Tara
What ishe doing out there?
Does he know I can see him from the bedroom window? I mean, what else am I going to do? Sleep all day?
There are a few books on the nightstand, all about different eras of history. I actually like history, and if this was any other situation, I might spend hours curled up, absorbed by the subject matter. Instead, I read the same page four times because I kept drifting off into other thoughts. What is he going to do to me? Will I ever get to talk to my family again? How long can I possibly go without jumping him?
It doesn’t help that this bedroom carries his scent so heavily, either. Everything around here does. The towels I used today? I wanted to rub them all over my body well past the point where I was dried off. I raise the back of my hand to my nose and pick up the lingering scent, closing my eyes to focus on his musky, masculine aroma.
And there he is, the big, brown bear who’s been slowly pacing the tree line for hours. When is he coming back? What is the point of this? Is he guarding the cottage? Is he afraid somebody from his clan is going to sneak through the woods and come toattack? Not exactly what I need to be thinking about, but it’s hardly the worst image that’s gone through my head today.
He’s so powerful. Huge, nothing but muscle moving under all that fur. I even want to touch that, to run my fingers through it, to maybe lie down next to him so his warmth can envelop me. It’s the simplest, most basic need, and it’s out of my reach.
It’s emotions that take more time. I don’t know if there’s enough time for me to ever get over this. I don’t know how much time I have left, either.
How is it possible I’m worrying more for him as I watch him pace than I am for myself? He should be the last thing I’m worried about, considering he plans on rejecting me so I can be massacred. Just another one of fate’s little jokes. I sense his conflict inside me. I feel the way his emotions seethe the way mine do, only he’s got an entire clan on those broad shoulders. It weighs him down. It gnaws at him. I would be surprised if he got any sleep at all last night, with his head in such a mixed-up place.
Tears fill my eyes, only the tears aren’t for me this time. I have to force myself to blink them back because the longer I think about him this way, the more attached I’m becoming. The more it’s going to hurt when he does what he has to do.
Where is my family now? What are they thinking? I hope they aren’t going through too much pain over this. Do I want them to come looking? Part of me does, the part that doesn’t want to die.
On the other hand, what will that mean for everybody I love? What if they have to fight for me? I don’t want that. I don’t want it for Kyran, either. He’s still my mate. I don’t want him to get hurt. I hate to think all of this is happening because of me. Because I wasn’t strong enough to stay away when I knew I should. I know there’s no fighting fate, but I could’ve tried harder for everybody’s sake.
Maybe they can get me out of here without it coming to that. Is it naïve that I’m still holding onto a crumb of hope? It’s a possibility. I know Declan won’t want to fight. It would be a last resort kind of thing. He always wants to find a peaceful solution wherever possible, and I don’t think the stakes have ever been higher than they are now. We’re talking about the entire fate of our pack if he goes to war. Useless bloodshed. I know he’ll want to be diplomatic up to the point where diplomacy falls apart.
What kind of diplomat is Kyran? I don’t know that yet, although it seems like he’s somebody who thinks things through. Otherwise, I wouldn’t still be breathing, would I? Maybe there’s hope.
For a moment, he pauses, touching his snout to the ground before his body heaves in a deep sigh so full of pain, it chokes me up again. All I want is to take it away. I never understood until now what it means to only want the best for somebody who wasn’t part of my immediate family. It almost feels like he’s more a part of me now than they are. Fate can be so cruel. I know I’m not the first person to figure that one out, but it doesn’t hurt any less.
Forever and a day passes before he finally turns toward home and lumbers this way. I can only guess at the mood he’ll be in, but still there is a big part of me that only wants to be in his presence. My pulse picks up like I’m anticipating a gift, something I’ve been looking forward to. For all I know, he could have finally made the decision to end this ugly awkwardness, and I’m sitting here with a hopeful feeling in my heart. It would be funny if it wasn’t so damn sad.
It’s a good thing I don’t expect him to come free me right away, since he doesn’t. And in a home this size, it’s not that hard to hear everything that goes on. The back door opens and closes, and his footsteps echo. His tread is heavy, the way I’m sure his heart must be. That doesn’t bode well for me, does it? Ican’t think about that now—it hurts more than I can handle. The shower turns on, and I have to close my legs tight, not that it matters. A flood of wetness pours from me anyway.
That might be the cruelest part of all—the way my body makes it tougher and tougher to keep from craving him. It’s wrong; it won’t get me anywhere, but I can’t stop. My wolf has only one goal: completing the mating bond. Nothing else matters. So of course, I’m horny as hell, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
After my shower, I’m debating whether I should try to get myself off again if only to take the edge off when he knocks at the bedroom door. Even that little touch of respect goes to my head in the worst way. Suddenly, basic manners get me hot and bothered.
There is no hope of reading his face once he pokes his head in the room. “I fixed some lunch.” That’s the most I get out of him before he walks away, leaving the door open for me to join him at the table. This afternoon, it’s tuna sandwiches, the same as he offered last night. I get the feeling he doesn’t do a lot of cooking for himself—the eggs were a little overdone this morning. Not that I’m complaining. Out of everything going on, rubbery eggs are the least of my problems.
“Thank you for this.” I’m trying. Nobody can say I didn’t try.
“Sure.” Okay, then. I see his lengthy time outside didn’t do anything to improve his mood. Not that I expected it to. We’re kind of in this situation together. I wish he would look at it that way instead of treating me like I’m the enemy born to make him miserable.
“How come you didn’t go into the woods? You stayed awfully close all that time.”
“You were watching me?” The question comes out more than a little sharp, with plenty of accusation.
If there’s one thing about me I’ve never been able to change or improve, it’s my temper. He’s the last person I need to anger, but I don’t appreciate his tone. “There’s not much else to do, is there? I’m not quite sure what I did to be treated as a prisoner.”Way to go. Start a fight. Anger the guy who holds your life in his hands. What a great idea.
“Did you ever think that’s just as much for your safety as anything else? Did you ever think maybe I stayed close to make sure you were safe here?” Then he winces like he said more than he meant to before taking a massive bite from his sandwich and chewing much harder than anybody has ever needed to chew tuna salad in the entire history of the world.
Shame heats my cheeks before I look down at my sandwich so I won’t have to look at him. “Anyway, there’s nothing else to do,” I mutter, picking at the crust. “And I can sense how worried you are and how conflicted you feel, and I’m really sorry?—”
“Can we not talk about this?” The glare he shoots me could set ice on fire and snaps my mouth shut. I need to stop trying to relate to him. He is obviously not interested, and I only end up regretting it. If I’m not careful, he’ll reject me out of anger before Declan even has a chance of getting me back. I have to be smarter. I can’t let hurt feelings make me do anything irrational that could get me killed.
How can anyone be so angry and still look so gorgeous? His already sharp jaw is tight enough to cut glass, and his dark eyes shine with something dangerous, maybe deadly. And here I am, a moth to the flame, ready to be drawn in even though I know how dangerous it will be to get too close. There’s a hunger in me no amount of tuna salad can touch.
“Here. Let me take that.” As soon as he’s finished, I stand, reaching for his plate. “It’s the least I can do.”
