Unwanted Mate: Greyriver Shifters: Volume One, #1

By Kristina Weaver

Unwanted Mate was initially published as the first book in Greyriver Shifters by Kristina Weaver. It is now available as the first book in a five-part series: Greyriver Shifters: Volume One.

 

Enjoy over 80,000 words in this first book of the first series.

 

The shifters of Greyriver are hot as hell, and nothing will stop them in their paths, so cozy up and be ready for some sexy fun!

 

Unwanted Mate

I don't want to feel this pull towards Mika Bright or the lust that overtakes me when I smell her. She's the opposite of everything I want in a female. As the next Alpha to my pack, I want my mate to be of my kind: strong, capable, and on the fringes of my emotions. But Mika isn't like that. She's sweet and soft and needs me to give her things I don't think I can. She's human to my wolf, light to my dark. She's not mine, and yet I want her, unlike any other female in this world. If I mate her, I will lose every iota of control in my life, and to a guy like me, control is power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristina Weaver
• Release date: Oct 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223013990

Kristina Weaver

Immerse yourself in the world of romantic comedy with Kristina Weaver. Her stories feature strong male characters and witty female leads, creating laughter and chaos before delivering a happy ending. With the added bonus of paranormal elements, her books are perfect for those seeking adventure. Start with the first book in the Greyriver Shifters Volume One series and get ready to be swept away into a world of imagination. Keep an eye out for discounts and even FREE offers on this book because this is an experience you wouldn't want to miss! For more information: Books2read.com/KristinaWeaver KristinaWeaverAuthor at Gmail dot com

Book preview

Chapter One

Meek

The coffee shop is doing a pumping trade by the time I’m four hours into an eight-hour shift that includes an extra four afterward—thanks to all the time off I took last week to go and see Mom in the nursing home.

I’m so tired I can barely conceive that I’m still standing, but I hustle out from behind the counter and shake a leg towards the front, where my section is crammed full of customers yelling at me to bring more sugar, milk, and cake.

Leave it to Bess to choose today to set up her specials campaign—a free slice with every large coffee that is bought—because damn, I am pooped already and I still got another eight hours of this shit before I can drag my ass home and start searching for Daddy’s old buzz saw to lop off my feet.

Yo, Meek! Table four is complaining about time! Bess yells, as I pass by, my arms groaning under the weight of a tray laden down with so much cake and coffee I am convinced I’m going to look like a body builder by closing time.

I only got two hands, Bess! It’s been like three minutes! I yell back, thanking God I braved Bess’s ire and put on a pair of sneakers instead of the heels she usually insists we all wear.

Holly stumbles by me, wobbling precariously in her four-inch heels and rolls her eyes, the bright blue marbles making me giggle when they almost reach the back of her skull.

You tell that bitch! I lost a tip cause some asshole in my section was crapping himself over a two-minute wait. What’d he think? I got the coffee machine resting on my fat ass just waiting for him to roll in?

I giggle and hear Bess cackle before the two of them start arguing in Spanish. Yeah, Bess is that kinda boss. She’s a ball buster for sure. Hell, she kicked me in the vagina one time just to prove that balls aren’t the only thing that can make a bitch win a fight, buuuuut, she’s more of a mom to us than an actual boss, which accounts for the fact that I’ve had this job for four years now.

Look, ain’t no one ever gonna keep my snarky ass around for that long unless she loves me, and even I’m big enough to admit it. I’ve been working for Hot Buns since I just barely scraped through senior year after Dad died and Mom went into her depression.

This job saved my ass, literally, when we had to bury Dad and Mom went all catatonic on me. Most days, I’m grateful as hell, seeing as I make enough on tips to afford a place with Holly and Jo—roomies are great, and even better when their half of the rent means I won’t be homeless—and I also scrape enough together to keep Mom in the assisted-living place.

Meek! Goddammit! You’ve been standing there for a full minute all spaced out, girl! Get your ass moving and deliver that coffee! Table seven just filled up.

I snap out of my waking sleep and sniff, throwing Bess a filthy look before stalking toward my table and delivering the order, letting Mister Impatience know I don’t appreciate his attitude with a look meant to kill.

Jesus, I hate college guys and their bimbos, and I hate them even more when the little shits sit at one of my tables, all puffed up with a false sense of self-importance. These kids are all daddy’s little demons, spoiled, bratty, and so high on the easy life that people like me are amusement.

Oh, come on now sweet peach, I was just teasing. The blonde behemoth I’ve been sneering at for the last half hour crows, grinning when he runs his meaty paw up my thigh while his friends laugh and hoot. How about I sweeten that sour up some and take you out?

I groan internally and keep my face devoid of all expression before turning to stare directly into his eyes, my entire body poised for all-out battle if this little shit doesn’t get his filthy act together.

Swear to God, some days—like today—I so hate being pretty.

Yeah, yeah, I get how that sounds, and yes, sometimes I can be a vain sow, but it’s just a fact, I ain’t bad looking. I have blonde, waist-length hair that is thick and shiny—thanks to Mom’s lessons on hair care when she was still lucid enough to be my mom—and eyes that are neither green or blue or grey. They’re...arresting, I guess you could say, and yeah, I get that guys like how I look.

Personally, I could give a crap since my looks don’t do jack but get me harassed by little assholes like the one I am now dealing with. Pros and cons. I swear, on days like these, I wish I looked like Amanda Plummer, or that weird chick from Teachers.

Get your hand off my ass, college boy. I warn, swiping at the offending appendage with a frown while pursing my lips and despising the short skirt and tight tank top that Bess makes us wear.

He chuckles, setting off the hyenas beside him, and I feel my hackles rise a little more when what is obviously his next girlfriend-wannabe scowls and gives me a disparaging once over.

Troy, come on, I thought you said you were done slumming.

Okay, now see, I should totally not even imagine myself popping her eyeballs out of her pinhead and smashing her face into the table a few...hundred times, I can’t help but think.

Problem is, I inherited my dad’s temper, and right now I feel as if my head’s about to blow off when she sneers at me and lets out a soft giggle.

I mean, look at the size of her ass!

Cindy, stop being an idiot. Guys like big asses. He laughs, making her scowl even deeper and hiss at me beneath her breath.

The din of the coffee shop is almost enough to drown out the insults—it’s so busy—so instead of standing around and taking the abuse and contemplating how I’d afford to keep Mom in her home if I slam a spoon into Troy’s eye—big ass, my...ass—I decide to smile, turn on my heel and walk away, not giving a shit that Troy keeps calling me back or that I’m liable to lose the tip I so badly need.

Christ in the manger! I hate college kids. I really do! Holly yells, as I pass her on my way to the table that just filled up.

I roll my eyes and grin, shaking back a laugh when she starts muttering French curses under her breath on the way to her own table of hell. This next group is...

All male, but for one tiny little redhead seated among them, and Jesus—I say it with a Mexican accent because I so do not want to go to hell for blaspheming—they are all so good looking that I stumble a little before reaching the table.

The first guy, directly to my left is...hot. Look, it’s clichéd to use that word when drooling silently, but there’s no other way to say it. He is so good looking with a head full of coffee brown, thick, lustrous, totally shiny...he’s got great hair, okay?

It’s all messy, sexy messy, falling around his face in one of those celebrity styles that men wear and can never pull off. This guy pulls it off. Hard. The sides are shaved shorter with the top just sort of falling in this messy, glossy sweep that reminds me of that guy from that Haven movie. Hot. His eyes are silver grey, intense and so mesmerizing it takes me a good long minute of totally inappropriate staring just to get my fill.

The rest of him is perfect, and I usually don’t ever think this when a guy is stacked with muscle and tall enough that I won’t reach his nipples, but it’s true. He looks like he could bench press a two-hundred-year-old tree trunk and not break a sweat.

Beside him sits the redhead, and she’s tiny in comparison. She’s got grey eyes, too. Her face is perfect in that poreless, peaches-and-cream way that only the super-rich can afford to achieve.

Something about her, maybe her kind smile, makes me feel immediately at ease. It’s only because of that smile that I don’t turn and run when I scan over the other occupants of the table.

Three more men sit around her, almost as if protecting her and caging her in, but these three are all completely different from hottie number one. They’re blonde, green eyed—except for one—and not as intense looking, as one of them proves by smiling and clearing his throat politely while my own hottie just glares and scowls at me.

Morning, sweetheart.

I clear my throat, finally snapping out of the oh my God, I am so wet daze I almost slipped into, and turn to stare at the blonde, begging Jesus not to let me blush when I feel embarrassment scorch my cheeks.

Uh, ahem, good morning. My name is Mika. I’ll be your server today. What can I get you folks?

Just five large coffees and some of the pecan pie.

Um, okay. Yeah, uh, are you aware of this week’s special? Customers get a slice of cake with every large coffee. The flavors are on the card by the sugar shaker, I mumble, doing my best not to look at the dark-haired man again—because if I do I won’t be functional.

The man smells...amazing.

I can’t describe what he smells like, but it’s just...good. So good—in fact—that I feel my sex clench and throb, heating so fast I almost gasp when intense and immediate arousal hits me.

I have never, ever felt this way before, not to this degree, so I’m holding my breath to stop a pant, as I swallow and keep my thighs squeezed tightly together, doing my best not to make a fool of myself by melting into a puddle.

My heart is hammering in my chest, my palms are sweating, and if that isn’t bad enough, when I slowly and silently let out a breath, I almost moan when that scent hits me again.

Oh sweet, sweet Jesus, help me.

My breasts, now tingling and heavy, go tight at the tips, and the heat between my legs goes molten, as arousal gushes a stream of moisture where my panties meet the heated throb at my core.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I do not ever feel this way. Never.

Not even that one time I went to a party with Holly and that model hit on me.

Jake was more than good looking. He was built like a wet dream and nice and, and all I felt when he offered to take me to dinner was a fizzle of interest because I wanted to find out what shampoo he used on his hair.

Mika? the blonde asks, frowning when I blink and look back down at him, my mind foggy and fighting against images of hot, sweaty, naked bodies writhing together on a bed.

I have to fight to clear my mind and calm my breathing, everything inside me screaming out and yelling at me to look back down at the man to my left and never stop looking. It’s so intense I almost whimper, as I force my eyes to stay on the blonde, unblinking in case I lose control.

Uh, yeah sorry. Um, so five large coffees? Would you guys like to order cake, or do you wanna forego the special for the pecan pie?

The words feel like hot coals dragging up my throat because everything has gone dry the longer I stand here and pant like a dog out in the hot Montana heat wave.

Blondie narrows his eyes at me, glances at my—No, not mine! Bad Mika, bad, bad girl!—at the man and then seems to consider me for a long minute before grunting and pursing his lips.

Pie.

Bear. Dammit. The man hisses, his nose thinning for the split second I see him, before my gaze moves to...

Bear?

Oh my God, I think I just had an O! I love unusual names.

Bear grunts, gives me one flicking glance of irritation, and then turns away as if I’m not worth his while. His tone, though unpleasant, is a rich, deep gravel that makes the lust slamming through me all the worse.

Man. Man. Man.

The man is just so, manly, I think, swallowing on a groan when that smell hits me again, this time so strong that my knees threaten to buckle.

Why are you being so rude? the woman asks, throwing me an apologetic look before frowning at Bear.

Jules, just order your pie and coffee and let’s go. I got things to do.

"Things to do! You just wanna run back to your house and sit and brood about that whore-stain Hannah! Mom made things clear this morning, and by God, I am not going back home to tell her that you were out of your house for five hot minutes before slinking back into your stinking man cave to sulk! Jesus, Vazques! What is in Hannah’s crotch, gold?" she snarls, making me puff out a whining giggle when the need to laugh overcomes me.

With the amusement, a smidge of my arousal, thankfully, dissipates, and on the heels of that relief is a hurt I cannot explain. The devastation hits me so hard I can barely breathe. I’m practically blinking to stem tears that fire my temper anew.

I have no effing idea what the hell is happening to me, or why I feel as if my heart just shattered into a million pieces. But what I do know is that this, this Bear, is being a dick, and while my emotions are out of control, I am no weakling.

No one gets away with being rude to me.

Just ask Bess how many times she almost considered firing my ass and the point is made.

Bear’s head whips around at the sound of my amusement, and I school my face, wiping it clean of whatever the heck hurt is coursing through me. He scowls, his jaw clenching, and growls when I snort. It’s a forced sound since I’m on the verge of tears.

Must be my period, has to be, I tell myself, praying that it doesn’t happen in the next eight hours because my skirt is white and I had to wear butt floss this morning because I forgot to do laundry last night.

You think that’s funny?

I should really just walk away and put in that order. I know walking away would make things easier for myself and my now unmanageable body, but as his eyes meet mine, that silver grey swirling with an almost perceptible light, I find myself caught and desperate to stay just a moment longer.

Here. With him.

Yes? Er, I mean, is that a confirmation on the pie? Okay, good.

Trying to force my feet to move, I swear on my future offspring, I almost melt into a puddle of goo when he grabs my wrist to halt me, those eyes drilling holes into my face.

I should slap him silly, leave and tell Bess to prepare for another complaint. That’s me. I don’t take shit. Instead, I sigh when his skin touches mine and sparks of awareness tear through me.

So wet, so wet, so—

Mika! Get a handle on it, my inner self-respect screams when a moan bubbles up my throat and the urge to crawl onto his lap springs up. I shake myself, forcing the pleasure that’s surging through me to the background, and grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

The need...

God, the need that is tearing through me is so fierce it hurts when I pull away and narrow my eyes, glaring down at him while the blondes all growl, almost animalistic, as if warning him.

Why’s it funny? Bear asks, his voice a snarl of what I can only call outrage.

This man, the way he’s looking at me, tells me clearly that he doesn’t like me. Why? I have no idea, and even worse, I can’t explain why the knowledge makes me feel so hurt, almost frantically pained.

I can see it though; it’s carved in every inch of his face when he wipes his palm down his pants, as if wiping away the touch we just shared. That makes the despair hitting me worse. So bad I have to blank my expression and hold my breath to stop the sobs that want to leave me.

I don’t know what the heck this is...?

I don’t fucking care! I need to get the hell out of here and never see him again because...I think Mom’s crazy is finally rubbing off on me.

Why’s it funny? he repeats, ignoring the other occupants of the table to bark the quiet question my way.

Whatever I answer is going to be bad. I just know he’ll use whatever I say to be ruder, so at this point, all weird-ass, completely-loco feelings aside, I may as well just say something to save myself from utter humiliation.

Lord, if today is just gonna be a pile of manure, then can I at least, just once, make it home on time to watch Antique Road Show?

I, uh, I mumble, clearing my throat when everything comes out in a hoarse bark of pain. I...it’s just that it sounds funny. You’re pining for a woman.

Which should not make me want to drop to my knees and wail. It really shouldn’t. Oh, God, what the heck is wrong with me, I ask myself, forcing my heart to stop beating so hard and attempting to breathe through my mouth to calm myself.

Right now, I feel...I don’t know how I feel, but something is wrong, definitely wrong, and I just know that getting away from this man is the only way to stop this, whatever it is. Why I feel as if I’ll die if I do...is not something I even want to think about right now, let alone understand. I need to leave, now, before the emotions winging through me overcome me.

The really cool part of me—yeah man, I have a cool part, even if I am a loser most days—snorts and lets me know, hard and fast, that I am an idiot for being this affected by a stranger.

And he is.

This Bear, I don’t know him, and no matter what the hell is going on with me right now, I don’t want to know him, I assure myself, taking a deep calming breath and making my face reflect a boredom and apathy I wish I could feel.

What I just said obviously does not go down well because his handsome features tighten into a mask of anger. Before he says anything though, the woman slaps his head, hard, and growls so low my nerves leap under my skin.

Just shut the hell up before you irrevocably screw yourself over, Bear! Christ man, even a blind man can see what’s going on here. You want her to hate you?

I don’t care. She’s nothing.

Yeah. That does not feel good, I think, but as hard as it is to breathe with the hurt slamming through me, I manage to lift my chin and shrug. Yeah, whatever the hell is going on with me I can make it, as long as I can ignore the words and treat him the way I treat most other people, like they have no meaning.

Soooo, you guys still want your order? This place is not getting any emptier, I point out, keeping my burning eyes off Bear with iron will.

The blonde clears his throat, bringing my attention back to him, and I think I see admiration gleaming in the depths of his eyes before he nods.

Thanks, darlin’. Don’t mind him.

Yeah, like that’s even possible, I grunt silently, turning on my heel to head for the counter, where Holly is hissing at the coffee machine and Bess is taking cash.

Christ, this is chaos! I wish I didn’t like money so much that I want a full shop.

I snort and giggle when Holly grins and wiggles her hips while rubbing her fingers together in the universal sign for make that money! It’s our thing, you wouldn’t understand.

I laugh outright when she semi-twerks and starts signing ‘making that dough, ho’, a song that is one-hundred-percent original, but to the tune which is all Jay Z’s New York State of Mind.

They should not sound at all in tune, my brain knows this, and yet it does, making me laugh harder because Bess let’s off a muffled yell and hurls an empty cup at Holly.

Most customers, the regulars at least, are used to this play, so I hear a few chuckles along with my own when Holly ducks the cup and shakes her ass at Bess.

You know you love me, mami, she drawls in a fake Queens accent.

You wish. Now stop teasing all the boys with that fat ass and hop to it. Swear to heaven, I don’t even know why I still keep you around! she yells, cackling when Holly grabs her loaded tray and swoops by, planting a loud, wet kiss on her wrinkled old cheek.

You love me, old lady!

I’m still giggling, as I fill out the order for a table I really do not want to serve, my mind wandering on its own accord to places I really cannot let it go. No, really, imagining sex with a horrible asshole when I haven’t had sex is not reasonable, but that’s exactly where my mind keeps going.

All I can see is a hard, muscled body coming over me, narrow hips lodged between my thighs, pumping, thrusting, filling me up where I ache with need—

Meek! Snap out of it and get to it! That little college pervert is waving at you, and that big scary bastard at your other table is glaring something fierce. He lays a hand on you, you snap off a finger! she yells, her orange hair vibrating with disgust, as she snarls and scowls my way.

See, this is so why I work here. The woman just knows me, I think.

Chuckling, I make it to my table, dodging bodies and elbows on my way, as I firmly banish the images trying to fog my brain. When I get to the table, I feel more in control and dump the tray down with a sigh.

Sorry for the wait guys. Here you go.

No one says a word as I serve them, and I ignore the discomfort of Bear drilling holes into the side of my face as I push the pie in front of him and pretend he doesn’t exist. At least I try to, I really do, but the man smells so delicious and the need burning inside me is so fierce.

Snap out of it Meek! He’s nobody, I tell myself.

And yet the harder I say it, the worse I feel.

This is bullshit!

Enjoy your coffee. Please call if you need anything else.

With that, I turn to leave and make my way towards the college students, praying like hell that whatever is going on with me today will just stop.

It’s fatigue; it has to be, I think. And yet, as I get through the next half hour in a blur, serving more coffee than is healthy, it’s with my heart aching and beating an urgent message that I just don’t get.

Bear and his friends are long gone by now, thankfully.

Yes, thankfully!

I do not feel like I have just been abandoned.

Of course, I don’t.

I don’t feel as if a part