They leave slowly, almost like they’re regretful. What? Were they hoping I would slice the girl up in front of them? I bet that’sexactly what they were hoping for. They wanted blood. I’m not interested in pandering tonight.
“Don’t worry,” Lucas murmurs as he takes the porch steps slowly while scrubbing a hand over his cropped black hair. “I’ve got your back.” Not that I expected anything different, but it’s good to know he’ll speak up for me when they all gather together to bitch and moan and wonder how long it will be before they get their bloodthirsty satisfaction.
In the meantime, I have to work this out somehow. We can never be together. That much is obvious and always has been.
Still, it’s one thing to live without my fated mate, and another to order her execution. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel… would it?
Chapter 3
Tara
The thingabout being a shifter is the heightened senses that come along with it. Humans wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation going on outside, but I can. I can’t make out all of the words, but the general atmosphere? It’s pretty clear they want me dead.
Why couldn’t I have been stronger? All I can do is curse myself for being so damn stupid as I sit here on top of the blankets—I don’t want to get too comfortable, and besides, my feet are dirty after standing in the woods. Why I should care about being polite in this situation, I don’t have the first clue. I’m sort of winging it.
This is torture. Sitting here, staring at the wood beams spanning the ceiling, studying the simple furnishings as if I can distract myself out of the predicament I’m in. I would say this place is charming, quaint, rustic. Definitely the opposite of how I grew up. But I like it. If I could choose my final surroundings, I would choose a place like this.
It’s a pretty morbid thing to think, but I have to be realistic. They’re going to kill me—that’s what the law demands, after all. My mate doesn’t want me. He’s not going to fight for me.
If I were him, I wouldn’t fight for me, either. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. Hot, bitter tears fill my eyes, making the nightstand blur. I deserve this. Even fate thinks so. So much time I spent carelessly going through life, inflicting pain, proud of myself for it. Look where it got me. Lying here in the bedroom of a fated mate who not only doesn’t want me, but is preparing to kill me. Sounds about right.
I really should stop feeling sorry for myself, but the alternative is obsessing over what’s about to happen next. How will he do it? Alone, in private so I can have a little bit of dignity? Or will he do it in front of them, the way they so obviously wish he would? Maybe he’ll let them participate—they were all practically salivating for my blood out there. I’ve never really understood why the punishment for crossing the border has to be death. I mean, what century is this? Haven’t we advanced even a little since the days of the ancestors?
None of that is up to me. Just like it’s not up to me who fate chooses to be my mate. Like it wasn’t up to me whether my parents lived. For so long, so much of my life has been out of my hands.
Mate. Mate. My wolf has only one thing on her mind, and I kind of hate her for it right now. Here I am, worrying about what happens next, and all she can think about is completing the bond. I know he must be going through the same thing, whatever his name is, but he doesn’t seem as bothered by it as I am. Maybe because he’s older—I don’t know how much, but he is nowhere near my age. Yet another fun little trick fate decided to pull. I wonder what else is waiting for me.
No, on second thought, I don’t want to know. I’ve already been through enough.
My wolf senses his approach before I can identify his heavy footfalls on the hardwood floor. Right away, a flood of warmth rushes out of me. It makes me want to die of embarrassment. I’msure he’ll be able to tell I’m aroused, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t help it. All of this is out of my hands. Before he enters the room, I scramble around, deciding dirty feet don’t matter as much as covering myself for both our sakes. By the time he opens the door, I’m sitting up with my back to the headboard and the blankets pulled up under my arms.
He’s wearing a bathrobe that does nothing to disguise his insane body. How am I supposed to exist in the same room when he looks like that? It’s open enough to give me a good look at the soft, black hair across his chest. I’ve touched that hair. I know its texture. Even now, my fingers twitch, longing to touch him again. His broad shoulders are hunched up close to his ears. Everything about him screams anger, or at least resentment. Lucky me. He wishes I didn’t exist. Right now, that makes two of us.
It isn’t until he sets a plate on the bed that I pull my attention away from his body and take a look at the sandwich he brought, along with a glass of water, which he sets on the nightstand. I don’t know whether it was my lack of an appetite during dinner or the intensity of everything that’s going on tonight, but my appetite is raging now. Still, how am I supposed to think about food when I can’t stop worrying about where this is going?
“What are you going to do with me?” I whisper. There’s no way I can take a bite of food without asking.
His nostrils flare when he exhales. His face—I could stare at it for days and never get tired of it. Perfectly sculpted, proud, and regal. But it’s the eyes that burn with an almost scary intensity that make my heart skip a few beats when they meet mine. “I’m not sure yet.”
“This doesn’t have to be hard.” I’m babbling, buying time, and it’s obvious he knows that when he rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. Just let me go. I will never come back, I swear. Itwon’t be easy, but I will stay away for good. Wouldn’t that solve everything?”
“That would solve nothing, little wolf.” He arches a thick eyebrow. “What’s your name?”
“Tara.”
His chest expands when he takes a deep breath, like he’s absorbing the name. “Tara. I’m Kyran. And your idea is not going to work.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the law.”
Damn the law. Something tells me I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors if I said that out loud, so I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my reaction silent. “You’re the alpha of your clan. You can’t change the law?”
“Your pack’s alpha is a member of your family, isn’t he?” My mouth falls open, and he explains, “I saw him the night you were attacked. There was no question who I was looking at—with his size, his strength? I knew you were family.”
My head bobs. So he was there. He helped us. And I’m not supposed to want to hump him until we both pass out? From what I was told, it was the bear who killed Nora’s dad and brother. We owe our lives to him.
“So you should know better,” he concludes with a shrug. “It is not that simple. An alpha can’t decide at random which laws he sees fit to follow. I have to think about my clan, the way your alpha would think about his pack. It’s as simple as that.”
