Jason looked sick. His face was no longer white, but yellow.
“You—” he said, but he choked. The words wouldn’t come out. “You could’ve fought him, you could’ve done something.”
Rose stopped to stare at him. She had clenched her fists at her sides and her knuckles were white. She let them go, relaxed them. Most of the anger went away from her when she realized what he had said, what she had said. She unwillingly held up her hands, a gesture of defeat. Jason didn’t understand it. He went into a frenzy.
“How can you just shrug it off?” he roared. “How can you just let that go? You enjoyed it. You liked it. You wanted it.”
Rose looked away from him, her anger melting away into sadness and pain once again. She breathed heavily, chest rising and falling quickly as she did. Her shoulders hurt from the scratches, but she ignored the pain. She would heal in time. “You can’t understand what it’s like, Jason. The wolf took over. I had no choice. I tried to fight, I did—”
“But Simon? Rose—” He stopped there, unable to go on.
“Jason,” she said, exasperated now. She couldn’t take much more of it. She wanted to say more, to say something but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She shook her head violently and started forward, brushing past him as she headed toward the steps of the porch.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he yelled at her. He turned toward her and she stopped for a brief moment on the porch and stared at him. Then he was after her.
She only had a split second to react. She ran for the door, slamming it and flipping the lock. Jason’s fists pounded on the door and he yelled incoherently. She was scared. She knew he was angry, recognized all the signs. He was going to hurt her. The door lock wouldn’t hold for long.
She started for the bedroom. She could lock herself in the bathroom until he calmed down. No sooner had she taken that first step, then the door burst away from the frame. Jason stood in what remained of the door, fury clouding his face.
Rose was in shock and didn't react when Jason rushed forward, stopping just in front of her. She trembled violently as she stared up at him. Jason’s normally blue eyes held no resemblance of anything human. He was breathing hard, exhaling with a growl in his throat. Rose realized suddenly what was happening.
It was the rage shift.
He dropped the gun, letting it fall with a heavy, clanking thud to the floor and grabbed her with both hands. His grip hurt, but she didn’t let him see it on her face.
“I am not through talking with you,” he said in a low, heated growl. She couldn’t hide the fear-scent, but she could mask it on her face. She did just that, setting her jaw and narrowing her eyes at him.
“You don’t want to talk,” she said, bravery false in her voice. “You want to fight.” He gripped her shoulders harder and she grimaced, unable to help it. “And I am not doing that. I’m not talking to you until you calm the hell down. You’re hurting me.”
But he didn’t let go. His fingers bit into her skin and she whimpered.
“Let go of me.” She had never seen as much rage in him as she did now. He squeezed her shoulders tightly before releasing her. He shoved her violently and she stumbled, falling back. She didn’t know they were so close to the couch until she felt it against the back of her knees. The cushions softened her fall.
Jason was on top of her before she knew it. He tore at her clothes and she screamed. She couldn’t help it. The cloth of her blouse ripped from her shoulder as he grabbed it and pulled. His heavy weight pinned her to the couch.
She tried to fight him. Her hands curved into dangerous claws and she tore at his face and neck with them, leaving long and deep scratches. It did not deter him.
His knees dug into the couch, straddling her. He grabbed her wrists, stopping her from tearing his face. He was very strong, even for a half-blood. He hurt her.
Jason snarled, saliva dripping from his lips. He looked completely inhuman, an animal.
“You’re hurting me!”
He asserted his dominance, grabbing at her naked thigh. He was trying to claim her. And she was resisting.
Over the years of their relationships, they had played little dominance games. The sex was always good; rough but good. This was no game, Rose quickly realized and she was scared of Jason’s strength. He could hurt her easily and there were no safety words here. This was the real deal.
Panic set in and she fought against him. She scratched more, digging her nails into his arms and drawing blood. Her demands for him to stop did not sink in. He kept going.
The wolf within her responded not with hostility, as the human Rose had hoped. Instead, she felt the familiar stirring of arousal. Rose groaned as the wolf began to take control again and lust took over. Now she wanted him to dominate her. Rose faded into the background as the wolf came out to play.
Jason tore her panties away, leaving them in tatters on the floor. As he positioned himself between her legs, she stopped fighting, struggling to undo the button and fly of his jeans.
When he entered her, she was wet and ready. She opened herself to him. The sex was hard and rough. His fingernails tore down her arms, leaving long, blood-red lines to her wrists. Hers dug into his back. The scent of blood and sex, of her heat and his sweat surrounded them.
He thrust into her hard, grunting loudly. He fucked her like he had something to prove, as if he needed to wash away Simon’s repulsive scent with his own.
The wolf did not object. She opened herself to his roughness, part of her enjoying the pain. She moaned his name against his shoulder and pushed upwards to meet his powerful thrusts. She grew close.
Their release came in violent shudders. Jason groaned and bit down on his lip, drawing blood. A moment later, Rose threw back her head with a final moan.
They were spent from it. Rose panted, staring up at the ceiling. The wolf had retired to her resting place. Jason bowed his head and moved away from her suddenly, slipping limp from her. She lowered her head to look at him. He stared at her, venom in his eyes. Immediately her hand went to her throat, remembering too late the mark Simon had given her. The skin must be healed by now, she thought desperately.
He released her wrists and the features of his face softened. His eyes became blue once again. She stared up at him, frozen where she was. Her bare breasts were exposed where the cloth of her shirt had torn. His hand rested on her chest, between them, against her heart.
“Jason?” Her voice trembled. He looked at her, eyes meeting. He seemed human again, comprehending. He said nothing.
“You’re hurting me,” she said again. His weight pressing into her abdomen did hurt. He realized this and lifted away from her stomach. He rested between her legs, still staring at her.
She wanted to say something but there were no words. What could they say to one another now?
Jason inched his way away from her, sitting up on the edge of the couch. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his upper arms. He turned away from her and made a disgusted noise in his throat. He stood quickly and snatched up the gun from the floor. He said nothing to her, but his anger was there again, heavy and thick like humid air.
Rose sat up, pulling her shirt over her exposed breasts. Wetness dripped onto the couch, her thighs sticky. “Jason?”
He didn’t answer. He disappeared in the kitchen. A moment later she heard his roar of anger and the sound of breaking glass. Tears rose to her eyes again. Quickly, she grabbed the clothes from the floor and left the room. She walked quickly down the hall and into the bedroom. She slammed the door and the sound was like a shot in the dark, loud and echoing in the emptiness.
* * *
She didn’t realize how late it was until she sat up. She wasn’t even aware she had fallen asleep. She had only wanted to lie on the bed and cry. Now, it was evening. No light penetrated through the curtains and the room was immersed in shadows.
Rose sat up, feeling a bit disoriented. She looked down at herself. She was still only partially clothed. The scr
atches and bruises on her arms had healed. Plenty of time had passed for that.
She finished undressing quickly and hurried to the shower. She began to wash, scrubbing away the dirty feeling. She hoped the hot, scalding water and strong soap would get rid of the smell of Simon.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. She dipped her head beneath the water and imagined it all washing away. Some of the water fell into her mouth and she swallowed it. She could still taste his cigarette-heavy breath. She couldn’t help thinking about it when the taste was still so fresh.
She vomited before she could stop herself. The bile spewed from her, splattering along the shower wall. She doubled over, heaving. Rose grabbed the wall, fingers splayed. She stared down as the bile swirled and washed away.
After a moment, she could breathe again. She spat the taste of the acidy vomit from her mouth and turned the water off. She dried off slowly, staring at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t just Simon that made her sick. Thoughts of Jason swirled to the forefront of her mind, but she closed her eyes, willing them away.
His actions confirmed her fears all along. Knowing he would lash out and hurt her, she had wanted to leave. Interrupted by Simon’s outburst and her subsequent kidnapping, she hadn’t left by her own will. Now, they were back where they left off. Jason was pissed and she was ready to go.
He had crossed the line by hurting her physically. Emotional pain was another matter. She had wanted to leave before he did anything more, but now the damage was done. In the mirror, she stared at her arms. The marks were gone, yet in her mind she could still see them there. She shuddered.
Rose dressed and pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. She grabbed her overnight bag from the closet and began to pack. As she stood at her dresser, she caught sight of her jewelry box and she sighed.
She hesitated before opening it and pulling out the necklace and rings. She slipped it back on, tucking it inside her shirt. Reminder or not, she couldn't bear to part with it. If anything, it could serve as her sliver of hope.
It was a thin sliver, but it was all she had.
When she was ready, she closed the door softly behind her and stepped down the hall. The first thing that greeted her when she stepped into the living room was the harsh scent of alcohol. She wrinkled her nose, pausing to turn.
His body was silhouetted against the light from the moon. He sat in a folding chair, his back to her. The whiskey bottle rested on his knee, the amber liquid sloshing when he lifted it. He took a drink of it and she saw his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
She took a deep breath, feeling the tenseness of her anger rising. She quelled it by turning away. She had nothing left to say to him, not even a goodbye. She readjusted the overnight bag and left, the front door slamming behind her.
* * *
He smelled her when she left the bedroom, all clean and artificially scented with soaps and perfumes. He didn’t turn to look at her because he couldn’t. She was leaving and this time, he didn’t have a problem with it.
He drained the last of the Jack Daniel’s in three quick gulps and tossed the bottle aside. It shattered on the patio. The sound of a car engine—Simon's car—roared and gravel crunched as Rose pulled it into reverse and started out the driveway. Jason listened for a long moment, until the car engine was a faint hum and there was nothing else but the sounds of the night surrounding him.
He had seen the mark on her throat. Simon had taken her, marked her as his own. Jason hated her for that. He knew she had given in. It wasn’t the scent alone that told him that, nor her confession: that had just been the confirmation. No, it had been that nagging little voice inside his psychic mind. Rose had betrayed him and he could never forgive her for it, just as he couldn’t forgive himself for hurting her.
His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands as he thought of what he had done. It had been the wolf, uncontrolled. It had been his anger and rage. He had never wanted to hurt her, but he had. He would do it again too, he feared, and that was why he didn’t stop her. She was better off without him.
As much as he was angered at her, Jason felt a pang of hurt once again. Betrayal always left a nasty sting. It would burn for a while, but the anger would return and Jason knew just what to do with that anger.
He couldn’t forgive Rose for what she had done, but he could sure as hell make himself feel better by doing the one thing he had wanted to do these past three years.
Simon Conner was going to die for all the right reasons and this time, Jason was going to make sure of it.
Chapter Seventeen
He awoke in the dim light from the overhead bulb. He was face down on the bed. Her scent was everywhere, surrounding and penetrating him. He groaned as he sat up.
He remembered what happened. It all began to come back to him slowly, but surely. She had attacked him and he had blacked out. He rubbed his throat where the metal chain had pressed into it. The skin was unmarked, there was no pain. How much time had passed?
Simon climbed out of the bed quickly. The door was wide open, bluish twilight creeping across the dirt floor. He stared at the open door for a moment, uncomprehending at first.
Rose was long gone.
He growled low in his throat, angry now. The bitch, he thought heatedly. She was his now. Hadn’t they mated? Hadn’t he marked her? And she was gone.
His shirt lay crumpled, wrinkled on the floor and he snatched it up. He slipped it on, smoothing it out over his chest. He checked his pockets. The keys were gone.
Of course they’re gone, he told himself, curling his lip back over his teeth in a hateful sneer. How else could the bitch have gotten out? She’s probably taken the car, too. He wasn’t too worried about that. He had ways of getting places without funds. He wasn’t upset about that.
No, he was angry that she was gone, angry that she had overpowered him and made a fool of him. He would get her back, he was certain of that. And he would find Jason too. It would be best to get him out of the picture and soon. After all, he had been waiting three years for it.
A tingle went through him at the thought of revenge. He could already taste the blood as he ripped his throat out. He chuckled. It was a good fantasy, one he knew would be coming true shortly.
Rose was predictable. She would run home to her mate. They would be at the cabin. He would find them there. Would they be expecting him? Probably not. She may be stupid enough to think she killed him. That would give him the edge.
He didn’t want to think on it anymore. He acted upon it instead, grabbing his cigarettes from the desk and stuffing them into his pocket. He left the basement room, pulling the door shut behind him. The air was stale. It still smelled of burnt wood from the fire all those years ago. He also smelt something else, more familiar. He had marked his territory here, but the urine smell was beginning to fade. All weres would have to recognize it for what it meant: Stay away. I own this. He wondered, for a moment, if Rose had noticed the smell. Had it excited her even more? The thought made him shiver. He’d have to mark this territory again, later, when she was here again.
He stopped once he climbed the steep incline and stood in the room that had once been the kitchen. The house was nothing but a shell. Blackened timbers remained where the walls once were. Weeds and grass grew from the ground through cracks in the ruined foundation beyond the basement. A few trees had grown so it resembled a jungle.
He admired the aftermath of his handiwork. He hadn’t expected the fire to burn as fast or as violently as it had, but the end effect was perfect.
A slight grin tugged the corners of his mouth up. He ran a hand along one of the timbers. He looked down at the blackened char on his fingertips, rubbing it into his skin.
He didn’t think much about his parents. He had almost forgotten all about them. Until he mentioned it to Rose, they hadn’t crossed his mind for years. He didn’t regret killing them. They deserved it. Everyone he had ever killed deserved it. There was one more he had to kill, one that really d
eserved it.
Simon wasted no more time on recollections and hurried off the lot. There was only one other house on this side of the street. It was run down, the east side covered in vines, with paint peeling from the front door and a missing porch step. Simon figured it was empty. It was just as well. He didn’t really want anyone to see him sneaking out of this place in the dead of night.
There was a small patch of forest across the street, a place that might’ve had the chance to become a park, had there been funding and neighborhood initiative. It was the closest thing he had had to a forest growing up. He thought of it fondly, remembering. He shook the distracting thoughts from his head. He had to get to the cabin. He had to get Rose back. He had to kill Jason. There would be time for remembering later. Perhaps he could bring Rose back here, show her what it was really like to be with an animal…
Again, Simon dismissed the thoughts. A car was approaching far down the road. He hurried toward the pavement, crouching down low behind an overgrown hedge to wait. The vehicle’s engine increasingly grew louder. It passed him by, taillights burning red as it slowed to a crawl, then stopped completely at the cross-section stop sign.
Simon was quick, using his werewolf speed to reach the driver’s door moments later. The driver, a young thin man in glasses, looked undoubtedly surprised when Simon grabbed the door and pulled it open.
He didn’t need to say anything. He grabbed the guy by the arm and pulled him out of the car, snapping his seatbelt in two. The car, a newer model of a Ford Taurus, lurched forward and once more began to crawl as the man’s foot was pulled off the brakes.
Simon didn’t hesitate. He drew his fist back and hit the man across the jaw. The strength of it amazed even him. The man went down, out cold, his jaw askew, broken. He kicked him once in the ribs, to make sure. When the man didn’t move, he pushed him out of the way with his foot then jogged to catch up with the rolling car.
It made its way into the ditch and stopped. Simon jumped into the driver’s seat and hit the gas. The tires spun on the dirt, kicking up huge clods of it and throwing it onto the pavement and the unconscious man lying in the middle of the road.
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