Sarah
Worn, weathered hands cup mine in the warmth of a room covered in faded wallpaper. Toys are scattered across a woven carpet of muted greens and yellows, and small voices lift in glee and mischief, blurred and faceless.
The hands around mine are so large compared to my small, child-sized hands. Warm and rough, tender and caring, they curl around my fingers in a mother’s touch.
“I know you're young,” the woman says, her face a fuzzy, fractured memory, “but you’ve lived through more than anyone should have to experience in one lifetime.”
Rain slams against the windows beside us. The landscape is a tangle of fog and storm clouds with nothing but a turbulent sea beyond.
“Look at me,” she whispers softly, gently, her voice so full of love but also pain. Her hands shake as she strokes my fingers. “You know what must be done. I will help you, but you can never go back. Everyone must forget you.”
I nod, my mind made up. What else can I do?
The weathered hands fade away, blending into the dreary gray of the storm, and then nothing but unending darkness.
A faint beep pulls me from the dream, and the mattress beneath me shifts.
I blink as the room around me comes into view. White walls. Modern flourishes.
Sydney gets out of bed, sitting on the edge as he answers his phone.
“When?”
I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. When did we fall asleep? My robe is undone, bunched up, and I’m warm all the way to my core.
“I’m on my way.”
I look at him, at the back of his head, at his sleep ruffled hair, and reach up to touch my lips.
We kissed last night, nothing else. I remember falling asleep wrapped in his touch.
He doesn’t look at me as he rises, grabbing his now-dry clothes from last night. He holds his phone to his ear again, making another call as he walks around the room, gathering his things.
When he finally sees me, noticing that I’m awake, he pauses his conversation.
“One of my warriors is coming to pick you up. He’ll bring you a change of clothes, too.”
I nod, but Sydney rushes into the bathroom where I hear water running over his voice as he talks to whoever’s on the other line.
I get out of bed, tighten the robe around my waist, and walk to the window. It’s a clear day, the storm passed, and the entire landscape is blanketed in fresh snow. It’s bitter cold, however. I can see the steam lifting from the city in the distance. We’re in some pack territory on the edge of Crescent City, and the castle gleams across the ice covered lake at the very edge of my vision.
“I’ll call Alpha Pembroke’s heir in a few minutes, and we’ll sort it out.”
I turn back to Sydney as he exits the bathroom, hair brushed back away from his face and now wearing his dress shirt and pants from last night.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
He slides his phone in his back pocket, looking tired and somewhat stressed. He hesitates before meeting my eyes and replying, “I want to reiterate that you’re safe.”
“Uhm,” I murmur nervously, noticing the unease in his eyes. “Sydney?”
“There was an attack late last night at a club downtown near the lakefront.”
My lips part in a gasp. Fights and skirmishes between packs are uncommon, though they do happen. But an attack is totally different, especially one that brings rival Alpha’s together.
Based on the look on his face, that’s exactly what’s going on.
“Rebels?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “We thought the rebel threat was long gone–”
“Gabriel,” I cut in, my voice going flat, dark, and serious.
He holds my gaze, running his tongue along his lower lip.
“I don’t know, Sarah. I’m going to find out. You’re going to go back to my manor and stay there until further notice. My father just issued a warning to all packs in his kingdom to close their gates and keep their people inside while we investigate.”
This is serious. This hasn’t happened since this summer, when the entire kingdom shut down while the Alphas and their warriors hunted the rebels.
Sydney edges toward me, closing the distance between us in three steps.
He leans down and presses an achingly tender kiss to the top of my head, and something snaps in my chest, something heavy.
“You’re safe. Blake is safe. My warrior will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Your truck?”
He straightens, shrugging. “I won't need it today.”
Because he’s going to shift and go hunting. My chest tightens at the thought of him getting hurt in any way.
He looks like he wants to say something else, like he wants to reach out and touch me, maybe kiss me again.
I want him to, which is so incredibly selfish.
But he turns and leaves, and I’m alone.
* * *
Cosette sits across from me in her personal sitting room. Porcelain cats cover a tall shelf in one corner. I’ve been taking stock of them, noticing the tiny details. I’ve never seen a cat in real life. Pets are rare, given that we’re animals ourselves, deep down.
But Cosette apparently likes them very much, judging by her collection. Counting how many have polka dots versus stripes, or how many are wearing silly hats, is a great distraction from the roiling desperation clouding my senses.
I’m on my third cup of shockingly sweet tea before either of us says a word. The grandfather clock chimes 8:00 PM, and we look at each other.
“He’s fine,” she tells me–and herself–pouring us another cup of tea.
“I’m sure,” I reply, finding it hard to swallow.
“Dahlia, poor thing, is stuck in Windsong for another night, I fear.” She stirs her tea with vigor that’s totally unnecessary.
Blake yawns in my arms, going slack with sleep.
I tap my foot to the rhythm of the clock.
“I don’t think you should move to the cottage. Not right away.”
“I agree,” I say, nodding.
We stare at each other, our shared stress choking the room. Cosette and I spent two hours pacing the den on the third floor, where a large TV blared the news about the attack. It wasn’t just a drunken fight. Several people died when a bomb went off, and three buildings burned down in a matter of hours. An Alpha is dead, too.
The NZ is now being combed for rebels. People there are being forced from their homes and into other pack territories, effectively shutting down the area.
And all day, Sydney has been gone, doing Goddess knows what.
Now we’re waiting on pins and needles for his return.
“I could put him to bed, if you’d like.”
“It’s all right.” Don’t leave me here alone.
It’s an unspoken agreement between us right now. She won’t leave my side, and I’m sure as hell not leaving hers. We’re probably as safe as we can be here in Shadowcrest, tucked away in the Alpha’s manor, but still….
Until there’s a reason for the explosion, whether it was deliberate violence or something innocent, like a gas leak, we watch every shadow and listen to every noise in the house.
But when the clock strikes midnight, I can’t wait any longer. My eyes are heavy, and Blake is too used to sleeping in his crib to get comfortable in either of our arms. Cosette and I reluctantly part ways.
But I lie on the floor in Blake’s room, watching the shadows play over the ceiling.
Hours pass. Blake remains asleep, ignorant to the sudden danger in the air.
But I’m aware of it. Grossly aware. I feel it in my bones as a noise nearby catches my attention, and I spring into action.
I grab a lamp off a table, heavy and solid, and yank the cord free of the wall before edging into the darkened hallway.
I’m being insane. This feeling in my chest, this knot, is driving me to act like I am in immediate danger.
I refuse to admit that I’ve been thinking about Sydney all day long. I’ve been thinking about his face this morning, when he’d kissed the top of my head and left the hotel. He’d been so withdrawn and tired. Just exhausted. Sick of this game he’s forced to play with the rebels who just won’t quit.
And I, selfishly, wished he were here with me instead.
I tighten my grip on the lamp like an idiot. This won’t save me when the rebels lunge out darkness like something out of my nightmares.
A shadow nears in the dark, heavy footsteps coming in my direction as I flatten myself against the wall and hold my breath.
The shadow reaches for Blake’s door, and I swing the lamp, meeting flesh.
Sydney grabs me, pinning me to the wall, breathing rapidly.
He grabs the lamp when I drop it, preventing it from hitting the floor.
My heart beats out of my chest, and his breath comes rapidly as he holds me there, his arm pinned against my chest.
But then he whirls me around and shoves me into my room, closing the door behind him.
He locks it, and the sound of the lock clicking in place sets my blood roiling through my veins.
I don’t think. My brain shuts down entirely, and then I’m leaping into his arms and kissing him.
He growls low in his throat in satisfaction as he carries me to the bed. He smells so good. Like perspiration and musk, a more heightened fragrance brought on by being in his wolf form all day, I’m sure. It makes me absolutely feral with desire that I can’t shake.
I’m out of control. He’s out of control. We’re doomed.
Might as well accept it now.
He throws us on the bed, covering me with his body. There’s nothing gentle about this whatsoever. He rips my shirt apart in his haste to get it off. My bra is pulled from my body, leaving scraps on my skin where the fabric was yanked free. He presses himself between my legs, and I lock them around his waist as he buries his head between my breasts.
My fingers glide up the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, and I unleash my inhibitions and moan his name like we’re the only people in this house, in the entire fucking world, and he’s mine.
Right now, I’m his. This moment is brought on by fear, lust, and desperation for touch.