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“West.” I wait until he picks up his head, eyes meeting mine. “That won’t happen.”
Again with the laugh that makes me shiver. “You don’t know that.”
“I’m an omega wolf. Of course I do.”
“You’re too late, baby. I think… I think I might already be fucking gone.” He lifts his hand, running it across his face. “I mean, I slaughtered him.Slaughtered. Not because he was feral, or because he accepted the challenge. This was his den. I recognized the scent. It was his territory… and I fuckingslaughteredhim because he thought he could take you from me.”
“But you did that to save me. Toprotectme. You would’ve done the same for any threat to the pack.”
His eyes were stone-cold, dark grey and vicious—until I say that. In an instant, they bleed over to blazing gold as he tosses his head. “I’d protect the pack to my last breath. But for you… I’d stay alive a second longer than anyone who tried to take you from me just so they would die knowing they failed. You’re mine, Helene. Choose another male. Take another mate… it doesn’t change a Luna damned thing.”
Anguished hands digging in his hair, West sinks down to his knees.
“Are you listening? I’ll always think of you asmineand treat you like you are.Always. And that’s why no one is a bigger threat to you than me. Because, tell me, Helene… what happens when my wolf sees you as the one keeping us apart?”
I don’t know what’s harder to take. The icy-cold Beta or the broken male in front of me. He’s not feral, but he’s right when he says he’s close.
He’s also right when he points out that I’m the one playing games with him and his wolf. Not that he said it in so many words.
He doesn’t have to.
Right then, watching West drop his face in his hands, I have to admit something I’ve always known: The Beta belongs to the Sylvan Pack. Weston Reed belongs tome.
And I’m losing him.
Ican’tlose him.
Just the idea that he might one day be out of my reach like that feral has me rushing toward him, joining him on the floor. When he doesn’t jerk away from me, I take hope in that, clutching at his chest.
I want to tell him that that won’t happen. That, no matter what, his wolf will never turn on me. But I don’t get the chance. This close, West sees the blood covering my bodice, scents the feral on me, and begins to growl. “What did he do to you, Helene?”
Helene.
“It’s just a dress.” The words spill out in a rush. “Just a stupid dress that he ruined even before his blood splashed all over it.”
“Take it off.”
“West?”
“Take. It. Off. I can smell him on it. I… It has to go.”
Fine. If I can’t keep him with me with words, I’m not above using whatever I have to. He wants the dress gone? He wants me to strip? I don’t know if he realizes that the feral already removed my panties, but I don’t care. For West, I’ll do it.
Resting on my heels, I grab the hem of my skirt, yanking the ruined dress up and over my head. Tossing it far away from me, I reach out, laying my hands on his bare shoulders.
He’s in his sweatpants. Even though my panties are gone, I still have my bra one as I lean forward, holding tightly to him. There’s absolutely nothing sexual about this, not even when he lowers his hands, running his fingers over the deep purple bruises covering my sides.
The feral must have grabbed me harder than I thought when he tossed me down, pinning me beneath him—and now West knows it.
“He marked you,” he whispers. “I’d kill him again for these bruises alone.”
“They’re already healing.”
“Where else did he hurt you?”
He sounds so much calmer than before that I don’t want to answer him for fear that I’ll start to lose him again.
With calm, though, comes clarity. “I scent your blood, too, Helene. I know he hurt you. Tell me. Please. I have to make sure you’re okay.”
