Her simmering anger erupted. “And do you, Hawes? Fuck any woman you want, even if she’s mated?”
He laughed at her. “Are you trying to understand pack behaviour, Grace, or are you trying to understand me? Do you think once we’re mated, that you will be the only one I will ever bed?”
Grace stood up. “We’re not mated yet, you bastard,” she snarled at him as she paced to the door and flung it open. “Anything could happen between now and then.” And then she yelled into the trees, “Mersin, take me to these women who will guard my fucking virtue. I don’t want to stay here with this asshole.”
Hawes grabbed her by her arm and flung her around to face him. “Do not disrespect me, woman or I will discipline you.”
Grace crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “What? How does the big bad wolf discipline his unruly mate-to-be? Nip her?”
Hawes yanked her inside and slammed the door shut, bolting it so no one could walk through. “Where has your fear gone, Grace? You were a whimpering little puppy less than an hour ago and now you’ve become a bold, foul-mouthed bitch!”
Grace wondered that too. She felt her primacy growing as the day slid by, felt a savage and raw hunger. Her emotions were swirling in her, heated and destructive. She was fuming because of Mel. Because of the bitch’s blatant proposition to Hawes in front of her. And furious because Hawes made no promises to stay faithful to her. And justified because, if she let herself believe the prophecy, it freed her of her social constraints. She was angry, now, not afraid. Livid that Eric had died, that it didn’t have to happen. This Hawes, her mate, had let it happen.
“Where were you?” she seethed at him. “Where the fuck were you, mate? When my friend was being pulverized? When I was running for my life, blindly through the forest? Why did you show up just as I was about to be raped and stop it then?”
Hawes grinned ferally towering over her, staring down at her. “You think I’m your knight in shining armour, do you?” He laughed, deeply, derisively. “I wanted to watch, Grace. I wanted to see how it would play out. Wanted to see what you were made of.”
Grace faced him, her hands clenched tightly. “You sonofabitch! You let Eric die!”
He stood inches from her, his eyes piercing hers. “Make no mistake about who I am, pup. Your professor would have died either way. If not them, then me. He thought he could take what belonged to me.”
Grace lost it then, her fist crashing into his face before he could block it. “You goddamn prick!” she cried. “He didn’t have to die. He never laid a hand on me.”
Hawes grabbed her hair, forcing her head back as he wrapped his fingers around her neck. “He had lust in his heart, Grace.” Then he dropped the hand to the rope at her waist, unknotting it deftly. “And it’s time you learned respect for your Alpha.”
Grace kicked out at him savagely as the pants pooled at her feet. He effortlessly lifted her by her waist and hauled her to the bed, seating himself then flipping her over so that her belly was pushed against his groin and his thighs. She felt his erection pressing into her. “Are you kidding me?” she screamed, fury coursing through her. She flailed at him ineffectively, fists flying back at him, feet kicking out. But he held her down, her strength no match for his. Then he swatted her bare ass, savagely, with the open palm of her hand. “Fuck!” She jerked as the pain lanced through her. Her ass had been the last unbruised part of her body.
“Stop swearing, Grace,” he warned as he slapped her again, with as much force as the first.
“You fucking sonofabitch!” She bucked against him, tried to hammer him in his nuts, but he grabbed her arms and brought them to her back, securing her wrists tightly between one of his hands.
With the other, he spanked her. Repeatedly. She cursed and raged, and then after a dozen more strokes, she cried and begged. “Stop, please stop.”
He whacked her once more, his breathing jagged, matching her sobs. Then he brought his hand to her ass and rubbed it, forcing a whisper of pleasure into the pain. She whimpered. He drew a finger to her vagina and she jolted from the touch. “You’re wet, Grace. I think you enjoyed it.”
“No,” she snapped, her humiliation goading her anger back to the forefront. “Let me up.”
He didn’t. He drew his fingers through her hair, then fisted it, forcing her head back, forcing her face to his. “We’re going to the village. You will not leave my side, not once, not for anything. Until you are handed off. Keep your eyes down. Do not look at the men. Do not talk to them. If you say anything disrespectful to me, I will beat you. Not privately behind closed doors, but in front of the others. Everyone will expect me to do so.”
Grace didn’t want to cry, but the tears slid down her cheeks anyway. “I hate you,” she said, through gritted teeth.
His eyes flashed his displeasure and Grace thought he might hit her again, but he let her go, pushed her off his lap to the floor and stood. “You will beg for me soon enough, mate. Get dressed.”
Hawes stalked to the door and yanked it open. Mersin was there. “Fix her,” he snarled. “Just her face. Leave the rest untouched, especially her ass. I want her to remember what happens when she displeases me.”
Chapter 6
Grace felt almost whole again after Mersin finished administering to her. Almost, because Hawes had dealt her some vicious blows and her burning ass was a reminder that he ruled her. He led her from the house, turned his back to her and walked down the path towards the village, not considering she might not follow him. Such arrogance and justified, she thought, as she meekly trailed behind him. With each step came a painful tug. With each tug came a bolt of pleasure, of lust that was incongruent with the pain. Desire pooled between her thighs, forcing a deep longing for her mate-to-be that stole her breath from her.
The village was a surprise to her. It was like any other town she’d ever been in. Almost. The houses were roughly-hewn log cabins, but most had gardens, now farrowed as the season had passed. There was an outdoor market where goods were being sold. Pumpkins and squashes and other winter root vegetables littered the tables along with preserves and jams. Butchers and bakers and craftspeople manned tables while groups of villagers chatted to one another. The market extended into a hall which was attached to what appeared to be a large town centre. It was… almost civilized. This gave Grace hope that there might be a means of escape. That she may be able to phone for help. Maybe the women would be sympathetic to her. Maybe they would help her.
But as Hawes paraded her through the throng, as the chatter died down, it was apparent that the women were not sympathetic. The older ones were appraising, the younger, down-right hostile. Grace could see it in their postures, in their eyes as Hawes pulled her by them, his hand clutching her wrist as if she were the Stanley Cup of she-wolves. The men greeted Hawes, never fully meeting his eyes, they seemed respectful of him, not fearful. None gave her more than a cursory glance. They knew better.
The women greeted Hawes too, stared openly at her. She was his mate, they were jealous of her, the usurper of their Alpha. Was Hawes nuts to leave her with them? A slice of fear cut her to the bone. These were full-blooded wolves. She had no defence against them. She stumbled behind him, trying to keep her eyes down, but trying to stay proud at the same time. She wanted to emulate his arrogance. After all, if he was the king, then she was his queen. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
He turned up the walk of a small house. A tall, heavy-set woman stepped out onto the front porch and watched their approach with curious eyes. She was old, at least 60, maybe more. Her weary face was weathered and her short hair, dry and grey. She was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved sweater that hung loosely on her. Her strength rolled from her, not just physical but spiritual as well. Grace felt diminished in her presence as Hawes stepped up to her.
“Cordea.” He acknowledged her with a nod to his head.
“This is her?” Cordea stepped down off the porch and approached Grace, arms crossed
over her chest, nostrils flaring. “Not much to look at it, hey?”
Irritation rippled through Grace. She always thought she was much to look at. Long dark hair, lush and wavy, liquid toffee-brown eyes, nice toned body, reasonably stacked. Sure, she’d been beaten, near-drowned and spanked, but still. Maybe none of that counted here, but Mel, she was pretty fucking much to look at with her blond hair and her big blue eyes. Fuck.
Hawes seemed to sense Grace’s irritation as his hand tightened around her arm. “Keep her here, Cordea. Until the Hunter’s Blood Moon. Keep her safe and get her ready for the ceremony.”
He turned abruptly, walked away without a single word to her and joined a knot of men, folding into the circle like he was the final piece of a puzzle. Grace stood there awkwardly in front of the woman, Cordea, who was still eyeing her up. “I’m Grace.” She ventured. “Thank you for taking me into your home.”
Cordelia gazed into her eyes, no, gazed past her eyes. Assessing her. Knowing her. She nodded and turned. “Come in. Let’s have tea.”
Grace followed her into the house, closing the door behind her. The cabin was cozy, much nicer than Hawes’ shack, with a soft couch and chair crowded around a stone fireplace, a fire smouldering in the hearth, warming the air. Blankets, furs, crafts littered the surfaces. Cordia pointed to the couch, “Sit there. The chair’s mine.” She flashed a smile that softened the lines on her face and then turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on and we can talk.”
A flare of pain burned through Grace as she dropped her ass onto the plush cushion of the sofa. It reminded her of Hawes and for a reason she couldn’t fathom, she found herself missing him, feeling bereft, hollow, needy. Despite his ill treatment of her, she longed for him, wanted him on her, inside her, fucking her, claiming her. Her desire bounced off her anger and her disbelief, and she whimpered. She was starting to accept the prophecy and that terrified her. She was helpless against his strength and now helpless against nature, against her body’s whims.
Cordea returned with some cups and a small jug with milk, setting both on a well-used coffee table. Then she sat in her chair. “You appear confused,” she said.
Grace leaned forward. She needed to seize this opportunity to find out as much as she could. She needed Cordea to be her friend. “I am confused. He… Hawes… he said…”
“That you’re his mate? That you are part-wolf?”
Grace nodded.
“So where’s the confusion?” Cordea didn’t sound as impatient as her words implied.
“It’s just…” Grace hesitated, then blurted. “This is new to me and I can’t understand it. I’m afraid of Hawes. I’m afraid to be his mate. And this prophecy… how could it be true?”
Cordea chuckled, warm and rich. “It’s true enough. Hawes is my nephew. His mother was my sister. She was stupid and naïve, thinking she was in love with Nordil, clearly a hellhound. She was rebellious though. Not a soul in the world could have made her understand how dangerous he was.”
“And he killed her.”
The blue faded in Cordea’s eyes as she nodded. “Yes. My only sibling murdered. My nephew was stolen.” The whistle of the kettle, merrily incongruent with the conversation, declared that tea was imminent. “Excuse me.” Cordea stood and walked into the kitchen.
The kettle quieted and a half minute later, Cordea re-entered the living room with a faded, cracked ceramic teapot in hand. She set it on the table and picked up the thread of the conversation as she reseated herself. “I thought Hawes dead for the longest time, but 17 years later he shows up on my doorstep. I was overwhelmed.” Her words faded momentarily as she checked the emotion in her voice. “He was damaged, but intact. But he’s fearsome, more so than a mere werewolf.”
Grace sucked in a breath. “How?”
“He’s half hell-hound. His wolf is stronger, bigger, more dangerous. His pack loves him, respects him, but they also fear him. His bites, his claw-marks never heal. And if he kills, it’s rumoured his victims’ souls never rest.”
Grace shuddered remembering the death of the bikers, almost feeling sad for them. Almost. “How could you know that?”
Cordea shrugged. “I’m a seer. Sometimes I know with certainty. Sometimes I think I know but can’t be sure. Sometimes I take an educated guess. Like now, about you.”
“What about me?” Grace asked warily.
“The approach of the Hunter’s Blood Moon is affecting you. It knows, I know that you are becoming fertile, in heat. Your mind and body will take you over and you won’t be able to resist Hawes.”
“I can’t anyway, according your legends.”
Cordea gazed at Grace. “You’re a pretty girl, Grace. You are fortunate to be the Alpha’s mate. The young women here would kill for that honor.”
Grace snorted. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Ahh, I shouldn’t exaggerate. No one will touch you. It would be a death sentence.”
Grace thought back to the incident in the forest, when Edon gave her his jacket. “Is he benevolent? Hawes? Does he forgive?”
Cordea nodded. “He’s well-respected. He’s a strong leader, organizes his pack, provides for them, watches over them. As his mate, you must be respectful and subservient. He’s your Alpha.”
“I’m not really the subservient type.”
“I think you’re channelling the Hunter’s Blood Moon. I can sense your kindness, your willingness to embrace and conform. Who you are now will pass after tomorrow night.”
“So then, Seer,” Grace said, her voice brittle and a little angry at being dismissed so easily. “This prophecy, a child, a boy who will rule three realms. What’s the truth?”
Cordea shrugged. “Who knows what the truth is. These tales take on a life of their own. Each retelling gets bigger and uglier.”
“As I thought. It’s bullshit.”
Cordea narrowed her eyes. “How can you think that this prophecy has no value. The legend was here before you and look now, you’ve arrived as expected. He’s waited 10 years for you. You’re the exclamation mark.”
Grace picked up the teapot and filled Cordea’s teacup and then hers. She added a drop of milk and then straightened up, teacup in hand. After she’d taken a small sip, she said, “Even if this is true, even if it’s ordained, do you not think it unwise to create a being that cannot be killed, cannot be controlled?” Grace thought she was talking funny, like she was a seer too, of the highest order. Fucking Hunter’s Blood Moon. If she got out of this, if she somehow managed to get home, she would never again leave her apartment during a full-moon phase.
“You mean the child?” Cordea took a drink of her tea as Grace nodded.
“Hawes says that we will raise him well, but what does that even mean, Cordea? First, there is no “we”. Hawes needs me to birth the child and then what? I become unnecessary, an unwanted appendage, someone who will challenge him until he’s had enough. Then who will ensure the boy is raised well? Hawes, who has no empathy, no feelings? Mersin, who cowers under Hawes? You?”
Grace watched as Cordea’s hand trembled slightly, the tea in her cup sloshing over the rim and into the saucer. “You must make him love you.”
Grace grinned almost ferally. “I don’t think he has room for love in his heart. I don’t think he has a heart.”
A quiet rap at the door disrupted the flow of conversation. Cordea looked up but didn’t rise. “Come in,” she called, her voice strained and tired.
Mel stepped into the room. Anger flared in Grace as she saw the pretty blond woman. She tensed, expecting an attack. Expecting the fucking bitch to pounce on her and tear her throat open.
“Ah, you two have met. The wolf’s lover and his wife-to-be.” Cordea’s nostrils flared and Grace understood that the old woman could smell the hostility.
Mel cast her eyes to the floor. “I’ve come to apologize to Grace. My behaviour earlier was inexcusable.”
Grace narrowed her eyes. “Have a change of heart?” She was not qui
te ready to believe this blonde-haired vixen’s honeyed words. Honeyed? She shook her head. Was she in a fucking fairy-tale?
Cordea swept her hand to the teapot, “Get yourself a teacup and join us, Mel. Then you can grovel.”
Mel did as Cordea told her, rustling in the kitchen for a minute, then returning with a cup, filling it and settling herself on the opposite end of the couch from Grace. “I was jealous, Grace,” she admitted. “You’re so beautiful and it brought out my ugly side. I was his favourite and now… well… once he has you, no other will satisfy him.” She blinked her eyes and a few tears escaped.
Grace bit at her lower lip as she studied Mel. “You’re beautiful, Mel. Why aren’t you mated?” Her disbelief as the words that slipped from her mouth convinced her she was falling for this delusional shit. She was sounding like one of them, a wolf, the alpha’s queen. FUCK!
Mel shrugged and ran her fingers under her eyes. “I think because I thought Hawes would grow tired of waiting for you and formally make me his mate.”
Cordea snorted. “Mel, you’re an idiot.”
“Cordea!” Grace exclaimed, surprised at the woman’s bluntness.
Cordea glared at Grace, staring her down, then turned her attention to Mel. “You’re young and full of silly notions. Hawes is no prize. You would be miserable with him and he would grow tired of you. Go find a real mate, someone that will support you, treat you well, love you forever!”
More tears slipped from Mel’s eyes. She placed her teacup on the table and stood up. “I should go.”
Grace rose and walked Mel to the door. She put her arms around the sad woman and gave her a gentle hug. “It took courage for you to come here and apologize. Even if you don’t think it now, you’re lucky to be free of Hawes. You’ll find a man that will truly love you.”
Mel hugged her back. “You’re too kind to me, Grace. I don’t deserve it, but I think you’re right. I’ve known for a while, just didn’t have the will to walk away.” She grinned. “The man is sexy.”
The Horror of our Love: A Twisted Tales Anthology Page 4