The Reluctant Mate

24 Amanda

"Amanda," he said from behind me as I scrambled off of him. I was stupid. So, so stupid. What had I been thinking?

"Please, Amanda, just—"

"No!" I bolted towards the door, ignoring how the room spun around me. I was getting out of here. Screw Porter and the rest of the werewolves. I felt like an unwanted idiot and I needed to get away from him before I did something stupid like start crying. Which I absolutely had no reason to do.

He was right behind me and leaned his weight against the outside door to prevent my escape just as I grabbed the handle. I didn't look at him. "Amanda, listen. You're drunk."

"I was drunk last time you fucked me, too. And the first time."

"Not this drunk. And I didn't know what I was doing!"

"What? So you regret everything now? Why don't you just do that whole rejection thing and be done with it! Or does it have to be me who does it? Or what, Porter?" I was so done with this mate bullshit. It was confusing and conflicting and had bulldozed the little bit of order I had built since I had escaped Steven. I had been coping. And now? I stomped down the hall, almost tripping in my unsteady haste. How was I this stupid drunk already?

"I don't regret anything, I just wish things were different!"

"I don't care!" I half screeched at him as I ducked into the room I had figured out was his. He had the most throwable stuff out of the three guys and I was going to make good use of it.

"Amanda, could you shut your damn mouth and listen for once in your life?"

"No!" I snapped. I still wasn't too drunk to not be pissed that he was implying I talked too much. These werewolves were judgy hypocrites—it wasn't like I hadn't noticed how often they spaced out in silent conversations around me. I grabbed a book and turned to throw it when he came around the corner. As soon as he was in sight I threw it, but he caught it, and set it on the dresser next to him. Before I could grab something else, he sprinted forwards.

"No more throwing stuff!" he growled and I was knocked backwards onto the bed. He pinned my hands, although he held himself beside me on the bed rather than in a more suggestive pose. I was torn between furious anger and the most ridiculous building disappointment. In spite of everything I was still horny—I had been deprived way too long now—and I wanted his control to snap so he could soothe the part of me hurting at his refusal. My fuzzy brain didn't know why it bothered me so much that he didn't want me anymore.

Maybe I was too much trouble. I stopped trying to struggle away and went limp. He didn't release my wrists.

"My only regret is that things aren't better between us. You're not going to remember what I say tomorrow, so I'll just be straight with you. The fact you're going to leave me makes me feel like I'm dying, but if I try to force you to stay you'll only hate me more so I can't even do that. This isn't what I want, Amanda. Do you really believe that this is what I want? Fuck, I want all of you, not just your damn body, but whenever I try make that clear you push me away harder."

I was having trouble focusing on his frustrated face, and the room was sort of spinning even harder, but his words still made my chest hurt, like someone had hollowed it out. This felt worse than anything. Stupid tears welled up in my eyes and he finally released my wrists. "It's not like I want to be like this, you know," I said, a whimper breaking through my voice. I curled up in a ball on the bed.

"I know."

"I don't know how other people do it. Or maybe I do—or at least I did. But the idea of being trapped with anyone makes me want to throw up, Porter. And you remind me of him a lot."