Page 66 of Red

I see Lirea exit the door while he drags me in, ignoring everyone packing up, frantic to get out. My skin burns under his grip as it tightens, and my feet struggle to keep up with his huge gait. He hauls me down the hallway into his room, slams his door, locks it, and then tosses me onto the bed. What a strange murder setting.

“What the fuck do you not get about do not leave this house?”

“I, um . . . wanted to help.” I prop myself up on my elbows.

He glowers. “How the hell does you disappearing for over a week help anyone?” His hands run up and pull on his neck, leaving red marks on his skin.

He doesn’t get it. I had to go. “It’s not like I could have told you my plan.”

The wolf scent of him overpowers everything else—no sweet pine or cedarwood. The veins in his neck pump thick down his jaw and along his arms, one hand fisted white. “You just walked into the enemy’s camp without any protection? You’re not a werewolf, Red. You could’ve been killed.”

I’m more than a werewolf, I think. The insult stings. Not being seen as the weak one was a nice change.

“I’m not an idiot. I stumbled there needing help.” I point at the new forming scar on my arm.

Stark’s eyes scan over the rest of my body and his chest heaves. “Did they do something to you?”

“No, they taught me to shoot a gun.”

His body stiffens.

“While you’re too focused on the fact that I disobeyed Pratt’s stupid rules and the Elders, I was learning to shoot you, and I learned about what they’re doing. How they’re doing it. But don’t worry—Pratt will forgive you from his grave.” I mock his protectiveness. He’s mad. He always is. But I want him to understand why I went, that I wasn’t being naïve.

Stark steps closer and leans over me. I stare at the lines coming out of his neck as he takes a slow breath.

“This isn’t about anyone but you, Red.” His serious face gets close, and his cedarwood smell hits through the wolf mask. I breathe it in and try not to sigh. The heat across my body flickers between my legs, and I clamp them shut.

“It’s not?” I get out between breaths.

“No.”

Before I can answer, his mouth smashes into mine. It’s warm, and my hands react—wrapping around his neck, pulling him down further onto the bed. His knees press into the mattress, and I lift my hips up to meet his. Anything for more. I want to touch him, feel him. Everywhere.

My hands flicker with flames, growing with tingles, and I trace them under his shirt, grazing him with my nails. His mouth pushes harder into mine, our tongues taking turns exploring. His lips drop, lining my jaw and tracing his tongue down my neck. Those blue eyes darken, his face flushed. I pant to catch my breath. Stark’s huge frame is on top of me, his length pressing in between my heat. I want to . . .

Fuck.

I squirm away, and his grip eases. I slide off the bed and run for the door. He’s . . . No. No, I can’t . . .

I fumble the lock and fly across the hall into my room. I shut the door and twist the new shiny lock.

You don’t kiss someone’s mate. Ever. And I didn’t want to stop at kissing.

I slow my lungs as I look around. The entire room is trashed. Every drawer of both dressers and the nightstands are pulled open, one of the large drawers on the floor. The books are off the shelves stacked in piles. The mattress leans against one of the bed posts. A heap of blankets sprawls out toward where my clothes now lay.

My throat tightens, and I run to the bathroom. Products have been tossed in every direction. I scan until they stop on a box underneath the tub. I bend to grab it. Brunette. A human girl’s face smiles from the front of the box, her hair similar to my own. I hope this was thrown there and not actually looked at.

I quickly get to work, putting all the products, from hair ties to moisturizer, back in bins and tucking them under the sink, burying the hair dye at the bottom.

My fingers find my lips, and I bite my cheek. It was a mistake. He’s already chosen his mate.

In the bedroom, I heave the mattress over harder than I intend, and it slams back onto the bed frame.

A knock comes at the door. “Aloka?”

Hopping over piles of my things, I unlock the door and swing it open.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” Then Jocko covers his nose. “You stink, though.”