The Longing of Lone Wolves

by Lana Pecherczyk

  She has a will of her own.

  I like it.

  She is soft beneath your hands. Feminine. Juicy.

  I need it.

  “You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.

  Keeping his lips on her, he unlocked his jaw and smelled fresh blood. He’d broken skin. His musk was all over her. Anyone scenting her now would know she belonged to him, that she was under his protection. This was a wolf village. They’d all know. Pain and regret hit him hard in the chest. He hadn’t meant to mark so deep. He shouldn’t have gone so far, so irrevocably without conscience, yet he couldn’t let go of her, couldn’t bring himself to lift his lips from her.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

  He was sorry because the pain he’d just inflicted on her flesh was nothing to how she’d feel when his curse broke down and he inevitably died. He’d essentially ruined her chances of mating again. His scent would take months, maybe years to completely come off. No male would want her with the scent of an alpha on her.

  A part of him didn’t care.

  She was his, and he was hers.

  He liked it.

  He wanted her.

  He was a sick, selfish bastard.

  No denying it now. There it was, his mark, his bite, glistening under the light of the moon, clear in the night as it would be during the day. His inner wolf couldn’t be prouder, even though deep down inside he knew it wasn’t the blue marking of a Well-blessed union. That his curse would never lift. That he’d ruined her.

  But even as the destructive thoughts hammered against his skull, blood heated in his veins, and desire mounted in his heart. A deep inhale of her intoxicating scent and he forgot where they were. His tongue darted out and lapped her wound. He laved and cared for the injury he’d made, the only one she’d ever suffer by his hands, teeth, or words.

  She stiffened. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry.” I’m not sorry. He kept repeating the words against her skin, licking and laving while his hands moved to bind her stomach and pull her against him, to grind the sweet curve of her ass against the aching need between his legs.

  “Rush,” she protested, squirming. “Let me move. What’s going on? We should be out of here.”

  “No one can see us,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

  He growled and reversed their positions, flattening the length of his body against hers. Pushed against the wall, she had nowhere to go. And since they were still touching, flesh against flesh, neither of them were visible to any passersby who dared leave their dwellings after dark. Just as well, Rush couldn’t take his eyes from the bountiful breasts bound by the tightness of her blouse. Lowering his lashes, he had trouble resisting. If he didn’t get her home soon, he would take her against the wall. But she deserved better. He’d give her good memories, not hurried.

  “Touch me, Clarke,” he compelled, blind with desire.

  Her hand lifted to his chest, to stroke his pecs through the woolen sweater, and then… she shoved him. Hard. He didn’t budge, but it was enough to get his attention, to snap him out of the mating haze gripping his senses. She stomped on his foot.

  “Get off me.” Her cry came out strangled and thick.

  Still inches apart, their gazes clashed. To his horror, he found hers glistening with tears.

  “You’re my mate.” He frowned, as if that explained everything.

  “What does that even mean? And…” She pushed again, but he wouldn’t budge. “It doesn’t give you the right to come onto me like this… here. To force me… Right after…”

  A slap stung Rush’s cheek, and he stood back, shocked. Putting his palm to the burning side of his face, he blinked at her.

  “And you bit me!” she hissed, hand covering the mark on her neck. Her bottom lip trembled, but she lifted her chin. “Why did you bite me?”

  “Shh,” he hissed. “People can hear you now.”

  There was no one around, but wolf shifters had very good hearing. Thaddeus might have forgotten their previous interaction due to the curse, but there was always the possibility of new interactions.

  “I don’t care,” she hissed back, but she lowered her voice. “Why did you bite me?”

  “That bite saved your life.”

  “It’s more than that, you arrogant pig.” Her nostrils flared as she took him in, and Rush hated it—the look in her eyes—she acted like she didn’t know him. “You look like you want to eat me.”

  His lashes lowered. Yes, he did. He stepped toward her again with a lazy grin curling his lips.

  “Stop,” she warned, a palm to his chest. “What’s gotten into you?”

  And oh, how it burned. Her imprint scorched through to his hammering heart, making itself a permanent fixture. His inner wolf howled in frustration. It wanted to claw its way to her. Couldn’t she see?

  “I’ll never stop hungering for you, Clarke. Even in my death, I’ll be thinking of you.”

  “Is this what all wolves are like?” The shake in her voice gave him pause. “Is this why you have a law against unsanctioned breeding?”

  “What?” Coldness seeped in. The light leached from the night sky.

  The fire in her eyes had become twisted. “Unsanctioned breeding. That’s what they told me at the tavern. A crime punishable by death. They made it sound like a survival thing, but I’m not so sure anymore. This world is insane. Unsanctioned breeding, my ass. It’s just another term for a woman being forced.”

  His world closed in. His mouth dried. “I didn’t. I’m not…”

  He backed up.

  She’s not wolf. She didn’t understand. She thought he was as beastly as his uncle. Thaddeus may never have been caught for unsanctioned breeding, but that was because he killed everyone he screwed. Clarke thought Rush was the same, and that’s why he was cursed. Clarke, who could see the truth in everyone. This was his heart laid bare, and she believed it was made of the same inky substance as his uncle’s.

  “If I didn’t need to keep you safe,” he murmured. “I would never have started the mating process with you.”

  He realized his mistake the moment her brows lifted.

  “Clarke,” he held his hand out. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Oh really? I don’t know what to believe. Because you’ve said since the start that I’m a filthy human and you should just kill me and be done with it. How was it Thaddeus put it, humans are only good enough to use for sport, isn’t that right?”

  “I am not my uncle.” His fingers balled into fists. “And you need to stop comparing me to him.”

  “You’re not explaining anything! How else am I going to take it?”

  “Obviously I want you.” He gestured to the still present bulge in his pants. “Regardless of the shape of your ears.”

  “The shape of my ears?” she scoffed. “Yeah. Real nice. Well, I hope you die from blue balls. You deserve it.” She walked away, paused and then turned back to him. “And for the record, I was only coming to find you because I had a vision about Thaddeus being in town. Stupid me for thinking you needed my help.”

  “Yes, stupid you. I don’t need help. No one can see me.”

  “That’s what you said before the White Woman took you,” she said and then continued away.

  “Stop.” He launched at her, took her wrist and jerked her back to him. He forced her to hold his hand. “I release you from our bargain, Clarke.”

  A tingling zipped from his palm to his elbow, and then an emptiness haunted his hand. One more sliver of mana had been expended, and another set of blue glyphs appeared. The itch of it crept up his neck. His curse shifted. The veil thinned. Death waited for him, just outside the periphery of his control. But none of it compared to the loss he felt, the ache in his chest when she simply removed her hand from his and glared with disappointed eyes. Then she walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Clarke strode two steps, and then spun back with another harsh wor
d on the tip of her tongue. She stopped. Rush was gone. In a blink, he’d blended into the shadows and disappeared in a way she’d not thought possible for one with such bright hair. Her hand went to her neck, to where he’d bitten her. It was tender, but strangely not painful. And she felt… she wasn’t sure what she felt, only that she had an inexplicable urge to find him.

  She took a few more steps toward where she saw him last. She willed her movements to quieten as she came back to the barracks building Thaddeus had disappeared into. And then she stopped, listened and watched. She ducked beneath a wall of overhanging jasmine and hoped they weren’t the same kind of vine that ate butterflies. When nothing reached out and took hold of her, she narrowed her focus on the room to see if she could feel out whether Rush had gone back in, but all she sensed beyond the big wooden door was ill omens. Nothing good existed there.

  The buzzing feeling in her chest was the opposite of how Rush made her feel, when he wasn’t being a pushy jerk. Even then, her emotions clogged her throat with confusion. Being in this world, in this foreign time, became suddenly overwhelming.

  Why did he have to ruin the budding friendship they’d carved out? Was the biting a claiming of some kind? Did it come with proprietary rights to her body? Was that how they did things in this time? The modern woman in her revolted, but then maybe it had nothing to do with modernity. Maybe it was the fact the last time she’d been “claimed” by a man, she’d allowed him to distort her life. All because she was afraid to be alone. Afraid that, like her mother had thought, there was something truly wrong with her.

  Her stomach fluttered in confusion. She liked Rush. Was attracted to him. So much. The fae wouldn’t get out of her head. But she’d be damned if another man, male, whatever this world had, demanded her body in a way she wasn’t ready to give. Maybe it had been stupid to come down to the gate and see for herself if Thaddeus had arrived, but she had to see. To make sure it was real, and not a fancy.

  Anxiety and yearning tugged a knot in her heart. Both emotions at once. He’d bitten her—that hurt—but then he’d released her from the bargain, and that relieved. The glow of his curse creeped up his neck, and that had alarmed her. The moment she’d turned and lost sight of him, her anger had waned. For some reason he’d needed her help so much that he bargained her free will for it. He was ashamed of his behavior. There were things he wasn’t telling her, and it was high time he did.

  He said fae couldn’t lie.

  Deciding to confront him, once and for all about his motivations, Clarke crossed to the other side of the street and kept to the shadows as she passed the barracks. With one eye in the direction the bad vibes came from, and one eye ahead, she almost missed the familiar face through the barracks window. She took two steps before it registered. She stopped. Tensed. And cranked her neck back to face the window.

  There, through the glass pane and deep in conversation with other fae, was an unforgettable man from her time. A long face and small jaw, he had always reminded her of some kind of bird. She’d made the mistake of dismissing him as unimportant once and lived to regret it. Bones. That man was a sadist for sale. He worked for the Void. And now he was here, in this time, speaking with the vilest fae Clarke had met.

  More of a conversation she’d had came back to her. She was sitting in that warehouse room with the nuclear codes before her. Bones was at another chair, holding Laurel’s fingers. And Bishop was laughing.

  “Tell me my future, babe,” he’d said.

  “You’re going to die.”

  Bishop laughed. “Then tell me how to cheat death.”

  The part she’d forgotten was Bones’ mumbled, “We already know.”

  Cold ice grew in the pit of her stomach. She’d never forget that face as long as she lived. And there he was, just like her, a thawed remnant of the past. Her nightmare had been a true vision. But if he was there, then Bishop could be there. Worse, the Void could be there. Everyone who had a hand in the apocalypse could be back. And just like her, they could have developed magical abilities.

  Jolting into action, Clarke ran, fear nipping at her heels. She had to get back to the inn. She had to tell Rush.

  But would he be there when she arrived?

  Panic gripped her throat as she charged into the inn. She raced through the tavern, up the stairs and skidded to a halt as she crested the final step. Rush sat with his back against the door, long legs bent, and head in his hands. His gaze lifted, met hers, and held.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here,” she admitted.

  A flash of something washed over his expression, too brief to catch the meaning. His voice came out gravelly. “I can’t leave you now, even if I wanted to.”

  Clarke wanted to say the same thing, but he already knew. She’d tried to leave him. The frustrating fae had kidnapped, tricked, and compelled her to do his bidding, and yet she still couldn’t find it in her to walk the other way.

  “What’s wrong with us?” she whispered. “Why can’t we leave each other?”

  A look from his eyes to her neck said it all. They were mated. Whatever that meant. Maybe it happened long before he put his mark there. A link had always existed between them. She would find out what it meant, but first…

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” She pulled the key from her pants pocket and nudged him with her boot to move. “Come inside and we’ll talk.”

  He tensed, but didn’t move. He stared up at her with a challenge in his eyes as though he spoiled for a fight.

  “You’re so stubborn, Rush. Just shift aside and let me in.”

  Eventually, he swallowed and got to his feet until he stood with his hands in his pockets, big body looming next to her.

  Clarke opened the door and went inside. Casting the key onto the table near the fire, she noted the bath had been removed while she was out, and a complimentary bottle of liquor, hard cheese and dried fruit was left on the small round table. She put her hands on her hips and began pacing the small length of the opulent room.

  “I saw someone from my time. A very not nice someone.” She bit her nails. “He’s here, thawed, just like me. And he worked for an awful man. I saw the same awful man in my nightmare that day out on the path.”

  She expected Rush to take a seat, but he didn’t. He bolted the door and dipped his hand in his breeches pocket. He handed something to her.

  “It’s the portal stone. You should take it and head to the Order. They’ll want to know.”

  She eyed it warily. “You’re coming with me. I thought you need me to talk for you.”

  Although, he still hadn’t revealed why.

  His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “And where will you go then?” she demanded.

  He only lowered his gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe back to the cabin.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “You heard me. I don’t think you’re leaving. We’ve both admitted it. Neither of us can deny this thing between us. It was there before you bit me. It’s been there from the moment I laid eyes on you in the woods.”

  He flinched.

  “And for the record,” she continued, “I’m well aware there is something driving you to behave the way you do, and when I ask, you give me half-truths and avoidance. I want answers. So sit.” She pointed at the armchair facing the fire, still glowing with embers warm enough to keep the cool night air at bay.

  The fight seemed to leave him, and he went to the chair. Clarke poured both of them a small glass of liquor from the decanter and handed Rush a glass. He swirled the amber liquid and stared while Clarke kept the advantage of height and stayed standing. She tapped her finger on her glass, eyes glued to the harsh lines of the fae’s flawless profile as he grappled with words warring in his mind.

  “This is where you tell me why you are cursed,” she prompted.

  With a sigh, he shot back the drink and then sprawled low in the chair, stretching his long legs out to
ward the fire. He watched the tiny flames dance. Clarke replaced the glass he held with her hand. Just like she had with Caraway, she smoothed the lines made by the passage of time and tried to ease his nerves. Through it all he watched her intently.

  They shared an identical pattern on their fate lines. She pressed her smaller palm onto his larger one and marked the difference in size. He was so much bigger than her. Her fingers laced through his and squeezed.

  “What is it you’re afraid to tell me?” she asked.

  He frowned and then pulled away. “It’s not that I’m afraid. It’s that I’m… ashamed.”

  Clarke’s heart reached out to him. Whatever his secret was, it hurt. Deeply. She took the chair opposite him, next to the fireplace. The only light in the room came from low lit oil lamps in sconces around the room and the dying embers before them. Rush’s hard features seemed to soften in the glow. His white hair colored. And his cheeks looked flushed. For a moment, Clarke forgot he was a magical fae, part wolf, and just saw an ordinary man relaxing before a fire.

  “I fathered a child.”

  “Okay.”

  Maybe he expected something more from her because he glanced at her. She did her best to keep her features schooled to encourage him further.

  “I… uh… I didn’t know about the pregnancy until it was too late,” he said. “I’d long since given up my claim to be a breeding male, and was with the Guardians, at any point. I know I couldn’t save the mother, but I still feel as though I failed her.”

  “Did you know her long? The mother?”

  He shrugged. “It was a one time thing. Her name was Véda. She was there and willing when I came in after a hunt. I left the next day and didn’t come back until months later when I found her about to give birth, tied to an execution pole.”

  “Jesus.”

  “She confessed her plan had been to make it seem like a stranger had forced her. She thought that if I didn’t know, then nobody could hunt me down and punish me too. They’d either let her go because she was forced, or one of us would be there to care for the child. I suppose it was a good enough plan.”