Tess
The scariest thing on this planet is male werewolves.
Why?
Because they are all huge and filled with testosterone, it’s in their nature to be aggressive. Don’t believe me? Well, lucky for you, I have a story to prove just how terrible male werewolves can be.
When I was five years old, Alpha Warrick of the Gilded Pack murdered my parents. He didn’t have a good reason to do it. The man was just bored, so he set our house on fire and let my parents burn to death despite being loyal servants of his. They had never done anything wrong.
Despite this, Warrick set our house on fire. I was the only one who made it out alive, but the price was grave: my skin is scarred, and I no longer have a pack since I decided to become a rogue was better than staying with an insane Alpha.
I’ve also stayed away from male werewolves ever since. I fear them above everything else to the point I believed my mate would end up being a human. But...I was wrong.
My eyes travel to the bed in front of me, and my heart constricts when I look down at what is left of Lucas’ once handsome face.
A month ago, Lucas was the strongest Gamma the Luan pack had ever seen. I’m not kidding. Most people seemed more intimidated by Lucas rather than Alpha Wesley.
That’s why I had been surprised to discover Lucas was my mate because he was everything I was afraid of. He had enormous muscles—all werewolves do—but Lucas looked like a bull compared to the others. His shoulders were broad, his neck screamed power, and his height has been imposing. When I first saw him, he had been the scariest werewolf I had ever had the displeasure of being face-to-face with.
But now?
Now Lucas’ eyes have been ripped out from his skull, and his flesh is rotting because the dark magic that hit him is eating away at him a little more each day. He is a shadow of his former self and is bound to a bed while he can barely breathe.
Lucas is dying.
“Hurts…”
I glance down at Lucas. His voice had been so low I’m fifty-fifty percent sure I even heard it.
“Lucas? Are you conscious?” I ask in a low voice, unsure whether to touch him or not.
Lucas and I are mates, but it’s pretty clear he hates me. Before his accident, he called me ugly. But he also saved my life and brought me to Wesley’s mansion because he saw that I was struggling to fight.
Fun fact: I suck at fighting. Not only is my human form dainty and small but so is my werewolf form. It makes me wonder why Lucas, someone so broad and strong, wasn’t fated to be with my friend, Jenny, who is strong and tall.
Why me?
“Mmmm, barely,” Lucas moans. “Fuck...everything burns. It feels like my skin is on fire.”
I flinch as I watch his head and shoulders move from side to side as if he’s trying to get rid of the invisible heat that’s causing him discomfort. It seems that the burn from the dark magic that was used on him is worse under his clothes.
Do I need to...remove them?
The idea of undressing Lucas makes my heart race. His skin is burnt, and he looks terrible. What if I make things worse by touching him? My stomach churns, and I feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to cause Lucas more harm. But moving him to another room would only allow his condition to worsen, so I force myself to place my hands on him.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I unbutton his shirt with trembling hands. Even though he looks like shit, I’m nervous. “I’m going to remove your clothes now.”
Lucas doesn’t respond, but there’s a tremor in his shoulders. He’s probably stressed. Having the weak mate you hate peel off clothes because you’re currently more powerless than her is probably enough to make any man want to kill himself.
“You... shouldn’t be here...” Lucas tries to growl, but his voice comes out light and wavering.
“I’m not leaving you,” I say, holding my head slightly higher than usual. With Lucas being this weak, my confidence grows, and I stand firm in my decision.
“Never should have let you live...Freddy...we were like brothers...traitor...” He murmurs, and it takes me a second to figure out that he’s talking to himself, not me. He is no longer conscious but dreaming again.
I sigh but decide it might be best to leave him, for now. Lucas’ “deathbed” is in Wesley’s basement. Everyone knows he is about to die, including himself, but since he is my mate, no one has dared to end his life.
I wonder if that would be a less cruel fate...
***
The next day when I show up to see Lucas again, I notice he is fully awake. His eyelids are closed, though, which is a huge relief. I can’t stand seeing his empty sockets staring back at me. It’s...terrifying.
“You don’t have to come here every day, you know. You don’t even like me.”
Lucas sounds stronger today. Hoarse but stronger. That pleases me. Normally, it would make me fearful. A man at his strongest could kill me, but I know that Lucas will never recover, which is why I don’t fear him. He can’t sit, walk or stand and after a month of lying in this bed, his muscles are but a memory of his past. He is slowly thinning away.
“Even if we dislike each other, you’re still my mate, and I will watch over you until you take your last breath,” I wet my lips and take a seat in front of him. “No one should die alone.”
“I would rather die alone than have the ugly duckling watch over me day and night...”
I blink in surprise and shock myself by giggling. Had Lucas said that in the past, I probably would have flinched. But in his current condition, I’m not afraid.
“Says the one who looks worse than me...” I shake my head, fighting off a laugh. “You look terrible.”
To my surprise, Lucas doesn’t disagree and instead sinks his head deeper into the pillow. There is no hair left on his head, just a charred skull. “I must look like shit if you’re brave enough to make fun of me...”
“I’m not brave. I just don’t fear your fragile state...”
Lucas winces before muttering, “Fragile...the tiny ass werewolf is calling me fragile...what a time to be alive... Why haven’t they killed me yet?”
“Because I don’t want them to,” I say.
He growls. “Why?”
Seriously?
“Because there might still be a little hope left for you. Maybe you can fight off the dark magic eating up your body?”
Lucas laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “I doubt my life would be worth living like this. My wolf is dead. My skin is burnt, and I feel weaker than a newborn—living like this is worse than death.”
His words anger me, and I clench my fists. “And what about me, huh? Am I just supposed to accept that my mate rather die than spend the rest of his days by my side?”
“By your side...what kind of drugs are you on, huh? Who the fuck would even want to be with me in this state?!” Lucas bellows in a voice loud enough that I actually flinch. He sounds a lot like himself, and my heart races.
I hate conflicts. I try to avoid them to my best ability, but this time, I can’t run. The man before me is my mate, and I won’t run away from this fight.
“I-I want you!” I shout out those words so suddenly that I’m even shocked myself. Lucas falls silent too. Good. I want him to listen to me, even if I may stutter. “Listen, I-I don’t give a shit that you look like a burnt h-hotdog. N-neither do I care that your wolf is dying. You’re my f-fated mate, and I b-believe there is a reason for that.”
“You’re seriously willing to go down that road with me?” Lucas asks, and he sounds angry, as if he doesn’t believe me.
But I’m not lying.
“Yes!” I exclaim. “I’m willing to take care of you if it means you won’t leave me.”
“You don’t even like me!”
“B-but you might grow on me!” I counter, close to tears, because speaking so much is stressing me out. But this is important, so I pummel through. “And s-sure, you’re rude and mean, but...but maybe you’re not always like that.”
“Sorry, honey,” Lucas releases a sardonic laugh. “I’m rotten through and through.”
“You’re not!”
“Just leave me.”
“I won’t!”
“Get out!”
“No!” I cry out. “I won’t leave you!”
He shows me his middle finger, but I’m not giving up on him. I reach into my purse, pick up the latest romance novel I bought I’m reading and drag my chair closer to his bed.
“What are you doing?” he growls.
“I’m going to read a book for you, and you have no other choice than to listen.”
A frustrated sound leaves his lips. “What have I done to deserve this...”
“The book ended with a dramatic cliffhanger,” I respond in a bright tone. “I’m sure you’ll love it.”
He groans, and I open the book.
I won’t give up on him. And, since he can’t escape, I’m going to be reading for him every single day.
Maybe this will help him heal?