by C. R. Jane
Daxon didn’t give me a chance to second guess my position, his cock was already pushing into me.
My heart raced, and I fisted his shirt, moaning. “I love this.”
He growled, the sound echoing through the room as he pushed into me, stretching me.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he growled.
I whimpered from how good he felt embedded deep inside me, filling me completely. “I want everything. I want to come. I want to have you fuck me. Hard. Make me scream. Please,” I croaked the words. “Fuck the hell out of me.”
“Yes, my dirty girl,” he growled. He dragged out of me, then thrust back in, hard.
I moaned, clawing at the floor, taking all of him into me. He drove harder and deeper, just how I loved it.
Our breaths grew heavy, and he picked up speed, his growl filling the room. My knees skidded on the ground as he thrusted, the sharp bite of pain adding to the sensations of pleasure somehow.
“I’ll never get enough of you, of this. I’m going to be the guy who makes your heart and wolf forget they were ever broken.”
He fucked me harder, and I was breathless, but his beautiful words pushed me over the edge. I screamed out my orgasm.
Closing my eyes, I let myself float away, my pussy clenching over his cock.
Daxon groaned his pleasure, gripping my hips, finding his own finish inside me.
He looped an arm under my stomach and lifted me up onto my knees, my back pressed flush to his chest.
I was shuddering, floating, every inch of me crying for more while he buried his face into the curve of my neck, kissing and nipping at my skin softly.
He had me wrapped up in his arms, and I moaned as my body continued to buzz.
I opened my eyes, then froze.
Wilder!
He was standing in the doorway. His features lit up from the eerie, flashing light coming from the haunted house.
Trembling.
His hands fisted by his sides.
The hurt on his face, the ache of seeing me with Daxon, twisted his lips into a snarl.
Daxon’s head snapped up from my neck, but he never said a word, only held me tight against him possessively.
Dread iced through me at the haunting sorrow flaring in Wilder’s gaze.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know I spent time with Daxon. They’d agreed to this, after all. But there was definitely something different about it this time. I’d fucked up. Bad. The guilt coursing through me was overwhelming. I’d come here with both of them...what had I been thinking?
I hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. They both succeeded in making me lose my head no matter the situation.
I wanted to cry as we just continued to stare at each other. What was only a moment seemed like an eternity as I looked at the heartbreaking pain written all over his features.
I’d done that to him.
I wanted to cry, to scream, to apologize...or somehow beg him to join us.
Wilder growled, his lips peeled back. “Of course I’d find you two sneaking off to fuck. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? I’m such a fucking idiot,” he hissed.
He turned abruptly and stormed out of there.
“Wilder, wait,” I called out, struggling to get up and run after him.
“Forget him,” Daxon whispered behind me as he helped me to stand. Except, how could I?
He was written all over my heart, just like Daxon was.
And I may have just ruined everything.
16
Rune
I looked around the diner, frowning when I saw that Wilder wasn't anywhere to be found. I was pretty sure it was his day to be here. Daxon had a pack thing he'd had to attend so Wilder had told me he was hanging around. Maybe something had come up. I set down a plate in front of Mrs. Rosenbachen, ignoring the frown she gave me as she stared down at her food.
"I ordered the country fried chicken, waitress," she sniffed as she pushed the plate away from her.
Mrs. Rosenbachen knew my name, I know she did. She'd been in here what felt like a million times since I'd started working here.
But she refused to use it.
I pasted a smile on my face and counted to five before answering so I didn't throw the plate in her face.
"That is country fried chicken, Mrs. Rosenbachen," I told her patiently, grabbing a pitcher of water to refill her drink.
She sniffed, eyeing the food disdainfully. My gaze slipped out the window, hoping to see Wilder and quell the feeling of dread curling down my spine.
He'd been off for days, ever since the Halloween thing, if I was being honest, when I’d been a complete fool. Wilder had brushed off my attempts to apologize, but I knew he was still hurt. He'd been quieter, moodier, disappearing for hours at a time without an explanation. I'd been trying to get him to talk to me, but nothing was working.
"It's the gravy! I ordered the cream gravy, this is brown gravy. You got my order wrong," she announced loudly, slicing through my glum thoughts.
I knew for a fact that she'd ordered the brown gravy, and that she in fact hated the cream gravy. But as Marcus was always trying to drill in my head, the customer was always right.
"Let me just get you a new one with cream gravy then, Mrs. Rosenbachen," I told her, lifting the dish off the table and holding it tightly so that I didn't drop the damn thing right on her head.
She sniffed and looked away from me without a thanks, and I rolled my eyes as I trudged to the kitchen.
"I need another one of these, Rae," I told him as I walked into the kitchen holding the plate.
"What the fuck is wrong with that?" he growled, taking me aback with the fierce glint in his eyes.
"Ms. Rosenbachen evidently wants cream gravy now," I told him, shrugging my shoulders. Usually we would both laugh about her crazy demands, but there was a heaviness in the air and the way that Rae was banging around the pots and pans in the kitchen told me that we wouldn't be joking about it today.
"Yeah, yeah," he spat as he grabbed a new fried chicken filet that had been cooking and plopped it onto a plate. Rae grabbed a spoonful of cream gravy and threw it on the dish before pushing the plate back at me without another word.
I opened my mouth to try and say something, anything, to make him smile or relax, but then he cursed at something on the stove and I decided to try another day.
"Thanks," I finally said, before grabbing the plate and walking back out to the dining area.
Marcus stopped me before I made it back to Ms. Rosenbachen's table. "It's slow today, you can cash out whenever," he told me. He gazed around the room with a frown. "Wilder isn't here yet?"
"Something must have come up," I said with a shrug, pretending I wasn't worried about it.
"Need me to walk you back to the inn, or to Daxon's house?"
"No, that's alright. I'll be fine," I told him.
He looked torn for a second, but then someone called from a nearby table and he patted my shoulder before striding away to see what the guest wanted.
"I'm starving to death over here," screeched Ms. Rosenbachen suddenly, and I realized I was just standing there holding her rapidly cooling food.
I walked over and set the food down. She pursed her lips in dismay, ready to say something, probably that she hadn't asked for cream gravy.
"Enjoy your food," I hurriedly told her before striding away and ignoring her answering grunt. Marcus could handle her. I was so done with Ms. Rosenbachen and her country fried chicken.
I cashed out my tips and waved goodbye to Marcus before leaving the restaurant. I shivered as I stepped outside. It was rapidly growing colder and I knew there would be snow soon. The bite in the wind went right through my thin coat. I really needed to order something warmer. I was used to the cold from growing up in Chicago; the wind coming off Lake Michigan tore right through you, and for a few months there, Chicago was like hell in frozen form. But I was still hoping that Amarok would give me a milder winter.
I walk
ed a few steps outside the diner before stopping, not exactly sure where to go. Daxon and Wilder had been my constant shadows lately, and it was a little bit disconcerting to not have one of them around. I finally decided to head to Daxon's house. One of them would eventually be there, and it seemed the safest place to be without one of them...unless Arcadia decided to burn the place down.
I walked through the town towards Daxon's. People milled around the streets, going in and out of stores. There was a heaviness in the air from the recent death and the threat of the hunters. The townspeople were hurrying along much faster than usual, not sticking around to chat. I waved at a few familiar faces and they gave me tight smiles in return. Sighing, I stopped trying to be friendly for the rest of the journey, not having the energy to deal with fake niceties. Maybe someday that would change.
I walked up the steps to Daxon's front porch, sniffing the air for the scent of either of them. I caught the faint wisp of Wilder, and I smiled and unlocked the door, hurrying inside to look for him. But he wasn't anywhere to be found.
Movement caught my eye through the massive glass doors that led to the back deck, and I sighed in relief when I saw that Wilder was sitting outside on a couch that was set up out there, staring off into the woods that surrounded the place.
I walked over to the glass, relieved to see him even though I had just seen him a few hours ago, right before my shift.
A flicker of unease curled in my gut when I got to the glass doors though, and my hand hovered above the handle as I looked out at Wilder.
He was seated on the couch, hunched over, a crumpled up piece of paper in his hands. I saw an envelope lying on the coffee table in front of him, the top torn off. There also looked like there was some kind of newspaper clipping on the table as well.
I felt like I was intruding on something as I stood there, and then I scoffed at myself. Wilder had certainly been there for me through some dark times. Whatever had happened, I'd be by his side.
No matter what.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened the glass, not wanting to startle him.
He didn't even look up as I stepped out.
"Wilder," I whispered and a shudder went through his body at the sound of my voice. I walked over to the couch and softly touched his shoulder. He flinched like I'd shocked him. I quickly withdrew my hand and then stood there awkwardly for a moment before finally sitting down next to him, careful to keep a few inches away from touching him.
We both stared out into the woods that surrounded the property, the sounds of our breathing melding with the sounds of the animals coming to life in the woods now that dusk was falling.
I desperately wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I held my tongue, absorbing the feeling of his pain swirling around us. I could feel it sinking into my skin, becoming a living, breathing thing inside of me that combined with my own pain that was ever present.
"I got a letter today from my half-brother, Samuel," Wilder finally said quietly in a raspy voice.
I stayed silent, waiting for him to say more.
"He was writing to tell me that my mother had died." I flinched at the news, the loss of a mother hitting me far too close to home since I'd just experienced the same thing. Wilder said the words succinctly, like they were just everyday words, but as I finally allowed myself to turn my head away from the dark forest and look at him, my breath hitched at the bleakness in his gaze.
A devastating laugh slipped from Wilder's beautiful lips and he hung his head.
"Wilder," I whispered, not knowing what to say. I knew he hadn't seen his mother for quite some time, that she'd left when he was young and started a whole new family. But even with that betrayal, there was nothing that could take away the pain of losing a mother, the person who'd brought you into the world.
He picked up the newspaper clipping on the table in front of us and tossed it at me. It fluttered in the breeze, moving away from me until I grabbed it.
It was her obituary. I read through the glowing tribute, inwardly flinching when I saw there was no mention of Wilder in the surviving family section of the article. I frowned when I got to the bottom and realized that the funeral had already passed. It had happened over a month ago. A quick glance at the torn envelope told me that the letter had just been mailed three days before.
"She was a selfish, terrible woman, I realized that years ago. But you know what my last memory of her was? Besides the phone calls from time to time when the guilt of leaving me behind led her to give me a pity call?"
"Wilder, you don't have to-" I began, wondering if it was best if his pain just breathed for a bit, but he continued on.
"I remember her standing at the front door, three suitcases with all her belongings scattered around her. My father was somewhere in the back of the house, refusing to see her off. He'd come into my room that morning, told me my mother was leaving, and that if I wanted to say goodbye, I needed to go downstairs."
His voice broke off and he clenched his fingers into the couch, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was squeezing.
"I was in green dinosaur pajamas. We'd just gotten the set at the store the week before. I was obsessed with them. I walked down the steps to go downstairs, not understanding what was going on. The wood was cold under my toes. I had this plastic t-rex that I was holding in my hand, my parents couldn't get me to part with it. I remember seeing her dashing around downstairs, grabbing odds and ends off the shelves, some fancy silver tea set that my parents had been given at their mating ceremony. Anything she thought was valuable she took."
I could hear the words he didn't say. That she hadn't thought he was valuable, so he'd been left behind.
"I finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, and she noticed me. She was dressed up, like she was going to a party. She was wearing this blue silk dress, and her makeup and hair were perfectly done. She looked at me, and she patted my head." Wilder tore the cushion, the sound ripping through the peaceful night air. "She fucking patted my head. And she told me to be a good little boy, and she'd see me again real soon."
He swallowed a hiccupped sob, his gaze wide and unseeing. Tears were streaming down my face as I watched him. My heart was breaking for him, whatever pieces that had been somehow left untouched from my own betrayals were shattering for him.
"I didn't get to say goodbye. She walked out before I could wrap my little brain around what was happening. I remember that door slamming shut behind her...and that was it."
He pulled a shaky hand through his hair before slamming it down on the coffee table, and I jumped in surprise at the sound.
"I didn't get to say goodbye then, and I didn't get to say goodbye now. But I guess that was what my mother wanted."
All the words I wanted to say disappeared because I could see Wilder's wounds far clearer now. We'd had heart to hearts before, but this was different...this was more.
Hatred wound its way insidiously through my veins. I found myself hating his mother for living, and for dying. Alive she'd left a festering hole inside of him that all terrible mothers did when they broke their children's hearts. But at least alive there was a chance for the wound to heal. Her death meant that the wound would stay with Wilder forever. It might scab over in time, but it would never go away.
"I've never been good enough," Wilder said suddenly as he turned his head to look at me. His green eyes pierced into me, making me ache as they begged me for a relief that I'd never be able to give him. "My whole life, I could never be enough. You know, when I met Arcadia, I thought she was my good thing. I thought she loved me. And then at the first sight of golden boy Daxon, I was forgotten. And then you came around. And even though I knew you liked him, I couldn't stop myself. I had to try to get you to love me."
He grabbed my hand, his skin trembling against mine.
"I knew when I met you that you would break my heart. I knew out of all the things I'd lost in life, that losing you would be the thing that hurt me most."
"Wilder, you haven
't lost me," I breathed in a shaky voice, the sadness and hatred swirling inside of me rapidly changing to fear.
"I can't be chosen second again. I can't watch you love him and eventually decide that I'm not enough. I'm not strong enough."
"What are you saying?" My chest was tight, and I was struggling to form words, to form thoughts.
He glanced at the obituary, his face hardening as if he'd come to a decision and was steeling himself for the reality of it.
"I'm going to say goodbye this time. If she taught me one thing, it was that I need to do that. I have to do that.”
He stood up, letting go of my hand abruptly as I scrambled with what to do, what to say.
"Wilder, please. We can talk about this." My words came out in pleading gasps.
He bent over and grabbed the obituary, crumpling it into his hand along with the letter. He took two steps away, and then turned back towards me.
My heart leapt with illogical hope that he'd changed his mind already, that everything he'd just spoken were words born of grief, not of truth.
"You'll always be the wild I was looking for, Rune," he murmured. "And I'll always be the one that wasn't good enough."
He walked away then, and the night quickly swallowed him into her depths.
And I swore I heard my soul breaking, shattering like glass.
I'd been rejected by the one the goddess had created just for me.
And I didn't think that had hurt as badly as this.
17
Rune
The house felt empty without Wilder. I'd stayed on that porch for the rest of the night, staring out into the forest, waiting, just waiting, for him to come back.
I could sense him out there, and it felt like that had to mean something, that he hadn't completely disappeared when he knew I'd be alone for the rest of the night without him.