Johnny MacTavish - Fated Mates

Johnny MacTavish was beginning to think he’d finally lost his bloody mind.

For three weeks, he’d been sleeping like shite, eating enough to feed a small village, and pacing around the packhouse like a caged animal. Nothing helped. Not the long runs through the surrounding woodland, not the hours spent working himself into exhaustion, and certainly not the extra blankets he’d inexplicably started collecting for his bedroom. He’d bought another two yesterday, despite already owning enough to keep the entire pack warm through a Scottish winter. The worst part was that he couldn’t explain a single bloody bit of it.

“Will you sit down, for Christ’s sake?”

Simon Riley’s voice carried across the living room, accompanied by the irritated rustle of a newspaper. Johnny, who’d been halfway through what felt like his seventeenth circuit of the room, stopped beside the fireplace and turned towards him.

“Am no’ doin’ anything.”

“You’ve walked past me thirty times.”

“Twenty-eight,” Kyle corrected from the sofa, barely looking up from his phone. “I’ve been counting.”

Johnny threw his hands into the air. “Oh, brilliant. Glad everybody’s havin’ a laugh at my expense.”

From his armchair, John Price watched the exchange over the rim of his mug. The older werewolf had been unusually quiet about Johnny’s recent behaviour, although there was a knowing sort of amusement in his expression that Johnny found deeply suspicious. He’d caught Price and Gaz exchanging looks more than once over the past week, and neither had been particularly forthcoming when questioned.

“Get your jacket, son,” Price eventually said, setting his mug aside. “We’re heading into town. Fresh air might do you some good.”

“Been outside all bloody mornin’.”

“Then perhaps a change of scenery will.”

Simon folded his newspaper with considerably more force than necessary. “Somewhere he can annoy somebody else for a change.”

⸻

The village was busy that afternoon, its cobbled streets crowded with locals and visitors enjoying the crisp autumn weather. Shop windows displayed pumpkins and seasonal decorations, while the smell of freshly baked bread drifted from a bakery near the square. Johnny walked alongside Kyle, listening to his friend recount some ridiculous story involving Simon, a particularly stubborn sheep, and an incident neither man seemed willing to explain properly. Ordinarily, Johnny would’ve been howling with laughter, demanding every embarrassing detail so he could torment his lieutenant about it later. Today, however, he was struggling to concentrate.

The restless sensation that had been troubling him for weeks had grown steadily stronger since they’d left the packhouse. It wasn’t painful or frightening, but there was an urgency to it that he couldn’t shake, as though he’d forgotten something terribly important and couldn’t remember what it was. His senses seemed unusually sharp, picking out individual conversations, distant footsteps, and the faintest traces of unfamiliar scents drifting through the village.

“Soap? You listening?”

“Aye, course.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Then what did I just say?”

“Somethin’ about Ghost bein’ a miserable bastard?”

“Well, that’s generally a safe guess.”

Johnny grinned, preparing a suitably obnoxious response, when a passing breeze carried something unfamiliar towards him. It wasn’t the smell of fresh bread, woodsmoke, or autumn leaves, but something else entirely, something he’d never encountered before and yet recognised with a certainty that made absolutely no sense. His heart gave one tremendous thump, and he stopped walking so abruptly that Kyle nearly collided with his back.

For the first time in three weeks, everything went quiet. The constant restlessness disappeared, taking with it the inexplicable longing, the sleepless nights, and the relentless feeling that he needed to be somewhere else. Johnny stood motionless in the middle of the pavement, barely aware of Kyle calling his name as his gaze moved across the village square, searching without knowing what he was looking for.

Until he saw her.

Oh, bloody hell.

Johnny had heard stories about this. Every werewolf had. The moment of recognition, the strange certainty, the way the world supposedly made sense when you finally encountered your fated mate. He’d always assumed the older wolves were exaggerating, dressing up ordinary attraction with a bit of supernatural nonsense. Apparently, they hadn’t been exaggerating at all, because there she was, standing only a short distance away, entirely unaware that she’d just brought three weeks of inexplicable misery to an abrupt end.

He didn’t know her name or anything about her, really. He had no idea where she came from, what she enjoyed, or whether she’d even be interested in speaking to him. Yet somewhere deep within him, an instinct that had been restless for weeks finally settled, utterly content simply because the woman existed within sight. It was the strangest sensation he’d ever experienced, and Johnny, who usually had something to say about absolutely everything, found himself completely speechless.

“Soap?” Kyle repeated, following his friend’s gaze. “Mate, what’s wrong?”

Johnny swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the woman. “Gaz, think I’ve got a problem.”

Kyle looked towards her, then back at Johnny’s expression. Understanding dawned almost immediately, followed by a grin so enormous that Johnny briefly considered punching him.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Simon demanded, approaching with Price a few steps behind him. “What’s he done now?”

Kyle leaned towards him, lowering his voice. “Think our Johnny’s just found his mate.”

Simon stared at Johnny, then towards the woman, then back again. A slow, thoroughly unpleasant smile spread across his face as several weeks of peculiar behaviour suddenly made perfect sense.

“Well, fuck me. That explains the bloody pillows.”

“Will ye shut yer mouth?” Johnny hissed, his ears burning.

Price, considerably more sympathetic, rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The older werewolf looked towards the woman before returning his attention to Johnny, his expression warm with understanding.

“Go on, son. Introduce yourself.”

Johnny looked at him helplessly. “What am I supposed tae say?”

“Your name would be a reasonable start.”

Kyle pressed his lips together, visibly fighting another grin. Johnny took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and attempted to gather what remained of his dignity. He’d faced plenty of frightening situations in his life, and surely introducing himself to a pretty woman couldn’t be that difficult. Except this wasn’t just any woman. This was the person his instincts had somehow known was coming long before he’d understood what they were trying to tell him, and the possibility of making a terrible first impression suddenly seemed more frightening than anything he’d encountered before.

He approached carefully, giving her plenty of room, and offered the warmest smile he could manage. Unfortunately, his usually reliable charm appeared to have abandoned him somewhere between the packhouse and the village square.

“Hiya, bonnie. Ah’m Johnny. Johnny MacTavish.”

He paused, suddenly and painfully aware that he was grinning like an absolute idiot. His mouth, apparently operating entirely independently of his brain, decided to make matters worse.

“Sorry, that was—well, obviously that’s my name. Would be a bit strange if it was somebody else’s, eh? HAHAHA!”

The laugh that erupted from Johnny’s mouth was so extraordinarily loud, forced, and completely devoid of genuine amusement that several people nearby turned to look. It sounded less like a man laughing at his own joke and more like someone attempting to frighten a particularly stubborn flock of geese. Johnny’s grin remained plastered across his face for approximately two agonising seconds before the full horror of what he’d just done caught up with him.

What the FUCK was that?

He wanted to strangle himself. Genuinely. If he could’ve reached inside his own skull and physically removed whatever part of his brain had decided that bellowing like a malfunctioning foghorn was an appropriate method of flirting, he would’ve done it without hesitation.

A few feet behind him, Kyle made a peculiar choking noise before doubling over, clutching his stomach as helpless laughter escaped him. He tried to cover his mouth, but that only made things worse, and within seconds he was leaning against Price’s shoulder, struggling to catch his breath.

“Oh, mate,” Kyle wheezed. “What the actual fuck was that?”

Simon, meanwhile, simply stared at Johnny with the expression of a man who’d just witnessed something so catastrophically embarrassing that even he couldn’t find an appropriate insult. After a moment, he slowly turned towards Price.

“He’s your problem now, Captain.”

Price rubbed a hand over his face, although the corners of his mouth were twitching suspiciously.

Johnny closed his eyes, briefly contemplating whether it was possible to request a new identity, before looking back at his mate with an expression of such profound embarrassment that even the tips of his ears had turned scarlet.

“Right. Can we pretend I didnae just make a complete arse of myself?”

He offered his hand, his expression softening into something genuinely hopeful despite the absolute catastrophe of the last thirty seconds. For all the extraordinary things happening inside him, he knew absolutely nothing about the woman standing before him, and he wanted very much to change that.

“Can I start again, pretty?”

Johnny MacTavish was beginning to think he’d finally lost his bloody mind.

For three weeks, he’d been sleeping like shite, eating enough to feed a small village, and pacing around the packhouse like a caged animal. Nothing helped. Not the long runs through the surrounding woodland, not the hours spent working himself into exhaustion, and certainly not the extra blankets he’d inexplicably started collecting for his bedroom. He’d bought another two yesterday, despite already owning enough to keep the entire pack warm through a Scottish winter. The worst part was that he couldn’t explain a single bloody bit of it.

“Will you sit down, for Christ’s sake?”

Simon Riley’s voice carried across the living room, accompanied by the irritated rustle of a newspaper. Johnny, who’d been halfway through what felt like his seventeenth circuit of the room, stopped beside the fireplace and turned towards him.

“Am no’ doin’ anything.”

“You’ve walked past me thirty times.”

“Twenty-eight,” Kyle corrected from the sofa, barely looking up from his phone. “I’ve been counting.”

Johnny threw his hands into the air. “Oh, brilliant. Glad everybody’s havin’ a laugh at my expense.”

From his armchair, John Price watched the exchange over the rim of his mug. The older werewolf had been unusually quiet about Johnny’s recent behaviour, although there was a knowing sort of amusement in his expression that Johnny found deeply suspicious. He’d caught Price and Gaz exchanging looks more than once over the past week, and neither had been particularly forthcoming when questioned.

“Get your jacket, son,” Price eventually said, setting his mug aside. “We’re heading into town. Fresh air might do you some good.”

“Been outside all bloody mornin’.”

“Then perhaps a change of scenery will.”

Simon folded his newspaper with considerably more force than necessary. “Somewhere he can annoy somebody else for a change.”

⸻

The village was busy that afternoon, its cobbled streets crowded with locals and visitors enjoying the crisp autumn weather. Shop windows displayed pumpkins and seasonal decorations, while the smell of freshly baked bread drifted from a bakery near the square. Johnny walked alongside Kyle, listening to his friend recount some ridiculous story involving Simon, a particularly stubborn sheep, and an incident neither man seemed willing to explain properly. Ordinarily, Johnny would’ve been howling with laughter, demanding every embarrassing detail so he could torment his lieutenant about it later. Today, however, he was struggling to concentrate.

The restless sensation that had been troubling him for weeks had grown steadily stronger since they’d left the packhouse. It wasn’t painful or frightening, but there was an urgency to it that he couldn’t shake, as though he’d forgotten something terribly important and couldn’t remember what it was. His senses seemed unusually sharp, picking out individual conversations, distant footsteps, and the faintest traces of unfamiliar scents drifting through the village.

“Soap? You listening?”

“Aye, course.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Then what did I just say?”

“Somethin’ about Ghost bein’ a miserable bastard?”

“Well, that’s generally a safe guess.”

Johnny grinned, preparing a suitably obnoxious response, when a passing breeze carried something unfamiliar towards him. It wasn’t the smell of fresh bread, woodsmoke, or autumn leaves, but something else entirely, something he’d never encountered before and yet recognised with a certainty that made absolutely no sense. His heart gave one tremendous thump, and he stopped walking so abruptly that Kyle nearly collided with his back.

For the first time in three weeks, everything went quiet. The constant restlessness disappeared, taking with it the inexplicable longing, the sleepless nights, and the relentless feeling that he needed to be somewhere else. Johnny stood motionless in the middle of the pavement, barely aware of Kyle calling his name as his gaze moved across the village square, searching without knowing what he was looking for.

Until he saw him.

Oh, bloody hell.

Johnny had heard stories about this. Every werewolf had. The moment of recognition, the strange certainty, the way the world supposedly made sense when you finally encountered your fated mate. He’d always assumed the older wolves were exaggerating, dressing up ordinary attraction with a bit of supernatural nonsense. Apparently, they hadn’t been exaggerating at all, because there he was, standing only a short distance away, entirely unaware that he’d just brought three weeks of inexplicable misery to an abrupt end.

He didn’t know his name or anything about him, really. He had no idea where he came from, what he enjoyed, or whether he’d even be interested in speaking to him. Yet somewhere deep within him, an instinct that had been restless for weeks finally settled, utterly content simply because the man existed within sight. It was the strangest sensation he’d ever experienced, and Johnny, who usually had something to say about absolutely everything, found himself completely speechless.

“Soap?” Kyle repeated, following his friend’s gaze. “Mate, what’s wrong?”

Johnny swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the man. “Gaz, think I’ve got a problem.”

Kyle looked towards him, then back at Johnny’s expression. Understanding dawned almost immediately, followed by a grin so enormous that Johnny briefly considered punching him.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Simon demanded, approaching with Price a few steps behind him. “What’s he done now?”

Kyle leaned towards him, lowering his voice. “Think our Johnny’s just found his mate.”

Simon stared at Johnny, then towards the man, then back again. A slow, thoroughly unpleasant smile spread across his face as several weeks of peculiar behaviour suddenly made perfect sense.

“Well, fuck me. That explains the bloody pillows.”

“Will ye shut yer mouth?” Johnny hissed, his ears burning.

Price, considerably more sympathetic, rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The older werewolf looked towards the man before returning his attention to Johnny, his expression warm with understanding.

“Go on, son. Introduce yourself.”

Johnny looked at him helplessly. “What am I supposed tae say?”

“Your name would be a reasonable start.”

Kyle pressed his lips together, visibly fighting another grin. Johnny took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and attempted to gather what remained of his dignity. He’d faced plenty of frightening situations in his life, and surely introducing himself to a handsome man couldn’t be that difficult. Except this wasn’t just any man. This was the person his instincts had somehow known was coming long before he’d understood what they were trying to tell him, and the possibility of making a terrible first impression suddenly seemed more frightening than anything he’d encountered before.

He approached carefully, giving him plenty of room, and offered the warmest smile he could manage. Unfortunately, his usually reliable charm appeared to have abandoned him somewhere between the packhouse and the village square.

“Hiya, handsome. Ah’m Johnny. Johnny MacTavish.”

He paused, suddenly and painfully aware that he was grinning like an absolute idiot. His mouth, apparently operating entirely independently of his brain, decided to make matters worse.

“Sorry, that was—well, obviously that’s my name. Would be a bit strange if it was somebody else’s, eh? HAHAHA!”

The laugh that erupted from Johnny’s mouth was so extraordinarily loud, forced, and completely devoid of genuine amusement that several people nearby turned to look. It sounded less like a man laughing at his own joke and more like someone attempting to frighten a particularly stubborn flock of geese. Johnny’s grin remained plastered across his face for approximately two agonising seconds before the full horror of what he’d just done caught up with him.

What the FUCK was that?

He wanted to strangle himself. Genuinely. If he could’ve reached inside his own skull and physically removed whatever part of his brain had decided that bellowing like a malfunctioning foghorn was an appropriate method of flirting, he would’ve done it without hesitation.

A few feet behind him, Kyle made a peculiar choking noise before doubling over, clutching his stomach as helpless laughter escaped him. He tried to cover his mouth, but that only made things worse, and within seconds he was leaning against Price’s shoulder, struggling to catch his breath.

“Oh, mate,” Kyle wheezed. “What the actual fuck was that?”

Simon, meanwhile, simply stared at Johnny with the expression of a man who’d just witnessed something so catastrophically embarrassing that even he couldn’t find an appropriate insult. After a moment, he slowly turned towards Price.

“He’s your problem now, Captain.”

Price rubbed a hand over his face, although the corners of his mouth were twitching suspiciously.

Johnny closed his eyes, briefly contemplating whether it was possible to request a new identity, before looking back at his mate with an expression of such profound embarrassment that even the tips of his ears had turned scarlet.

“Right. Can we pretend I didnae just make a complete arse of myself?”

He offered his hand, his expression softening into something genuinely hopeful despite the absolute catastrophe of the last thirty seconds. For all the extraordinary things happening inside him, he knew absolutely nothing about the man standing before him, and he wanted very much to change that.

“Can I start again, pretty?”

Johnny MacTavish was beginning to think he’d finally lost his bloody mind.

For three weeks, he’d been sleeping like shite, eating enough to feed a small village, and pacing around the packhouse like a caged animal. Nothing helped. Not the long runs through the surrounding woodland, not the hours spent working himself into exhaustion, and certainly not the extra blankets he’d inexplicably started collecting for his bedroom. He’d bought another two yesterday, despite already owning enough to keep the entire pack warm through a Scottish winter. The worst part was that he couldn’t explain a single bloody bit of it.

“Will you sit down, for Christ’s sake?”

Simon Riley’s voice carried across the living room, accompanied by the irritated rustle of a newspaper. Johnny, who’d been halfway through what felt like his seventeenth circuit of the room, stopped beside the fireplace and turned towards him.

“Am no’ doin’ anything.”

“You’ve walked past me thirty times.”

“Twenty-eight,” Kyle corrected from the sofa, barely looking up from his phone. “I’ve been counting.”

Johnny threw his hands into the air. “Oh, brilliant. Glad everybody’s havin’ a laugh at my expense.”

From his armchair, John Price watched the exchange over the rim of his mug. The older werewolf had been unusually quiet about Johnny’s recent behaviour, although there was a knowing sort of amusement in his expression that Johnny found deeply suspicious. He’d caught Price and Gaz exchanging looks more than once over the past week, and neither had been particularly forthcoming when questioned.

“Get your jacket, son,” Price eventually said, setting his mug aside. “We’re heading into town. Fresh air might do you some good.”

“Been outside all bloody mornin’.”

“Then perhaps a change of scenery will.”

Simon folded his newspaper with considerably more force than necessary. “Somewhere he can annoy somebody else for a change.”

⸻

The village was busy that afternoon, its cobbled streets crowded with locals and visitors enjoying the crisp autumn weather. Shop windows displayed pumpkins and seasonal decorations, while the smell of freshly baked bread drifted from a bakery near the square. Johnny walked alongside Kyle, listening to his friend recount some ridiculous story involving Simon, a particularly stubborn sheep, and an incident neither man seemed willing to explain properly. Ordinarily, Johnny would’ve been howling with laughter, demanding every embarrassing detail so he could torment his lieutenant about it later. Today, however, he was struggling to concentrate.

The restless sensation that had been troubling him for weeks had grown steadily stronger since they’d left the packhouse. It wasn’t painful or frightening, but there was an urgency to it that he couldn’t shake, as though he’d forgotten something terribly important and couldn’t remember what it was. His senses seemed unusually sharp, picking out individual conversations, distant footsteps, and the faintest traces of unfamiliar scents drifting through the village.

“Soap? You listening?”

“Aye, course.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Then what did I just say?”

“Somethin’ about Ghost bein’ a miserable bastard?”

“Well, that’s generally a safe guess.”

Johnny grinned, preparing a suitably obnoxious response, when a passing breeze carried something unfamiliar towards him. It wasn’t the smell of fresh bread, woodsmoke, or autumn leaves, but something else entirely, something he’d never encountered before and yet recognised with a certainty that made absolutely no sense. His heart gave one tremendous thump, and he stopped walking so abruptly that Kyle nearly collided with his back.

For the first time in three weeks, everything went quiet. The constant restlessness disappeared, taking with it the inexplicable longing, the sleepless nights, and the relentless feeling that he needed to be somewhere else. Johnny stood motionless in the middle of the pavement, barely aware of Kyle calling his name as his gaze moved across the village square, searching without knowing what he was looking for.

Until he saw them.

Oh, bloody hell.

Johnny had heard stories about this. Every werewolf had. The moment of recognition, the strange certainty, the way the world supposedly made sense when you finally encountered your fated mate. He’d always assumed the older wolves were exaggerating, dressing up ordinary attraction with a bit of supernatural nonsense. Apparently, they hadn’t been exaggerating at all, because there they were, standing only a short distance away, entirely unaware that they’d just brought three weeks of inexplicable misery to an abrupt end.

He didn’t know their name or anything about them, really. He had no idea where they came from, what they enjoyed, or whether they’d even be interested in speaking to him. Yet somewhere deep within him, an instinct that had been restless for weeks finally settled, utterly content simply because this person existed within sight. It was the strangest sensation he’d ever experienced, and Johnny, who usually had something to say about absolutely everything, found himself completely speechless.

“Soap?” Kyle repeated, following his friend’s gaze. “Mate, what’s wrong?”

Johnny swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the stranger. “Gaz, think I’ve got a problem.”

Kyle looked towards them, then back at Johnny’s expression. Understanding dawned almost immediately, followed by a grin so enormous that Johnny briefly considered punching him.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Simon demanded, approaching with Price a few steps behind him. “What’s he done now?”

Kyle leaned towards him, lowering his voice. “Think our Johnny’s just found his mate.”

Simon stared at Johnny, then towards the stranger, then back again. A slow, thoroughly unpleasant smile spread across his face as several weeks of peculiar behaviour suddenly made perfect sense.

“Well, fuck me. That explains the bloody pillows.”

“Will ye shut yer mouth?” Johnny hissed, his ears burning.

Price, considerably more sympathetic, rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The older werewolf looked towards the stranger before returning his attention to Johnny, his expression warm with understanding.

“Go on, son. Introduce yourself.”

Johnny looked at him helplessly. “What am I supposed tae say?”

“Your name would be a reasonable start.”

Kyle pressed his lips together, visibly fighting another grin. Johnny took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and attempted to gather what remained of his dignity. He’d faced plenty of frightening situations in his life, and surely introducing himself to someone he found attractive couldn’t be that difficult. Except this wasn’t just anybody. This was the person his instincts had somehow known was coming long before he’d understood what they were trying to tell him, and the possibility of making a terrible first impression suddenly seemed more frightening than anything he’d encountered before.

He approached carefully, giving them plenty of room, and offered the warmest smile he could manage. Unfortunately, his usually reliable charm appeared to have abandoned him somewhere between the packhouse and the village square.

“Hiya, gorgeous. Ah’m Johnny. Johnny MacTavish.”

He paused, suddenly and painfully aware that he was grinning like an absolute idiot. His mouth, apparently operating entirely independently of his brain, decided to make matters worse.

“Sorry, that was—well, obviously that’s my name. Would be a bit strange if it was somebody else’s, eh? HAHAHA!”

The laugh that erupted from Johnny’s mouth was so extraordinarily loud, forced, and completely devoid of genuine amusement that several people nearby turned to look. It sounded less like a man laughing at his own joke and more like someone attempting to frighten a particularly stubborn flock of geese. Johnny’s grin remained plastered across his face for approximately two agonising seconds before the full horror of what he’d just done caught up with him.

What the FUCK was that?

He wanted to strangle himself. Genuinely. If he could’ve reached inside his own skull and physically removed whatever part of his brain had decided that bellowing like a malfunctioning foghorn was an appropriate method of flirting, he would’ve done it without hesitation.

A few feet behind him, Kyle made a peculiar choking noise before doubling over, clutching his stomach as helpless laughter escaped him. He tried to cover his mouth, but that only made things worse, and within seconds he was leaning against Price’s shoulder, struggling to catch his breath.

“Oh, mate,” Kyle wheezed. “What the actual fuck was that?”

Simon, meanwhile, simply stared at Johnny with the expression of a man who’d just witnessed something so catastrophically embarrassing that even he couldn’t find an appropriate insult. After a moment, he slowly turned towards Price.

“He’s your problem now, Captain.”

Price rubbed a hand over his face, although the corners of his mouth were twitching suspiciously.

Johnny closed his eyes, briefly contemplating whether it was possible to request a new identity, before looking back at his mate with an expression of such profound embarrassment that even the tips of his ears had turned scarlet.

“Right. Can we pretend I didnae just make a complete arse of myself?”

He offered his hand, his expression softening into something genuinely hopeful despite the absolute catastrophe of the last thirty seconds. For all the extraordinary things happening inside him, he knew absolutely nothing about the person standing before him, and he wanted very much to change that.

“Can I start again, gorgeous?”