Half Wolf Mate: Rejected Mate Second Chance Accidental Pregnancy Werewolf Paranormal Romance (Rejected Mate And Secret Baby)


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Half Wolf Mate
 
 
 Rejected Mate Second Chance Accidental Pregnancy Werewolf Paranormal Romance
 
 
 (Rejected Mate And Secret Baby Series)
 
 
 Jennifer Eve
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2023 by Jennifer Eve
 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 
 No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
 
 
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 
 
 Chapter 1 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 2 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 3 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 4 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 5 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 6 Cole
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 7 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 8 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 9 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 10 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 11 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 12 Cole
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 13 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 14 Cole
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 15 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 16 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 17 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 18 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 19 Cole
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 20 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 21 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 22 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 23 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 24 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 25 Cole
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 26 Cole
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 27 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 28 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 29 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 30 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 31 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 32 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 1 Sydney
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 “Aunt Lydia?” I called. “Are you here?”
 
 
 I was met with silence. Something was wrong. I felt it in my gut. My heart hammered, and my gaze swiveled around the living room warily.
 
 
 Aunt Lydia’s strange phone call earlier had me rushing home after my last class. My ever-calm aunt had sounded off… distressed even. I frantically searched the first floor for her.
 
 
 She wasn’t in the kitchen baking as she was most afternoons. I peeked through the window to see if she was in the backyard and stooped in her garden. She wasn’t there either. When I turned to the staircase, and my foot landed on the first step, the hairs on my arms stood on end. It was as if my body detected danger when my mind hadn’t yet processed it.
 
 
 As I advanced up the stairs, my unwelcome feeling intensified. My steps faltered when I spotted a dirty footprint on the cream carpet of the passageway. Aunt Lydia was a clean freak. Even as a kid, I’d been careful not to be messy. My Uncle Sam knew the rules of the house, too—no muddy shoes on the carpet.
 
 
 Aunt Lydia is going to flip,
 I thought.
 
 
 One dirty footprint led to another and another. I followed the trail all the way to my aunt’s favorite room—her office. Aunt Lydia fancied herself a skilled researcher of the supernatural. The shelves in her workspace were filled with books on the subject—like shape shifters, ghosts, witches and everything that I considered absolute insanity. But my aunt’s eccentricities didn’t make me adore her any less.
 
 
 Her office door was ajar, which was strange. It was always locked, and Uncle Sam and I had strict instructions to stay out of her office. I used to joke about her possibly hiding evidence of UFOs and little green men in there. I just didn’t get what all the secrecy was for.
 
 
 “Aunt Lydia, are you in there?” I tried to peek through the crack in the door, but all I could see was one side of her shiny mahogany desk. I lifted a hand and hesitated only a second before knocking.
 
 
 Shaking my head, I pushed the door open. Aunt Lydia could lecture me about going inside without permission later. Right now, I was worried.
 
 
 “Aunt Lydia, the door was open, and I—”
 
 
 My breath left my lungs with a whoosh. Lying on the floor beside her upended chair was my aunt. Shock held me rooted to the spot for a moment. Her skin was deathly pale, and a pool of blood surrounded her. Jolted from my paralysis, I let out a cry and sprinted to her. Dropping to my knees, I shook her shoulders and begged her to wake up. She remained lifeless and cold. I knew she was gone, but I couldn’t help trying to rouse her.
 
 
 I surveyed the room properly for the first time. There was evidence of a struggle. The drawers of her desk were opened, and it seemed someone had rummaged through them. A few of the bookshelves had been emptied, and books were scattered on the floor. The same muddy footprints I’d followed in the hallway were all over her office.
 
 
 Through my confused, terrified haze, I wondered if this was a robbery. Coming out of my stupor, I scrambled to the phone still on the desk to call the cops, but something caught my eye. On the floor, among the mess of books and papers, was a small box. It was wedged under one of the leather sofas as if it had been hurriedly pushed under there.
 
 
 It caught my interest because it was the same box Aunt Lydia had snatched from my ten-year-old hands once. The memory played