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And then he’d badgered me into using my contacts in the army to pull the plug on Mrs Hartwell’s diplomatic mission. Pax would have Beatrice on British soil and no amount of logic would protect him from her. Never mind. I had stuffed my mate into a wine barrel in order to smuggle her out of Paris.
Perhaps it would have been best if I’d never agreed to this trip to Ayleigh. Or I could have orchestrated an accident. Had my carriage overturn on the road, when Pax had agreed to Orley’s scheme to race from London to Ayleigh.
I paused, breathing in her scent which lingered in the hall. A siren’s summons I was helpless to ignore. Yet to see her and not claim her? Would that be possible? Could any sane alpha walk away from their mate for a second time? Did I deserve it?
A growl built in my being. I was not the alpha she remembered.
My worth had not changed, but my determination to claim her had sparked to life the moment I saw her run.
And I was no better, running after her like some lovestruck pup panting after the first omega he’d scented.
“You can take your time,” I told myself. “She’s retreated to her nest… exactly where she is meant to be.”
I did not need an omega's sensitive sense of smell. I walked without thought until I reached a door like any other in the hall. Then, and only then, did I breathe in and take in that intoxicating scent of roses.
I hesitated. What did I want? The base instinct was to rut and claim my mate in the most public way possible. That need warred with the knowledge that with Trix in my life, I’d know no peace—she was a tempest to any alpha’s serenity. More than my own desires, there was one incontrovertible truth.
After what I had done, Beatrice Jane Hartwell would hate me.
That didn’t stop me pounding on her door. If she shot me dead, so what. She’d be free of me for good. Free to be with Pax, if that is what they both wanted. Goddess, my head didn’t know what to think, but my instincts were clear: I needed to scent my mate as surely as I needed my next breath.
I banged again hard enough that the door rattled on its hinges.
“Open up Beatrice,” I barked.
Just as I was prepared to kick the offending barricade down, a crack appeared.
For the first time in ten years, I saw her face. Her eyes were the same. The colour of a stormy sea and her hair, a forest fire, curling and wild about her. That chin, tilted and stubborn to the last. But as similar as she was, so too was she different. She’d lost most of the puppy fat in her cheeks, though they were still beautifully rounded and full like her body. She’d always possessed curves, but now they belonged to a mature woman, and were therefore deadly. She truly was the most omega of her sisters in form and face. And as my eyes roamed over her, they drifted down along her neck to where her mate-bite was.
“By the Goddess!”
Where a fine white impression on her skin should be, a Lovers’ Circle stood out bold against her mate gland. No wonder Pax had lost his head when he saw her mate-bite. Lovers’ Circles were rare. There were those who liked to say it meant the bond went deeper than any other. True mates, fated mates. They were that rare.
Our gazes met. And I knew my emotions were reflected in her eyes. Surprise, disbelief, wonder, desire… and anger. The Hartwells had kept this from me. Beatrice had kept the fact I gave her a Lovers' Circle from me. In all the time since we were separated, not once had she written to tell me.
She spun away, no doubt unable to look at me, but I drank her in like a man lost in the desert. I’d abandoned a True Mate bond, all because I’d bowed to her parents’ will. They’d said I wasn’t worthy… Then no one had written to let me know it was a True Mate bond, a Lovers’ Circle… Madness. I was catapulted back into the mindset of a nineteen year old greenhorn with no experience or understanding of the world. But with it, that same fierce possessiveness that roared with a vengeance: I’d not let her go this time.
Not after I’d seen her with Pax, not after I’d seen my mark on her. But first I needed to calm the tempest within me. I’d not become feral and prove her mother right, prove that I was not a fit alpha for this beloved omega.
“Tod,” she whispered the name only she used and then turned around again. “You really are here. What do I call you? John?”
“Few call me that any more.” Suddenly aware how much I preferred Jack. Unless of course she was the one speaking, then I wanted to hear the pet name she’d given me twenty some years ago. I cleared my throat. “We need to talk. There is much I have to say to you. You grew up, Trix.”
“You are really here.” Her voice was soft as a breeze. “We… I don’t think—”
“Then later.” Perhaps later was best. Her scent clogged my senses and reason faded in favour of my need to rut her. “Later if you prefer, but make no mistake, Trix, we will talk.”
“Later? No… I…” She bit her lip. A change came over her. That little frame straightened, seemed to give her height she did not have and a martial light flashed in her eyes, reminding me of a much younger woman who hated to be thwarted. “No. I’ve nothing to say to you. I imagine you have even less, if the last decade is proof of anything.”
The look she gave was glacial. Not quite indifferent, but certainly dismissive. I’d expected her to scream. Throw things at me. But to freeze me out? That was not the Trix I knew.
“You never back down from a fight,” I said. “And I can’t imagine you’ve changed that much in ten years.”
“I haven’t, Colonel. But I’ve nothing to say to you. I’ll have the housekeeper send refreshments to your room as I imagine you will want to make yourself presentable.” The icy demeanour she affected did not suit her.
“This isn’t you,” I growled. Angry that she wasn’t angry. I’d spent a decade justifying my staying away because she hated me. So long as she hated me, I could justify staying away. “You do not dismiss… You should not forgive what I have done. So don’t you dare hide behind that frosty facade. It won’t work with me. Act the stone goddess anyone else, and they’ll bow their head and tug their forelock no matter how high and mighty they might be. But I don’t give a fig for your tantrums. Stomp your foot and toss your head, Trix. Give me your fury.”
Both our scents were bitter. What I wanted, what I needed to do was catch her up, put my hand about her throat, and purr for her. In doing so, both our tempers would be soothed. But like a coward, I held back.
