by Keri Lake
“I want to take you now,” he grits out, as if the weight of restraint bears down on him. “To tear these clothes from your body and have you in every way. But you’ll hate me in the morning, and that would be worse than torture.”
“How can I hate you when I want you, too?”
“Not like this, Thalia.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “Get some sleep.” Releasing my arms, he bends forward and picks up his glass from the floor, taking a sip before he strides off.
Out the door.
Chapter 32
My head is pounding when I wake to darkness, my throat dry and scratchy. In desperate need for a glass of water, I climb from the bed and take light steps toward the kitchen, so as not to wake Titus, but as sounds carry down the hallway, I slow my steps to listen.
Before I reach the kitchen, I peek around the wall.
Titus is sprawled naked in front of the fire. His arms flex and glisten, as he lies with his cock in hand, stroking himself. Long lazy strokes that coincide with the easy rise and fall of his chest.
I tuck myself closer to the wall, watching him. Surely, he has to know I’m here. Their senses are supposed to be insanely sharp. Unless he’s drunk. Wouldn’t be impossible with all that wine he dragged in here earlier.
Merciful God, he’s magnificent.
Like watching art in motion, his perfectly sculpted body moves like a machine, and the sounds of his moans hit the back of my neck, sending tingles beneath my skin. There’s something both forbidden and undeniably erotic about watching a man masturbate. Particularly one so mature and brawny as Titus.
An intense ache throbs between my legs, and I have to cup myself, while the urge to rub against something prods my hips. Only, the touch of my hand exacerbates the need.
As the apprentice of a rather unconventional midwife, I grew up knowing and believing masturbation was perfectly natural. It wasn’t until my mother took on the doctrines of the church that it became something negative and discouraged. How I’ve missed those nights, though, lying in my bed, staring up at the dark sky through the cracked window, as I brought myself to orgasm while the rest of the house slept.
Seeing Titus now takes me back to those moments. As I watch his strokes hasten, his back arch, I imagine my body in place of his hand. I imagine the look of ecstasy etched on his face is for me, and I find myself rubbing the heel of my palm against the soft flesh beneath my nightgown.
I want to take him into my mouth, like I’ve read in books and heard other girls my age talk about in their giggling and gossip. I want to taste the metal and fire on my tongue, as I suck the flavor from his skin.
Teeth clenched, he strokes faster. The slapping sounds intensify. His body trembles, muscles so taut they look as if they might snap. He stares down at himself as he seems to be approaching the pinnacle of climax, legs drawn up, while he pants between moans. Tipping his head back once again, he whispers, “Thalia.”
My stomach clenches at the sound of my name on his lips, a tingling rush exploding beneath my skin.
In the next breath, white ribbons shoot up from his cock, his abs flexing as if pumping out every drop of his release.
Watching him climax, that feral side of me flares to life once again. Two weeks ago, I hated the way this world seemed to be so focused on owning and impregnating women, but my thoughts about Titus as of late have proven something more biological and primal is at play out here. They’re all trying to survive, to keep from becoming a dying species, the one way they know how--by producing offspring that will carry their memories and legacy into the future. It’s become clearer to me, the longer I’m on this side of the wall. After all, children are a symbol of hope. Succession. Existence.
In the absence of having to worry about my survival, I was free to dream of other things, like becoming the first female doctor of Szolen. I could be selfish with my pursuits because time wasn’t limited by stronger, opposing forces. Here, it’s different. The people on this side of the wall literally have to seize every moment in life--some more violently than others.
My encounter with the Rager brought me to this understanding. How quickly everything comes and goes, and the world keeps spinning, in spite of it. There’s no time to dream of selfish things.
Even if my goal is to return to that life someday, I need to ensure my survival up until that point.
I need Titus, now more than ever. I need him to see me as more than a traveling companion. As something valuable to protect.
It’s a plan that goes against every fiber of my being and everything I’ve come to know about Alphas, but if there’s one thing this world has taught me, it’s this: in a land of monsters, survival comes before everything else. Even pride.
If I was a bolder woman, I’d step out from my hiding spot and go to him. Instead, I slip back into the shadows, scarcely daring a breath, as I pad quietly back to my room.
I opt for a thin cotton tank top, not only for the insane heat of the day, but because it clings to every curve of my breasts. It’s not that I’d consider it natural for me to flirt with a man, by any means, but hearing my name on his lips the night before has somehow emboldened me. It’s removed all traces of doubt, regardless of what he tells me. The shirt is subtle enough, with the temps rising in the nineties, that he might not notice, at all, but if he does, it might serve as an invitation without me having to say the words aloud.
I exit the cabin to the back, where Titus stands swinging an axe around as if to loosen his muscles. It’s day two of our training, and I’m all too eager. At breakfast, I tried not to stare at him, but after seeing him sprawled naked, I’ve begun to notice things I didn’t before. The tiny mole on his cheek, just above his jawline. The scar that crosses over his cheekbone. The creases at the corners of his eyes that crinkle with even his slightest smile.
The band at his throat that I’m determined to remove today.
I remember a gypsy from Szolen once told me that unexpected kindness is the surest path to someone’s heart, and if I want this Alpha watching my back for the long haul, it seems I need to balance the scales a bit. Make him see me as something valuable, instead of a risk.
When he turns to face me, his broad, bare chest is already shimmering with the sweat of his workout this morning, and I can scarcely breathe.
There’s something utterly magnificent about Titus in dawn’s light. He’s an ice cold drink on a sweltering desert afternoon. The kind with frost on the glass and perfectly square ice cubes just begging to be plucked by the tongue.
Jesus, I need to stop staring.
Across the yard, Yuma sits gnawing on a log he must’ve stolen from the stack of piled wood.
I hold up the tool I scavenged from the utility drawer in the cabin--a long skinny metal pick with a wooden handle that I think might’ve served as an ice pick, and a small steel clip my mother once told me was commonly used to hold papers together.
Brows furrowed in confusion, Titus flits his gaze to the tool, while I approach.
“We’re taking that band off your throat today.”
“What brought this on?”
I gesture for him to take a seat on the wooden picnic table beneath the overhanging canopy of a tree, out of the sun’s blazing heat. “Because you’re not a slave. You’re a free man. And I can’t stand the way it digs into your throat.”
“You’ve picked a lock before?”
“No, but I understand the mechanics of a lock. I just need to see how yours is set up. I’m surprised you never tried to take it off yourself.”
He glances down at the pick and back. “Not a lot of skinny tools out in the middle of the desert.” Taking a seat at the table puts his face at the level of my practically exposed breasts, and those amber eyes cut to them, swirling with unseen fascination. “’Sides that, I forget it’s there sometimes. Unless it’s in my way.” Stare lingering a bit too long, he licks his lips, just before I prod his head back.
As I examine the teeth on the small circular lock, I catch the b
ob of his throat. “You don’t like to be held in a vulnerable position, do you?”
“No doubt, you could stab me in the neck with that thing. But it’d only take the seconds I bleed out to crush every bone in your body. So, what’s the point?”
“Wow. That’s the most romantic thing someone’s ever said to me. And what’s with crushing every bone? Is that the greatest demonstration of strength among Alphas?”
“Not easy to do. Some bones are harder to crush than others.”
“You know this from experience?”
“Yes. A person stays alive. Conscious the whole time. They feel everything.”
Something about his observations is unsettling, raising the hair on my skin. “You’re not speaking from the perspective of the one crushing.”
“No.”
A flare of panic rises in my stomach at the thought of him laid out somewhere, suffering that kind of pain, and my mind rewinds to a few nights ago, when I woke to the sounds of his outcries.
“What was the point of it?”
“To measure out how the Alpha genes could regenerate bones.”
No, no, no. That’s not science. That’s torture.
Frowning, I bend the paperclip just enough to lodge it into the lock, then slide the pick alongside it, and push to wind the teeth. “Why the bands, if you were their prized soldiers?”
“To keep us from escaping. To track us down.”
“You escaped Calico?”
“Yes.”
“How? I heard they locked all the mutations behind an impenetrable steel door.”
“I escaped with my Alpha brothers and Cali. To a waterfall I knew as a boy. Then Legion tracked us down.”
“Cali?” My first thought is California, recalling that there was a time when the world was divided into territories—states, they called them.
“My brother’s woman.”
“She was a prisoner, as well?”
“Yes. She was part of the Alpha project.”
With one hard crank, the pick slips, nearly stabbing him in the throat, and I gasp. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I didn’t mean to turn so hard.” Going back to my work, I catch sight of him staring at my breasts out of the corner of his eye, before his gaze flicks upward again. “So, this Cali …” I go on. “What was her purpose in the Alpha project?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I was born with a curious mind. It’s a curse at times. You don’t have to answer.”
“She was to be impregnated by an Alpha. She would also serve as a means of punishment, in case we got out of line.”
“How so?”
“They’d whip her in front of us. Because we were deeply bonded to her, it was as if they were whipping us.”
Us? As in, one woman bonded to more than one Alpha. I have to stifle a shiver at the thought of such a thing, given what I witnessed last night. “You were bonded to her as well?”
“Yes. But I knew Valdys wanted her. He made it clear from the start.” Band shifting with his swallow, he seems to focus on something beyond me, like he refuses to be taunted by the fact that I’m practically straddling him to examine this lock. "Probably for the best, anyway. I'd never let another touch what's mine.”
Ignoring the chiding of my head, I dare to ask the question swirling there. “You … wanted her, though?”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I was drawn to her scent. I was made to be aroused by her presence.”
“What do you mean, made to be?” The groan that follows tells me I’m getting too personal, and I smile.
“I don’t understand all the science. Just that she was given injections that complimented our Alpha genes. Imagine craving something for so long, never satisfied with anything else. Then you’re finally given what you crave.”
I do try to imagine that, and somehow my thoughts swing back to the night before. I don’t even know if I’ve ever craved anything prior to then. The sight of him set off some kind of need I didn’t even realize was there to begin. “She’s the only woman you’ve ever craved that way?”
His eyes cut to my shirt and back. “No.”
“You’ve craved another, then?”
“I have. But I can’t take from another woman. I won’t.”
“Why?”
The lock clicks, popping open, and I let out an involuntary squeal of delight at the surprise. Peeling the metal carefully from his throat exposes a red, inflamed band of chafed flesh beneath that’s torn at the edges. He tips his head forward, sucking in a deep breath as he runs his palm over his neck.
I hold the band with my fingertips and toss it onto the table with a smile. “Now you’re truly free.”
Lowering his gaze is a humble gesture, I’ve learned in the last few days. It’s reserved for the times I’ve found him to be exceptionally grateful. For a strong and powerful man, he has one hell of a time expressing his emotions. “Thank you,” he says, yet when my eyes meet his again, there’s something darker, hungrier than a thank you burning in them.
I run my fingertips over his hairline and down his temple, catching the long blink of his eyes. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Thalia.” The warning in his voice belies the gentle grip of his hands at either side of me. “Let’s get to your lesson. You wanted me to teach you to fight?”
If I hadn’t seen him the night before, heard my name on his lips, I’d likely be mortified by his apparent lack of interest. Alphas take without asking. That’s what I’ve been told my whole life. That they’re violent, mindless rapists who kill indiscriminately. They plunder hives in search of women to breed. That’s what young and curious girls are told in Szolen, to endear them to the Legion soldiers who hunt the monsters.
Unless last night was nothing but a figment of my imagination, he wants me, and I’ve practically thrown myself at his feet. Whatever it is that holds him back now must be something serious, something beyond my imagination, so I don’t push. Instead, I nod and take a step back, out of respect for his boundaries. “Of course.”
He rises to his feet, towering over me, and draws the hair from my face to place a kiss on my temple. Before I have an opportunity to react, he strides off, putting some distance between us before he turns to face me again.
“So, what’s the lesson today?”
“Hand to hand.” He flicks his fingers and points to a spot just a few feet away. With the feel of his lips still burning my temples, I take my place in front of him.
“Hand to hand. Sounds like a violent waltz.”
“In some ways, it is.”
“And you told me last night you never danced before.”
“You remember the events of last night?”
“I remember more than you think, Titus.”
His brow crinkles, eyes undoubtedly searching mine for the possibility that they might’ve seen something they shouldn’t have. “Make a fist,” he commands, holding up his own in demonstration. The moment I do, he strides toward me, shaking his head. “No. Not like that.” A fine thread of irritation colors his tone, far less patient than the day before, and he smacks the underside of my fist. “Move your thumb to the side. You’ll break it if you clutch it like that.” When I do as he says, he holds his own fist up again. “Now squeeze.”
I do.
“Harder.”
With an ungracious snort, I smile. “Typical male, always harder.”
He gives a push to my shoulder that knocks me backwards, and I stumble over myself, nearly tumbling onto my ass. “Hey.”
“You need a firm stance. Straighten yourself.” The noticeable impatience in his voice leaves me frowning as I step toward him again. “Bend your legs and put one foot slightly in front of the other.”
Following his command again, I take the stance he’s described and hold my fists up, the way he showed me.
Another hard push knocks me backward, and this time, the ground hits the back of my ass.
“Your stance is weak. I’m not even pushing that hard.”
>
Glaring up at him, I get to my feet again, one leg in front of the other, and bend low, fists up. “If you wanted me on my back so badly, you had a golden opportunity last night.”
A third, hard push knocks me back down to my ass, and if I’m not mistaken, he growled that time.
“What the hell?” Pain throbs across my tailbone, which is probably bruising at this point.
“Did you think I’d go easy on you? Do you think the Ragers will go easy on you because you’re a female? Or Remus?”
Teeth gritted, I jump to my feet again, getting into position, and double-down on my resistance by tensing my muscles.
His push knocks me backward a fourth time.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You.”
“Me? What did I do? Except fall on my ass four times?”
“You’re not meant to fight. You’re not strong enough.” The bitter bite of his words slaps hard. “This was a stupid idea.”
“Yesterday, you took your time. I missed that mark at least four dozen times, and you were patient. Today? You’re acting like a … an asshole!”
“You’re weak!”
“I’m not weak!” I scramble to my feet again and give one hard shove to his stomach, failing to move him. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Because you’re driving me fucking nuts! Your tits in my face, and your sickeningly sweet scent so far up my nose, it’s corrupted my brain!”
“Wait.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “You’re angry because you’re attracted to me?”
“Yes! No!”
“Is it no, or is it yes?”
“Yes. I’m attracted. I crave. And I’m trying like hell to keep my hands off you, but you’re making this shit impossible.”
“I’m not the one telling you to keep your hands off me. In fact, I’ve pretty much all but laid out a welcome mat.”
“And I wouldn’t take if you begged.”
Brow quirked, I stare up at him. “Is that so?” I roll my shoulders back, a move that juts my chest out further into his face, until he can no doubt see the hard peaks of my nipples sticking through. His jaw tics. When he still doesn’t make a move, I shrug my shoulder just enough that the strap falls down my arm, the thin veil of cotton in front hanging on for dear life. Nabbing the canteen, I kick back a too big sip, letting the fluids trickle down my chest, saturating the fabric.