The Selkie's Coat Read online

  The Selkie’s Coat

  Waves of Fate, Book One

  Drea Roman

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Appendix

  Titles by Drea Roman

  About the Author

  Connect with me!

  The Selkie’s Coat is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and

  incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious

  manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely

  coincidental.

  Published in the United States by Drea Roman. All rights reserved. This book or any

  portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the

  express written permission of the author.

  Copyright 2020

  Drea Roman

  Drea Roman Publishing

  Cover Design by Samantha Santana of Amai Designs

  Editing by M.A. Hinkle

  Formatting by Leslie Copeland

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Angelique Jurd for helping me with the French phrases. Balgair Tod deserves credit for naming Gregory’s mother, Vivian. Thanks, as always, must go to my sister and alpha-beta reader, Mel. Abigail Kade and Shane Morton, thank you so much for being my writer support group!

  Chapter 1

  Gregory

  “Oops! You dropped your coat,” a musical voice calls out to me, winding its way around my heart and squeezing my soul. Before I even see whoever said those fateful words, I already know who he is to me: my mate. As I turn toward my chair, over which my pelt had been slung but from which it is now missing, a glorious, yet frightful sight greets me: a short, light-brown-haired omega with bright hazel eyes holds my dark brown coat out to me. My heart almost stops at the vision, my eyes going wide and my breath catching in my throat. He has just offered my pelt back to me, giving me the freedom to claim him as my mate or reject him. The ritual is ancient, its meaning significant. If you hold a selkie’s coat, hiding it, refusing to give it and his free will up, you control him until the end of his days. But if you hand it back with no expectation of return, then you mate your selkie for life. This action is so sacred that most selkies make it the climax of a mating ceremony or shun public eyes and perform this magical final step in private. But my omega, my mate, whom I have never laid eyes on until this very moment, places it softly in the hands I have outstretched toward him on sheer instinct, unknowingly binding me to him for all of my days.

  “There you go. I’m glad I caught it before it could hit the ground. Wouldn’t do to drop something as beautiful as that,” he softly says as he smiles up at me after laying my pelt in my outstretched hands. He runs his fingers down the soft, plush fur, with the grain, and I feel it as though his hand is gliding down my spine. I am too stunned to say a single word as he gives the coat a final pat, then smiles even more brightly, though with the faintest hint of longing in his eyes, as if he is reluctant to break our gaze.

  “Have a nice evening. I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

  My throat is too clogged for me to utter a single word to him as he turns away, walking quickly toward the stainless-steel doors of the restaurant’s kitchen. Someone else’s throat clears, and I snap my head around to find my mother seated at our table, just as she was a few moments ago, before my entire world shifted and my mate returned my precious pelt to me.

  She inclines her head toward my seat, and I practically fall into it, clutching my pelt to my chest. My mother stares at my face intensely for a long moment before I grow uncomfortable under her perusal and swallow the lump in my throat so I may speak.

  “What?”

  A spark of mischief lights her eyes. “What, indeed. I am going to hazard a guess you were not expecting that either.”

  Shaking my head, I drop my gaze to my pelt and lower it softly onto my lap, running my hands over it cherishingly, lovingly. Tears well in my eyes, but uncharacteristically, I do not care if my mother sees me in an emotional state. “No, I was not.”

  My mother browses the menu silently while I try to gather my thoughts. My mate. I have finally found my mate. Turning in my seat, I scan the room, hoping to catch another glimpse of his soft brown hair and his sweet, heartfelt smile.

  “So, what are you going to do now that your mate has so conveniently appeared at my favorite restaurant?” My mother’s voice startles me from my reverie, and I turn around to face her.

  “This wasn’t what we were supposed to discuss tonight,” I inform her, knowing it is too late to divert her from the interrogation mode she has clearly slipped into. As if I know any more about my mate than she does. After all, we just met him together. Yet, of course, my mother has a one-track mind.

  “No,” she concedes with a nod, “but now we have a royal wedding to plan.”

  “Mother, I’ve never even met him before tonight! Are you sure we can’t just forget about this?”

  She glares at me with a look that could shatter glass. “Gregory William Samson, are you trying to defy fate? Bad things happen when you do that. Plus, he’s young; he smells fertile.”

  “Mother! Gross!”

  “You’ve forgotten I’ve been a matchmaker for more years than you’ve been alive. I know a good match when I see it.” She pauses a moment before continuing with a smirk. “And when I smell it.”

  My eyes feel like they are going to pop out of my head as she turns her attention to her menu momentarily. When she looks up, she continues with an air of nonchalance.

  “While taking a male omega as your consort would be unusual, it’s not unheard of. Your Uncle Charles did so a couple of centuries back, and he and Steven are still happily mated. Stop arguing and pick your entree. He’s not our waiter tonight, so I’ll have to chat him up by struggling to find the bathroom.”

  My mother means well, but as usual she has chosen to misunderstand me. “No, Mother, I meant I want you to forget it,” I growl at her, characteristically aggressive with my progenitor. “I will take care of securing my mate, not you. I am not a boy in short britches. I am 135 years old.” I grit my teeth so hard I am sure some of them will crack. “I will handle this. I do not want or need your help or your advice. And by the way, I would not defy fate, especially when it comes to my mate. So back off because whether or not he knows it yet, he is my mate.”

  My mother’s eyes twinkle, and her satisfied look tells me that I have been goaded into admitting exactly what she wanted to hear. “Glad to hear it, dear.” Wagging her eyebrows at me, she changes the subject with a quip. “You are so slovenly with your things. I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner. What are you doing out with your pelt anyway? It should be in a secure location.”

  “Like where, Mother, in the back of my shoe closet, like yours?”

  My mother whips her regal silver head around, scanning the room, obviously for royal spies, before returning her gaze to me with a death glare. “I don’t want to know how you know that, Gregory, but you better not tempt the disastrous side of fate by sayi
ng such things out loud. Fate already has you on her radar tonight, so you have to be especially careful. Finding your mate like this is quite precarious, though some would say it is auspicious. You had better be taking this seriously.”

  As she is clearly winding up to lecture me on how I am failing as a member of our ‘illustrious’ family, I raise my hand as I lower my head toward her in a placating gesture. “Mother,” I begin. But seeing the real concern in her dark eyes identical to my own, I bow my head further and relent in my annoyance.

  “Mother, I am taking this every bit as seriously as you are.” I puff out a breath before admitting that she is right. “I was careless this evening. I just swam up from a council meeting and did not have the time to drop my pelt at home before I picked you up for dinner. No way would I ever leave it unsafe in my car, so I brought it in here with me. I was trying to be careful and safe. Honestly, I was more concerned with having it stolen and someone trying to manipulate and control me with it. I hadn’t thought about dropping it and accidentally offering myself to a mate.” I sigh as I cast a look around the room, hoping to spot the short, brown-haired omega again.

  Returning my eyes to my mother’s face, I see the same soft, loving look she gave me when I was a child and I had inexplicably made her proud. Sighing, I scrub a hand over my face, only to find it shaking. She reaches across the table to take my hand in her soft, warm one.

  “I can see that you are taking this seriously, Gregory. And I am so proud of how you are managing this sudden turn of events. So many young men your age would be balking, but I can see in your eyes that you know exactly what this means.” She pauses, her smile growing. “This certainly has me floored. I wasn’t expecting grandpups for another few decades at least.” She winks at me, a bit of her mischievous nature back in her smile.

  I can’t help the growl in my throat as I narrow my eyes at her. “No one said anything about babies, Mother. I haven’t even introduced myself to him. Since he is human, all of this will come as a shock, and I refuse to rush him forward. I have to do this right, Mother, not for the sake of ancient protocols few people even remember anymore, but for his sake and my own.”

  Leaning back in her chair as our waiter steps up to the table with an expectant look, she pulls her hand back and begins to converse with him in French. Rolling my eyes at her pretentiousness, I once again scan the room. Anxiety is starting to build in my chest because I haven’t laid eyes on my mate in at least five minutes. My mate, my mate. I test out the words in my mind, playing with the emphasis and the meaning. I shake my head, utterly confused and shaken. What will Winston say? The soft smile that had been forming on my mouth at the thought of my little human omega slides off as I remember my longstanding ‘arrangement’ with my valet. We have never loved each other, not like that anyway, but his companionship has kept my growing loneliness at bay for the last few decades. I should have known my mate would appear soon. As I think on how I have been feeling, especially for the last five years, I should have known this change was coming.

  While I am a little young to claim a mate, I have always known that I would give up anything and everything for it once my fated consort walked into my life. I was unsure if he would be a shifter or a human, though I did know it would be a ‘him.’ Sensing my distraction, my mother orders for me. I smile at her choice because it shows she wants to comfort me in this moment of life-altering change: Kobe beef with lemon garlic asparagus, roasted potatoes, and a side of ranch. The waiter, a perfectly stuffy young fellow, gives me a condescending look at the last detail of the request, but my mother clears her throat for his attention, and his eyes snap back to her. He nods, murmuring false approval before he steps away from our table. As he leaves, a wine steward steps up, filling our glasses with a dark red wine I do not recall hearing my mother order.

  I have never been so completely out of composure in my entire blessed life. The few small glimpses of my omega I have caught throughout the night as he waited on customers on the other side of the dining room have done nothing to calm my inner beast. La Folie is swanky, the very epitome of high-end here in the bay, and the place does not slow down for a second. Unlike in New York, where you can sit and converse to your heart’s content, here on the West Coast, everyone is expected to move fast. The waiters turn tables in a flash like the pros they are. And I cannot help but be jealous every time I see him smile or nod or laugh at something another patron says to him. Not that I can hear a damned thing from our vantage point. Normally I prefer sitting near the edge of the room, where I am able to see everyone coming and going. But tonight, it keeps me from him—from my mate.

  “Stop it, Gregory,” my mother hisses at me, drawing my attention back to her. Straightening myself in my chair, I return the glare she levels at me.

  “What, Mother?”

  Her eyes flash with irritation. “Gregory, you are growling. Stop it before someone else notices.”

  Growling? Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and look inward, trying to calm myself. Yes, my selkie and I were definitely growling. We want his attention so desperately, and the need is clawing at us both. I breathe deeply, pulling the air in and out of my lungs for several long minutes before popping my eyes back open. My mother is starting at me with a mixed expression of horror and concern that tickles me instantly. When I laugh, she frowns severely, and I find myself apologizing, but at least I do mean it sincerely.

  “I am sorry, Mother. I promise I did not know I was growling. Never had a mate before, you know. This will certainly take a bit of getting used to.”

  My mother nods. “Of course, Gregory. I must say, it took me by surprise because you are usually so levelheaded and calm.” A nostalgic smile ghosts her lips. “But I do remember how your father was when we were newly mated, all growly and possessive.” It is clearly a happy memory, so I do not object to knowing how my father behaved when they first met.

  Holding up a hand, I laugh. “Thanks, Mom. No more of that. I am good now.”

  We linger far longer than is our usual habit, speaking of nothing we intended to discuss. In fact, I barely speak at all, trying as I am to catch even the smallest sight of my omega. After a gorgeous chocolate mousse I barely touch, we call for the check. My palms sweat as I make what seems an incredibly bold move on my part.

  When our waiter comes by, I swallow my trepidation. His name tag says “Henri,” so I address him as such. “Henri, earlier in the evening, one of your coworkers saved my coat from potential disaster.” I motion to the dark brown pelt in my lap, and Henri’s eyes widen. His expression gives away that he knows exactly what my coat is. Rather than frightening me as it may have at any other time, I take this as a good omen. “Ahh, I see you understand the importance of thanking this young man properly. Would you mind sharing his name and number with me? I have no ill intentions, but he has done me such a favor that I must repay him.”

  Henri hesitates a moment, biting his bottom lip and staring intently into my eyes. He looks familiar to me, but I cannot place why I might know this young human omega. Just when my mind seems on the cusp of recognizing him, Henri nods firmly. “Oui, monsieur. Let me write that down for you.” He pulls a wallet from his back pocket, plucks out the restaurant’s business card, and writes out on the back in lovely cursive, “Daniel Collins,” followed by a local number.

  “Would you happen to have an envelope?” I ask as he hands me the card.

  “Oui, just a moment.” He returns a few minutes later with a blank white envelope. After taking care of the check and leaving Henri a one hundred percent tip for his trouble, I pull all of my cash from my wallet and place it neatly in the envelope. My mother watches with curiosity, but no comment, as I write a note on my business card, slip it inside, and seal the envelope. I write his name neatly and careful on the outside, wishing I could see his reaction when he opens it.

  Looking up, I nod to my mother. “Ready?”

  She nods in agreement, and we leave the dining room behind, though my thoughts st
ay there with my human omega. The sun has set since we went inside, and metal torch lamps light the path outside La Folie’s heavy oak doors. As we walk toward the valet at the edge of the path, I pat my jacket pockets for my ticket, juggling my coat from one arm to another. Since I am distracted with finding the ticket, I do not notice my mother stepping away from the valet station until after the man has taken my ticket and gone to retrieve my car. She is tapping away on her phone, which appears usual enough for such a busy socialite as my mother, until I realize she is using my phone. In her other hand is the card our waiter gave me. Oh, no, that is Daniel’s number.

  “Fuck, Mother! What did you do?” I hiss at her as I step toward her.

  An imperious look, clearly intended to cut me down, crosses her regal face as she clicks the screen on my phone off and slaps it into my outstretched hand.

  “Lighting a fire under your ass, son.”

  Fear crawls up my spine. “Mother, what did you do?” I choke out, panic building in my chest. No, no, no, she can’t have done this to me. “You called him?”

  She sniffs, averting her gaze as she straightens the lapels of her cerulean corduroy blazer. Several long moments later, when she deigns to look up at me, she appears every inch the queen that she is. “No, of course not, Gregory. I texted him. I am up on current communication methods. Besides,” she waves away my concern with a quick flick of her hand, “it would not be impressive for you to have your mummy call.”