“I just…” She released a long sigh. “I’ve realized everything’s spelled out for me. I don’t have any choices. I’ll spend the rest of my life at Wolf Pack Run, working for the ranch. What kind of life is that?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t even be able to marry who I choose. I have to pick an alpha wolf with a strong bloodline. ‘For the sake of the pack,’” she mimicked her father’s voice.
“It’s not the worst fate,” he offered.
“But what if I don’t want to marry an alpha?”
The thought of Mae, at only twelve, worried about marrying anyone confused him. He didn’t think about such things, even at fifteen. He guessed he’d always assumed when they were older, he would marry her.
She sank back onto the bed. “I want to make my own choices. I want adventure. I want to travel the world and make art. Not be stuck here on this ranch. I want…” She struggled to find the words.
“Freedom?” he offered. He lay down next to her, staring across the bed into those large green eyes, eyes that lately had been too sad. It made his chest ache. He couldn’t stand the sight of her pain.
Another round of tears gathered in her eyes as she nodded.
He gently swiped them away. When he drew his hand back, one of her eyelashes was stuck to his finger. “If you want freedom, I’ll give it to you,” he whispered. “Someday I’ll take you away from here, Mae. As far as you want to go.”
Her brow scrunched. “What about being packmaster? You’d lose your chance.”
His father’s blade lay on the bed between them.
“I’d give it up if that would make you happy. I swear it.” He extended his hand toward her, where her eyelash still clung to his finger.
She blew on it until it floated away. “I wished for it.”
“There’s no need to wish. I promise you.”
A smile curled across her lips, and he returned it, a feeling of triumph growing in his chest. But a sudden thump from down the hall startled them both. They sat up. Heavy footsteps drew near, and the color drained from Mae’s cheeks.
“Mae, what is it?” Jared asked.
“You have to go,” she whispered.
Jared blinked at her. She’d never kicked him out of her room. When they’d been small, they’d stayed up half the night together, huddled under her bedsheets, laughing and playing stupid games until the dawn broke and he slipped home again.
She shoved against his shoulder. “Jared, you have to leave now. You—”
“I’m not leaving you like this, Maeve.”
She looked terrified.
He’d never seen her so afraid.
The panic in her features grew. “Stay quiet then and close your eyes.” Using her wolf strength, she shoved him from the bed and into her open closet before she slammed the door shut behind him. She leaned against the frame.
A moment later, he heard the door to her room open.
“What are you doing?” The voice was an adult male, but not her father.
The thin reels of light from her nightstand shone through the wooden slats of the closet door, allowing Jared to see.
“Nothing,” Mae squeaked. She scurried to her bed. She sat down, moving the sheets to cover Jared’s blade.
The bedroom door clicked shut, and a massive figure stepped into view. It was only her uncle Buck, who lived down the hall. So why did Mae look so terrified?
“What’s this?” Buck asked, picking up Mae’s sketchbook. He glanced down at the drawing. “Is this Jonathan Black’s boy?”
Mae nodded.
“I told you, you need to stop fixating on him.”
“He’s my friend,” Mae said.
“He’s a weak excuse for a Grey Wolf, just like his father. He’d never be fit to be packmaster,” Buck scoffed.
Jared bit his tongue to stop himself from snarling.
Mae cringed as Buck ripped the drawing from the sketchbook, tearing it in two. The pieces dropped onto the floor before Buck eased onto the bed beside Mae with a satisfied smile.
Jared froze.
“Now, where were we?” Buck purred.
Jared would never forget the terror on Mae’s face as Buck lifted the hem of her nightgown. Buck’s large hand slid up her bare leg as Mae whimpered. Jared saw red. He’d kill the bastard.
Bursting from the closet, Jared lunged. He caught Buck off guard, knocking the alpha wolf to the floor. Jared’s fists pounded into Buck’s face, but Buck acted as if Jared were little more than an annoyance.
Rolling his weight on top of Jared’s, Buck gripped him by the throat. “You little fuck,” he snarled. Buck’s grip tightened until Jared struggled for air.
Mae was sobbing. “Leave him alone, Buck!”
Jared’s face burned from lack of oxygen as the sounds of Mae’s crying rang in his ears. She was yelling, pleading with Buck to stop, but Buck ignored her.
“Stop! You’ll kill him!” Mae shrieked.
As Jared’s vision grew dark around the edges, a tortured scream rang through the room. Suddenly, Buck seized. He released Jared, swaying slightly before he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Mae stood over Buck, shaking from head to toe as she clutched Jared’s blade in her hand. The bloodied knife slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the hardwood beside Buck.
“Jared.” Mae rushed to Jared’s side. She held him in her arms, rocking him and crying uncontrollably as Jared regained his breath.
“It’s okay, Mae. I’m okay,” he rasped. Thanks to her.
Everything he had, everything he was, was thanks to her. She had to know that.
Mae’s eyes darted between him and her dead abuser. “What have I done?” she breathed.
Suddenly, the door to Mae’s bedroom burst open. Her father, the packmaster, stood in the doorway. His dark eyes immediately fell to his dead brother…and then to Jared.
Jared didn’t think.
Forcing himself to his feet, he snatched his father’s bloodied knife from where Mae had dropped it. “I did it,” he said before Mae could utter a syllable.
“No,” Mae whispered. She clutched his arm.
But he couldn’t allow her to take the fall for this. Pack law was clear. Killing another Grey Wolf was a death sentence, or worse, an order to be cast from the pack…for good. Packmaster’s daughter or not, Mae would lose everything.
Jared couldn’t allow that to happen.
Mae had saved him in more ways than she knew, and now it was his chance to save her. He loved her. He had to protect her, risk everything for her.
“I did it,” he repeated. “I killed him.”
As his eyes met the packmaster’s, he only regretted he hadn’t killed Buck himself, because Jared had made a promise to Mae, to give her freedom, happiness, and that was what he would do.
No matter the cost.
He only hoped the packmaster would show him mercy, make his death quick, because if he didn’t, the sight of Mae’s quivering lip would haunt Jared for eternity…
As Rogue floated through his unconscious mind, despite death lingering over him as sure as the sun set in the west, he realized with stunning clarity that he could not die. Death held no power over him.
Because he had unfinished business to attend to…
Rogue jolted awake. The pain in his chest seared from the sharp movement, making him feel like he’d been torn in two. His eyes shot open as he struggled to draw breath. He was lying supine on his bed in the dark, the moonlight streaming in the window, the only light in the room. A cool summer breeze drifted in, causing the drapes to flutter along with the starched white linen canopy of the four-poster bed.
Though he was awake now, a presence still loomed, but instead of death lingering over him as he bled out on the forest floor, it was only Murta
gh who sat at his side.
“Good. Yer awake finally.”
“How long have I been out?” Rogue asked. His throat felt parched as though he was dehydrated.
“Two days,” Murtagh answered.
Rogue let out a groan. Which meant two days gone from their lead on the vampires. They would be working to find her, catch her—and with her escape, now he would be, too—and to add insult to injury, he had two more days of ranch work to catch up on. Not to mention, there was the little matter of all his plans for his fellow rogues going to shit, considering he’d lost the woman who was the key to saving them. Why the hell had she run? Slowly, he attempted to rise up onto his elbows.
“Don’t move, ye blasted numpty,” Murtagh hissed. “Yer bandages were just changed. Best not soak through them again.”
Rogue’s eyes darted down to his bare chest, where several large bandages were wrapped around his torso. There were no dark stains beneath, which meant he wasn’t still bleeding heavily, and given that he was breathing and conscious, he’d live. Lord knew he’d survived worse than a grizzly’s claws. Ignoring Murtagh’s warning, Rogue used his elbows to ease himself farther up on the pillow.
Murtagh grumbled his disapproval.
“I’ve saved your life more than once, and you’re a beast to take care of, so you’d best not complain,” Rogue shot back.
The movement caused a slight throb of pain, but with his true nature, it would soon be little more than a flesh wound. The scent of yarrow drifted from the linens. The plant was usually used for superficial injuries, but for a wolf, it provided assistance enough in slowing bleeding. Still, he’d been lucky. A few more hours out there in the woods with nothing to slow the blood flow, and his fate would have been questionable. Thank God, Murtagh had found him.
“Thanks, by the way,” Rogue grumbled to the Scot.
Murtagh cast him an amused grin. “It’s not me that saved ye and cared for ye.” The Highlander nodded over his shoulder.
Rogue followed his gaze to find Mae sitting in the antique armchair by his window, looking every bit as out of place in his bedroom as she likely felt. The clothes she wore, which she appeared to have borrowed from one of the maids, were spotted with blood—his blood—and from the looks of the bags under her large green eyes, it appeared she hadn’t slept in days.
Murtagh’s voice lowered to a whisper. “She’s hasn’t left yer side in two days. But ye think she does not ken who ye are? If not in her head, at least in her heart.”
Rogue’s eyes widened. He wasn’t certain he was seeing straight.
Mae had been trying to escape, so when he’d been attacked by the grizzly, he’d just naturally assumed…
But she was still here. With him. By his side and caring for him as Murtagh said.
Which means…
Something near the black hole in his chest stirred. He shook his head. Which means nothing, he chastised himself. She could have run back to her pack, told her brother everything, and let Maverick lead the charge in finding the antidote—cut out the middle man. It would have been a risk to her safety, but he knew she would have taken it after how he’d misled her. Yes, she was here, but not for him, not for Jared. She was here for the Rogue, for the dark persona he’d become over the years.
But why?
She’s not for you, and she never will be. The brutal memory of a still-boyish voice echoed in his head. Yet his eyes held hers. He expected her to look away, but she didn’t.
Murtagh cleared his throat before he stood and headed toward the door. “Right, then. Best be seein’ a man about a horse.”
Rogue shot the Scottish cowboy a glare. “Subtlety has never been your forte, Murtagh.”
The other wolf ignored him, casting him an annoying wink as he made his exit.
When the door clicked shut behind the Scot, Rogue watched Mae from his position on the bed, his eyes never leaving her. With Murtagh gone, Mae lowered her gaze and refused to look at him. Instead, she toyed with her hands, twisting them as if there were imaginary rings on her fingers as she stared out the window toward the darkened pasture. The moon cast a dim light on the ranchlands below.
Rogue could practically feel those small, delicate hands gripping his shoulders again. Her fingers had dug into his skin as he’d kissed her in a sharp and tantalizing scrape against his skin.
As a teenager, how many nights had he dreamed of having her alone in his room like this? Back then, he’d wanted little more than to kiss her, to be tender with her. It’d been a thrilling and exciting dream. Now, the thought of the two of them alone in a darkened room was almost as terrifying as it was tantalizing. Years of a life lived in the shadows had hardened him, and he no longer trusted himself to be gentle. Not in the way she deserved.
Alone in a darkened room with him was no place for a princess like her.
No matter how much he wished it.
With Murtagh no longer grumbling over his movement, Rogue eased himself out of the bed and stood. At first, his feet felt unsteady against the marble flooring, and his abdomen ached with the use of his healing muscles, but he quickly found his balance. The pain was minimal in comparison to what it’d been before, enough that he could ignore it, and he had to remind himself to take it easy for now. Come morning, he’d be as good as new.
He made his way to the open window, where Mae stared out into the night.
“Does it hurt?” Mae asked, breaking the silence. She nodded toward his chest.
She was uncomfortable with quiet, with being lost in her own thoughts, unless she had a graphite pencil in her hand. He’d always been eager to spend those silent moments with her, to watch the inner workings of her mind play out on her delicate face. He remembered that now.
He supposed some things never changed. “I’ve lived through worse,” he answered before he paused, considering her. “But never thanks to a Grey Wolf.”
The reminder that they were enemies bothered her. He read it in her face as clear as day. She lowered her eyes to her hands again.
“Why?” he asked.
“I overheard your and Murtagh’s security meeting, heard you say not to warn my packmates about the vampire attack. I…I jumped to conclusions. Murtagh already told me you’d planned to warn them in time. I’m sorry I—”
“Don’t apologize.”
He couldn’t stand her guilt. Not over the likes of him. He may have done the right thing this time, but she wasn’t wrong in thinking ill of him.
Not considering all that lay ahead.
“I didn’t mean why did you run.” With his well-deserved reputation, he more than understood it.
She glanced up at him. “I’m not sure what you mean then.”
“Why save me?” he asked.
The weighted question lingered between them. It highlighted the silent tension that crackled throughout the room.
“If you really thought me so cruel, you could have backed out, left me there on the forest floor.” He turned toward the night, his eyes scanning the dark sprawling hills of his ranchlands. “But you didn’t.”
Had she not saved him, he would’ve lain there for hours before Murtagh or any of his men found him, bleeding there on the forest floor before peacefully slipping into darkness. For a man like him, it was as peaceful a death as he could hope for. Not that he wished for it. He didn’t fear death, nor did he want it. He’d simply faced it so many times that he’d ceased to be afraid. In his world, it was hunt or be hunted—and he’d chosen to become the fiercest hunter of them all. While that might have made him a miserable son of a bitch, it gave him something to live for.
A purpose. A promise. And he’d sworn to himself years ago he wouldn’t draw his last breath until he’d seen that promise through. Rogue was a lot of things, but he was also a man of his word.
Mae didn’t answer. Instead, she stared out the window toward the stars
. “A friend once told me she saved a man’s life, even at risk to her own, because it was the right thing to do.” She turned back toward him. “I suppose that’s why.”
“It’s more than that.” Of that, he was certain.
She shifted in the seat of the armchair until she leaned forward. “You’ve saved my life twice now.” The hint of admiration in her eyes seared through him. “That counts for something.”
He shook his head. “We’ve been through this. I’m no hero.”
“And yet you keep playing one. At least when it suits you.”
He retreated from the window, crossing the room toward his dresser. Reaching inside, he pulled an old shirt from the depths of his drawer and tossed it to her. At the very least, he wouldn’t make her sit there covered in his blood.
She caught the shirt and glanced down at it before she met his gaze again. “Thank you.” Her sweet voice was barely above a whisper. He wasn’t certain whether it was the shirt or saving her that she was thanking him for. But in any case, it stirred something in him. Something soft and foreign.
He needed some cold water on his face—and fast. Before she made him forget himself.
He stepped inside his master bathroom, coming to stand in front of the sink. “Saving you twice before didn’t seem to matter when you were making a run for it.” His tone was harsh, accusatory, even to his own ears. She likely thought that was due to anger at his injuries. But it wasn’t. It was hurt. Hurt that the reason she’d saved him wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.
Because I know who you are, Jared, because I love you. I always have.
That was what he’d longed for her to say.
But he knew better than to hope for such things. Those words would never be spoken between them.
He’d lost that chance twenty years earlier.
From her position on the armchair, she could see straight into where he stood. She watched him with those bright-green eyes. “You kidnapped me.”
He twisted the faucet handle. Water rushed from the spout, and he splashed the cool liquid over his face. Rogue snagged a nearby towel and dragged the material over his cheekbones, his scars.
Wicked Cowboy Wolf Page 10