A Mate's Denial: A True-mates BBW Paranormal Romance

By P. Jameson

The prophecy says she'll reject him but this wolf shifter is about to make her an offer she can't refuse...

Trager was only a wolfling when a devastating foretelling by the pack elders made him an outcast, exiled from his home in the Ozark Mountains. Though he is destined to be denied by his mate, he’s spent the years planning, waiting . . . hunting her. Now that he’s found her, he decides to take fate into his own hands and win her heart. But when a rival wolf pack threatens to destroy the very shifters who cast him out, he’ll have to return to the Ozark Mountains to save them, and convince the woman he’s falling for, to help.

It's been a year since Kerrigan lost the love of her life in a tragic motorcycle accident, and she is finally ready to move on. Especially since she was never the love of his. But being with a man who couldn’t appreciate her curves has left her heart ragged. A roughened biker, who's hot enough to stop her breath, is the very last thing she's looking for. Except apparently he's been looking for her, and even though she doesn’t totally love herself, he stares at her like she sets his world on fire. To be accepted, wanted, as she is, is her deepest desire, and Trager seems to want every inch of her. But she’s not sure if she can risk her heart again with someone who could so easily crush it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Dec 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094465869

P. Jameson

P. Jameson is a USA Today Bestselling author who likes to spend her time daydreaming, and then rearranging those dreams into heartstring-pulling stories of trials and triumph. Paranormal is her jam, so you're sure to find said stories full of hot alpha males of the supernatural variety who fall hard for strong, sassy women. She lives next door to the great Rocky mountains with her husband and kids, who provide her with plenty of writing fodder. For news on all of P. Jameson's books, copy and paste the following link to your browser and sign up for the newsletter: https://bit.ly/pjnlsignup OR visit her website at www.pjamesonbooks.com

Book preview

1

There she was. After months of hunting, at last he had her in his sights. All he could see was the back of her honey brown head through the café window, but he was certain it was her. His inner wolf could sense his mate no matter how far away, but this close he could, ever so faintly, catch her scent. The fresh smell—like evergreens and cherry blossoms—made his heart thunder, his pants tighter, and everything under his skin come alive.

Damn wolf. Now was not the time to get excited. He needed to stick to the plan. If he went charging in there like a testosterone ridden He-man, it could fuck things up. He needed to be patient. Had to keep the wolf at bay a little while longer.

Trager sat back in the seat of his motorcycle and turned the engine off. He couldn’t get a good look at her from his vantage point, but he didn’t necessarily want to get closer. Too risky. He’d just wait her out. She would have to leave sometime. Then he’d get a look at her.

His shades made it possible for him to spy on her in broad daylight, but unfortunately, there was only a bobbing head to be seen. He would’ve given his left nut for a view of even her profile. Waiting this long left him feeling desperate.

The amount of time he spent outside the café was measured in units of torture. By the time she left the place, he was dying for even a hint at what his mate looked like. A hint other than the color of her hair. Which was fucking awesome. In his experience, brunettes were always hotter.

Trager didn’t own a watch, and he didn’t feel like digging his phone out to check the time, but if every bob of his mate’s dark head was the equivalent of a second, he sat there for almost an hour before she finally stepped out of the café.

Anticipation made his breath catch in his throat—

A truck whizzed by, obscuring his view for more seconds than he could possibly tolerate. Fisting his hands, he waited, heart thundering…

There. There she was.

Mine.

His mate didn’t dress the way he’d imagined she would. She wore Khakis. A pale pink polka-dotted shirt, sensible shoes, and khakis.

Sexy mates shouldn’t wear khakis. Librarians maybe. Doctor’s office receptionists. Grandmas out for their morning walks. But not his mate.

But then a grin inched one side of his mouth upward. He’d like to get her out of those drab clothes. Peel every stitch off slowly, revealing her luscious body one centimeter at a time, until there was all skin and zero fabric.

Trager swallowed hard. His smile slipped and he gripped the handle of his bike to keep steady as a familiar dread washed over him.

She was going to reject him. It had been prophesied by the Elders when he was still a pup, that his mate would deny him, that he would never find love, that he would never have young.

A single foretelling that rendered him useless to the pack. A male who couldn’t secure a mate? One who couldn’t produce offspring? Even though he’d been too young to do much more than simply survive pack life, he was the weakest link and therefore expelled. Or as he liked to think of it, tossed on his ass.

He’d spent so much of his life hoping the Elders were wrong. Now, he needed them to be. And not just because his mate was beautiful beyond words, with a body he’d love to spend a lifetime learning to master. No, he needed them to be wrong because his pack was in danger. The very ones who had betrayed him. The ones he still cared about, fucked up as it was.

And she was the only one who could save them.

His plan had to work. There was much more at stake than the future of his love life.

Her scent drifted over to him, a thousand times stronger than it was before, when the brick and mortar of the building separated them. His wolf shuffled under his skin, wanting out, because he knew Trager wasn’t going any closer to her. Wolf wanted to get cozy, and Trager wouldn’t mind either, but he had to take it easy.

He gripped the handle of his bike so hard, it squeaked.

His mate paused by the door of the restaurant to dig in her purse, her long hair falling to shield what he knew now was full round cheeks, big oval shaped eyes, and a mouth that formed a perfect puckered bow.

Time to go. He needed to regroup, rethink. Some place where her scent wasn’t clouding his mind.

Trager revved his bike, anxious to escape her presence and find a way to calm his wolf. But at the first sound of the engine, his mate’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing, her gaze lasering on… him.

His mouth dried at the expression on her face. Shock, anger, concern. Why did she look at him like that, with her already big eyes widening? As if he was a threat.

He turned the wheel of his bike to pull into the lane, narrowly missing a minivan. But that wasn’t the real trouble….

It happened so fast all he could do was react and deal with any consequences later.

The pop of a chain snapping, the rush of collective gasps, the whoosh of something falling fast enough to do a hell of a lot of damage when it landed. He had the smallest fraction of a second to make sure his mate was out of harm’s way.

When he realized he was the one in danger, not her, he dove from his bike, rolling across the road, thankful for a break in the traffic. Before he’d even come to a stop, a crash that sounded like a bomb exploding, sent dust and debris skittering into the road. He jumped up, and lunged at his mate, shielding her from any possible shrapnel.

Their surroundings erupted in commotion. A disturbing combination of sirens wailing, people yelling, and horns honking. But Trager hardly noticed any of it. Not with his mate pressed so close to him he could feel her heart pounding like the fluttering of a tiny bird’s wings. Up close, she was even more delectable, her lips parted slightly. His body surged with adrenaline, breath heaving with the effort to keep his wolf in check. He wanted to put his nose to the soft skin of her neck and sniff, until her scent was all he knew.

Her brow furrowed, forming a tiny line between her eyes, before she pushed at his chest. Let me go!

A command. He immediately stepped back, releasing her. She wobbled on her feet, but when he reached out to steady her, she jerked away from his touch. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. And so it begins.

Trager cleared his throat—twice—before he could speak. Are you okay?

She nodded. Fine. You? Her voice sounded angry rather than concerned.

I’m good. My bike might not be though. Staring back over his shoulder, he could see the dust was clearing. A crowd of people gathered around his crumpled motorcycle. Some stared his way, pointing, their lips flapping a story about his narrow escape.

Trager’s gaze went upward, to the heavy machinery working the nearby construction site. It appeared a steel beam had come loose and fallen on his poor ride. Damn. Just… damn.

Perhaps if you weren’t so careless, his mate huffed.

Wait, what? Careless?

He turned back to her. Excuse me?

She bent to retrieve her purse where it had fallen on the ground, and came up brushing dark strands of hair from her face. Careless. Reckless. I don’t know who you think you are, but you almost caused an accident right before your… accident. You should be more careful. Karma can be a bitch.

Trager narrowed his eyes. Are you really suggesting that I could have prevented a steel beam from falling on my bike if I’d been a tad more careful?

She raised a dark eyebrow. Yeah, pretty much.

He crossed his arms. Oh, I’d love to hear this. Please, enlighten me.

Sure, she snapped. "If you had been watching where you were going, you wouldn’t have almost hit the van. They wouldn’t have slammed on their brakes, causing traffic to slow. You could have carefully pulled into the lane, and the beam would have missed you altogether. By seconds, of course, but yes, this could have been avoided. But you’re just like all bikers, utterly careless of anyone but yourself."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. So, his mate had an axe to grind.

Trager cocked his head to the side, searching her face. There was fire in her eyes, but also something else. She’d been hurt. Vitriol like that could only be born from pain. Something inside him stirred. A feeling of protectiveness. He wished he’d found her sooner. Maybe he could’ve prevented whatever had hurt her.

Whether she was right about the accident or not, he wanted to make her feel better. Reassure her. You know… you’re right. I should be more careful.

Her eyebrows went up in surprise, before a mask of indifference covered up her reaction.

In the future, I will be, he promised. Lesson learned.

She nodded. Right. Okay, then. Looks like they need you over there.

Trager glanced over his shoulder to see a policeman talking to several workers in hardhats, but his wolf wanted answers from his mate.

Who had hurt her? He’d kill them.

What was her name? He was drooling for the chance to speak it out loud, let it form on his lips like a fucking kiss.

Where did she live? No, that one was better left unknown. If he knew where she lived, he’d be too tempted to go to her. Bad enough, he knew where she worked.

What’s your name? he asked, just as she turned to walk away.

Her gaze was calculating, but finally she answered. Sam.

Sam, who?

Sam Adams. Sam. Short for Samantha? Pretty name.

He smiled. I’m Trager. Trager Rowland. For some reason telling her his name felt so… intimate. He hoped he wasn’t blushing like a fucking pre-teen.

Great. Nice to meet you, Trager. She smiled tightly. I should be going now.

Yes, he needed her to go. His wolf was rumbling at her nearness. But he didn’t want her to. He didn’t want any distance between them. Not even the few feet difference from where he was to where she stood.

Excuse me, sir. The officer had come to take his statement. Trager glared at him, and when he turned back to tell Samantha bye, she was already out of earshot. Sam Adams. It was only then, when she vanished around a corner, that he realized she’d given him the name of a beer.

2

Kerrigan unlocked the door to her apartment, slipped past the pile of mail on the floor, and went straight for the kitchen. The kitchen contained a fridge. The fridge had wine. Wine was important on days like this one. Days where bad memories were dredged up in a slam-it-in-your-face fashion. Where beams fall from the sky to almost crush random motorcyclists.

What happened outside the café had been too similar to the events that took place a year ago. Her fingers shook, just thinking about it.

Who was she kidding? Wine was important every day.

She poured the pale drink into a plastic toss-away cup. She didn’t need to feel classy; she needed to feel nothing. Or, at least calmer. She never got drunk enough to feel nothing. Hadn’t wanted to go that low. She might be torn up over the death of her boyfriend, but she wouldn’t self-destruct over someone whose feelings for her had dissolved into almost nothing. In the end, they’d been little more than friends.

No, not even that.

Ethan hadn’t loved her. Not as a friend, not as a lover, not as a human being