The Wolf’s Contract Marriage by Layla Silver
Chapter 2 – Teagan
Thanking the flight attendant, I sipped my fizzy water and leaned back against the curved wall of the plane. I'd chosen a seat at the far back of the fuselage and gotten lucky enough to have the one beside me be empty, a fact I'd taken advantage of by folding up the armrest and stretching my legs out across the spare spot. The low hum of the other passengers talking and moving around permeated the background but, with the drink service over and the flight attendants disappeared behind their little curtain, I felt odd, as if I were in my own private bubble.
Idly, I rubbed a thumb over the edge of the battered leather notebook spread open in my lap. It was the fifth such notebook I'd owned my life, every one of them stuffed with postcards and letters, post-it notes, and other scraps of my life as packed with rich experiences as I could make it.
I'd learned young that no one else was going to provide exciting or adventurous things for me to do. If I didn't want to be like my sister, holed up in my room reading books and daydreaming all the time, I'd need to entertain myself. That was all right, though. I'd always been up to the challenge.
At least until recently.
It started when I split with Ben. He was a nice guy, and I was grateful that he'd given me the chance to escape my hometown when the pack went to pieces, but we'd both always kind of known things between us would only ever be temporary. That was fine, of course. I'd seen the folly of marrying for love and expecting another person to be your everything. It wasn't a mistake I'd ever make.
When we decided that going our separate ways would be for the best, I'd been out on my own again, and it had felt… different than before. Emptier. It didn't feel as accessible or exciting as it had in the past. Sure, it was great to come and go as I pleased, and I'd never had any trouble making friends or finding people to hang out with. It was just… ephemeral. Transient.
I liked my job, and I wasn't unhappy with my life, per se. I just wanted something more. Something adrenaline rushes and spontaneous escapades couldn’t provide. When it got right down to it, I wanted to do something that mattered.
Receiving Kaia's letter had been the kick in the ass I needed to make a decision. Glancing down, I chewed on my lip and worried the edge of the folded letter where it stuck out of my notebook. There was no need to open it. I'd memorized every word, and the core message was seared in my heart and burned in my chest whenever I closed my eyes to sleep at night.
Come home.
Right behind the letter, taped to the worn page and growing thin from the number of times I’d traced the words, struggling to wrap my head around them, was a postcard from Ainsley. Its postal stamp read Cancun and her joy spilled off the short, neatly penned words. I’m in love.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I again accepted what both missives had forced me to face: I was never going to find love, and I wasn't ready to go home.
It wasn't that I didn't care about them. On the contrary, deep down, every wolf wanted to belong to a strong pack. It was in our DNA, a neverending longing for that connection and safety. But I'd flipped my middle finger at my pack, my family, by leaving when and how I did, and I wouldn't go crawling back—not even with a personal invitation. Not until I found something to offer that allowed me to return with my head held high.
Admittedly, Las Vegas was an ironic place to be headed with that kind of goal, but it wasn’t like I didn’t have a plan. It was a meaningful plan, too.
Steeling my resolve, I grabbed my bag and shoved my notebook into it. In its place, I pulled out the dog-eared book on the ancient Incas I'd picked up at a second-hand book store a couple of days ago. I didn't know much about the Incas, but I liked learning new things, and any book with this much wear had clearly been well-loved by someone. That was a good enough recommendation for me.
Setting back, I put everything else out of my mind and immersed myself in the golden past.
***
When the plane landed at McCarren, and I switched my phone back on, there was a text waiting.
Teagan, it read. Delayed at work. Not going to make it in time, so I sent an Uber. It will be waiting in the pickup lane and bring you here. Sorry for the change of plans.
No problem, I texted back as we taxied to our gate. See you soon.
Other women, I reflected, might have viewed the last-minute change as a red flag. But I'd gotten a few emails from Caelum, the man I was here to meet—and probably marry—and he'd warned me that his work schedule could get a little weird during the current phase the project was in. He'd apologized and compensated neatly, so I was game to give him the benefit of the doubt.
When it was time to disembark, I shouldered my backpack, grabbed my second bag, and expertly maneuvered my way through the airport. I’d never been to this particular one before, but the art form was the same. You could always tell at a glance who was a professional traveler, who was an avid traveler for pleasure, and who rarely flew the sunny skies at all.
As promised, I had no trouble finding the Uber in the pickup lane. The driver was a sweet, bubbly grandmotherly type who kept up a steady stream of conversation the whole ride. She beamed and wished me a good night when I climbed out, automatically checking that I had all my gear, then drove off.
Standing at the curb, I took a minute to study the house. It was stucco and sat close to the road. Most of the front was taken up by a yawning garage door, but a porticoed walkway ran along the left side of the garage back to what must be the primary entrance. The house's second story extended out over the garage. Two windows set above the garage door gave the place an endearingly anthropomorphic appearance.
Choosing to take that as a good sign, I headed down the walkway toward the front door.
