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“Then break it.”
“I’m not the person who should break that hold,” he says. “But I can’t talk with her until she’s in a better mental state.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sighs, and I don’t truly blame him, even if my lion doesn’t share my thoughts. My lion is out for blood, and I don’t think he cares who it belongs to. But I’m not in the business of killing pride members just for the sake of satisfying my animal.
But I understand why he’s so irate. I feel it, too.
Our mate tried to kill herself today. My brother’s mate and unborn child were killed. By hunters. The same fucking hunters who are now targeting my mate.
And what am I doing? I’m failing.
There are so many fires that need put out, and I don’t even know where to fucking start. My lion just wants to end it all, to end everyone and everything who even breathes wrong.
But, logically, I know that’s not feasible. It’s not going to fix a single thing within us, it’s not going to heal the trauma that we’ve uncovered.
And, hell, I know that George has Nora’s best interests at heart. He’s here, on his anniversary of all days, helping my mate with her mental health crisis. So by killing him, we’re not going to help her.
But my lion doesn’t care. He just wants solutions.
“Nora isn’t in charge,” he says.
“Then deal with her wolf!” I snap, barely holding onto the urge to not kick the bin across the room. I run my hands through my hair, letting out a huff, and George just sighs like I’m a big inconvenience.
I get it. I get his frustration. Nora is not in the state for therapy, and he can’t help her until she is.
But I can’t help her. How am I meant to break the connection between her wolf and her? How am I meant to do any of that?
That’s what I fucking pay him to do. He’s the one with the degrees and the experience. This is his area of expertise.
I sigh again, clenching my fists, and it’s only when my claws sheath does the urge for murder decrease just a little. George hands me a handkerchief without saying a word, and I use it to mop up the blood off my hand. The eight wounds across both palms have healed, but I’ll have to wash them before seeing Nora.
The last thing she needs is to worry about me right now. Because oh, yeah, my mate tried to end her fucking life.
I bite back a growl, ignoring the rage from my lion, and focus back on the man in front of me.
He needs to help her. She needs fucking help.
Please, help her.
I can’t lose her. I won’t survive losing her.
I haven’t waited all these years to finally meet my mate, to have her surpass every single expectation I could ever have, to then lose her because of a pathetic weasel of a wolf.
I swear to all that is holy, I’ll gut Kennedy Newitt if any harm befalls my mate—at her hands or another.
“Her wolf doesn’t know me, but even if she did… she’s not thinking like a human,” George says with the patience of an absolute saint. “I know for myself that it’s either my griffin and I merged together or me in control. My griffin never takes over.”
“Right.” I’m following that part. Nora’s trapped in her mind—willingly or not, we don’t know—and her wolf is the one at the forefront of their consciousness. That’s never happened to me before, but doesn’t that make this even more important that we help?
Nora’s biggest worry was that once her wolf gained enough energy to take over, she’d be feral. I hate that she’s potentially been proven right.
“But Nora’s wolf is running the show. Alone. Nora has withdrawn, and whilst not unusual in cases of trauma, it’s something that we can’t allow to happen for long.”
I frown now. He’s making it sound like Nora has done this willingly. That changes things. If this is how my mate needs to cope, then why can’t we give that to her? I voice the question, and George nods like I’ve finally asked something intelligent.
A little bit insulting when I’m his Alpha, but I let it slide.
