separated by patches of creamy, peach-colored skin. Her dyed black hair hung straight down across her shoulders, touching the tops of her pert breasts. His cock jumped to life even as his conscience warred with him that something about her smelled wrong.
    But Jesus, he wanted to fuck her.
    “I more than like it.” He sat further up, his cock hardening to the point of pain beneath the sheet that remained over the lower half of his body. “But I’m wondering—not complaining, mind you—why you came to me. Why not go with some of your friends or to your family?”
    “I’ve been through hell today and maybe I missed you.”
    She’d been gone on a