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Above This Grave (The Cloven Pack Series: Book Three)

Page 8

by D. Fischer


  Chatter dies down and I glance to my left. The Rogues are having an early meal. My stomach growls at the smell of their food, but I ignore it. I’ve heard the rumors about what Rogues like to eat, and I’d rather not find out if the gossip rings true.

  Jazz, seated at the front of the table, dabs her mouth with a napkin. “Irene,” she says, taking a sip of a red liquid. I can smell the sweet wine from where I stand.

  I rip my arm from Zane’s grasp as the other wolves trickle in behind us, closing the door from the outside. “Jazz– er– The One,” I counter, clearing my throat. “Do I bow?”

  Her expression remains blank as she ignores my rhetorical question. I shift my feet, uncomfortable with this situation. My wolf whines inside of me. She doesn’t like being closed in and surrounded by enemies.

  Jazz scoots out her chair and stands with her hands, palms flat, resting against the table. “I thought we had a deal, Irene.”

  My eyes search the other wolves around the dining table, nervousness making my muscles coil and rigid. “Yes. I remember making a deal.”

  A small smile lifts the corners of her lips. “Good.” The smile disappears and a sneer takes its place. “Is there a reason why I haven’t heard from you in months?”

  I clear my throat and shift away from Zane. He looks ready to pounce at any given command. “I’ve, ah . . . I’ve been busy. I wasn’t sure how to contact you.”

  Jazz glances around at her wolves. They’ve shifted their eyes back to her, curious to her next move.

  I take the opportunity to ask my question. “Is my brother okay? Are you feeding him?” I shift my weight. “I want to see him.”

  Her sneer returns. “Your brother is fine. He’s taking a little nap right now.” She pinches her pointer finger and thumb together to gesture a small amount. The Rogues laugh. What does she mean by that?

  “What’d you do to him?” I ask, my posture defensive as I growl at her. My eyes glow green and Zane grips my upper arm. His firm grasp, fingers digging into my skin, snaps me back to reality.

  Jazz’s face is the picture of innocence as she places her hand over her heart. “I didn’t do anything.” At this moment, I wish I had Kenna’s gift so I could effectively call her out on her bullshit. Except . . . I’d still be severely outnumbered.

  She walks around the table and stands in front of me. “We had a deal, Miss Scott. So far, you haven’t lived up to your end.” She bats her long, fake eyelashes. The glitter in her eyeshadow shines. “I don’t give favors to those who don’t deliver on their promises.” She tucks a stray hair behind my jeweled ear. “Now, do you have any information for me?”

  I chew on the inside of my lip, my heart torn. Save my brother, or save the Pack and the mate I barely know. Please, forgive me. “No. There’s nothing to report.”

  Luke giggles behind me. “Can we torture her?”

  I fight against Zane’s grip, but he’s much stronger than I am. He wraps me in a bear hug, my back to his chest, and places his arm around my neck. I stand on my tip toes to keep breathing, the blood rushing to my face, and wait for Jazz’s verdict.

  She taps her chin before giving her final answer. “No. I have a new proposition.” She places her hands behind her back. “Clearly, you don’t plan to give up the Cloven Pack Alphas. My new proposal . . . ” she holds up a finger before I can ask, “I want you to bring the baby to me.”

  My eyes bulge. Bring the baby . . . “No.” My answer firm, final, and not up for discussion.

  She smiles sickly sweet. “You know, Irene, you’re not the only spy we have. You are . . .” she pauses, twisting her lips to the side, “disposable.”

  I struggle within Zane’s arms, kicking my feet in every direction, and he snaps his teeth next to my ear. “Then why the hell do you need me?”

  “Because I get what I want.” She laughs, her Rogue entourage joining in. “Who would suspect the Cloven Pack midwife?”

  Flint Rockland

  Wiping the sweat from my forehead with a towel, Ben slaps me on the back for a job well done. A slight sting remains where his hand hit my wet skin.

  We had just completed another session in the gym. If my sore muscles are anything to go by, he never once held back.

  “Outside, everyone,” Ben says, ushering the Pack from their machines and out the door.

  We spar every Saturday. Evo started it after he became Alpha to improve our strength and defense. It was a necessary move; when he first took over, our Pack had been weak, defenseless. Any Pack could have come in and easily overpowered us.

  As the last one out of the gym, I flick off the lights and close the door, stepping into the chilly morning air. This slight breeze caresses my hot skin, drying the sweat and raising goosebumps.

  Kenna, basking in the morning light, her large protruding belly past the arm rests of the chair, sips from a mug. To her displeasure, she’s not allowed to have caffeine. Darla bought her decaf when she got sick of her daughter’s whining.

  She and Darla are the only ones excluded from sparring. Kenna being pregnant, and Darla being the one who volunteered to cook breakfast. More like she beat Kelsey to volunteering . . . much to Kelsey’s dismay.

  Ben begins calling off names for sparring partners. “Jeremy and Jessup. Bre and Victoria. Evo and Romaine. Flint and Dyson.” He continues, but I don’t listen. Whipping my head around, I glance at a Dyson. His eyebrows knit together, his jaw ticking.

  Why would Ben pair us together?

  When he’s done calling off names, the Pack disperses into their pairs, confining themselves to separate areas on the lawn.

  I stay where I am, dumbfounded.

  This isn’t a punishment, Flint. Talk to him, Evo says telepathically. I narrow my eyes at my Alpha’s back as he walks past me, heading toward Romaine.

  Begrudgingly, I crunch through the fresh grass and stand in front of Dyson. He sighs, understanding that he won’t be getting out of this, and assumes his fighting position.

  Halfheartedly, I do the same before the sparring begins. He throws his fist at me with no effort whatsoever behind the action. I dodge my head, avoiding it easily, my eyes squinting in annoyance.

  I return with a punch to his jaw. His head snaps to the side and he slowly turns his head back to me, finally looking me in the eyes. He looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in days. His jaw ticks again, his eyes steel, and he picks up his pace, fueled by the hit.

  We get moving, our bodies sweating, his face softening as we fall into a rhythm like old times. I break the silence. “Do you still dream about it?”

  Without missing a beat, he answers with a grunt, “Yes.”

  I wait for a few punches to be swapped before I ask my next question. “Do you get any sleep?”

  His fist lands on my stomach and a slight oof comes from my mouth. “Not a whole lot, no.”

  I wait for a few seconds before I ask my next question. “Do you feel guilty?”

  He steps back as I’m mid-throw, my fist swinging through the empty air. He stares at me, his jaw ticking again, his eyes returning to their hardened steel. Many emotions cross the lines and muscles of his face, but I can’t read them as they flit on by. But his pain is evident. “Yes,” he finally mumbles.

  Turning to leave, he walks back to his quarters without another word. I watch his retreating back until he slips through his door.

  A tiny bit of the wall I’ve built for avoiding Dyson –falls—crashing down and a wave of emotions flood over, attempting to drown me. I’ve been a bit intense lately, but I’m not an emotionless bastard. I see his hurt and the friend that I used to be wants to fix it. But how can I fix it if I’m no longer that same person? If he’s no longer the same person? I don’t know this Flint—I’m still getting used to the changes in my personality. So, it begs for consideration: Who is Dyson now?

  I sigh, resolved to having no answers, and glance around. Most of the sparring partners are done and heading to the Alpha quarters for our meal.

  Jeremy
walks up behind me and slaps me on the back. “We’ll see you in a few weeks. Try not to destroy the place without me.”

  I frown at him. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

  Confusion pulls his eyebrows together before they flatten out. “No one told you?” I shake my head. “Kelsey and I are leaving today. We’re going south for our mating anniversary.”

  “Oh,” I mumble. For a moment, I feel disconnected from my Pack. I’ve missed so much. I wipe my self-pity away and paste a smile on my face. “Enjoy, then.” I point at him. “Keep her away from the margaritas.”

  He holds up a hand and closes his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  I give him a nod and he takes off back to his quarters after gathering his mate. I glance at Kenna who’s sitting next to Irene. Irene catches my eye and I make my way to her. Finishing her sentence to Kenna, she stands from the chair on the porch and enters the house through the sliding glass door, effectively running from me . . . again.

  Taking the back porch steps two at a time, I follow in after her, refusing to let her get away. I see her turn the corner and climb the stairs toward her guest bedroom. A tiny growl escapes my lips and I pick my steps up into a jog.

  I catch up with her in the hallway at the top of the steps. “Irene,” I call out. “Wait a minute.”

  She stops walking, her body rigid. “What?” she asks without turning around.

  Double blinking, I pause before walking around to the front of her and bending down to catch her eyes. “Can we talk?” I stand fully upright and her eyes follow mine.

  “About?”

  I laugh without humor and shake my head. “When are you going to stop pretending?” I mumble my rhetorical question.

  She answers anyway, “Pretending what?” Her eyes, the lines of her face, don’t hold any confusion, so I know she already knows the answer.

  “You’re hiding from me. I’ll figure out why, I always do. But you can’t keep running from your mate.” I tuck a stray hair behind her ear, my skin briefly touching hers. She closes her eyes and inhales my scent as I do the same. It fills my heart again and I try like hell to seal it inside. It’s a craving, an addiction, and I’ll never get enough.

  “I’m not ready to be mates,” she answers honestly before opening her eyes. For a moment, I get lost in their brown depths—swirls of yellow mingle with the brown, distracting me from my train of thought. I clear my throat but she’s not finished. “I know nothing about you. Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean I plan to jump into any relationship.”

  I nod, respecting her answer and coming up with a simple solution. “Go on a date with me, then.”

  Her eyes widen, her expression taken aback. “Like . . . a date, date?”

  With a smug smile, I take a step closer to her, invading her personal space, using the lure of mate vs mate to sway her future answer. “Yes, a real date.” I brush my fingertips against her cheek, feeling the soft skin smooth under them. How is it possible to be so soft? My eyes search hers, pleading for an answer. “Say yes.”

  She waits for a moment, agonizingly weighing her options, before nodding.

  My heart beats faster, a smile lifting my cheeks. She agreed.

  Jasmyn Schueler

  I sit on my throne, the queen of my castle. My loves gather around me, some standing, some sitting on the couches. Through my guidance, everything I see before me, I’ve provided them.

  “The One,” Zane addresses me. “What do you want to do?”

  I search the eyes of my subjects. They seek my guidance and I must do them no wrong. I must prove my strength and gain vengeance for my beloved. With them, I can rule.

  “Call our spy and get ahold of them,” I say. “And Zane, take Luke with you. Do the job close to their territory. We don’t need their Alpha feeling the break from one of his wolves before our plan unfolds. We need them all in one place. We need them distracted.”

  I stroke the brown hair of the female sitting on the floor below me. What’s her name? I don’t remember. It’s unimportant. She means little to what I have to gain. “Come tomorrow, I suspect the Cloven Pack will be paying a little visit . . . after they’ve mourned.” I peck the lips of the adorning female and give her a loving smile that doesn’t reach my heart. My heart has been long dead and I have no plans to revive it.

  Flint Rockland

  I place my hand on the lower part of her back and guide her into the restaurant doors. The place is dimly lit, perfect for winning her affections. That’s the plan, anyway.

  My little mate seems to be rebelling against the idea of me. It would seem she doesn’t hate me but is opposed to having a mate in general. I don’t understand it, but I will get to the bottom of it.

  A host takes us to our reserved table and I pull the chair out for Irene. She gives me a small smile for my act of chivalry.

  One point for Flint, I mentally award.

  I take my seat and hand her a menu, noticing her hands shake as she takes it. She’s nervous.

  I lean across the small, round table. “You know, I don’t bite,” I say, giving her my best smile. “Well, maybe a little.” I wink.

  She stares at me, completely oblivious to my attempts of charm. “Do you say that to all the ladies or just the ones you’re trying to bed?”

  My smile grows wider. My dick springs to life, straining against the inside of my slacks. I switch the subject, hoping to stave off the uncomfortable erection. “Have you been here before?” I pick up the menu, pretending to read it. I’ve been here plenty of times to know my favorites.

  “I have,” she says, glancing back at the menu and providing no further information.

  I look over the top of my menu, curiosity getting the better of me when the silence stretches on. “Really? With who?”

  Her eyes flit across the page as she continues to read. “A date,” she provides.

  My blood boils with jealousy, my mood souring. The organ in my chest beats in a rapid, hot pace. My wolf growls inside me but I switch my thoughts of hunting down this male and strangling him with my bare hands, to something . . . lighter. Like bunnies . . . hopping through a forest . . . their dusty tails poking above the grass . . . their triangle noses twitching as fast as my pounding heart.

  Nope. Not working.

  She glances up from her menu when I don’t respond and sees me struggling. Placing the menu down, she folds her hands across the top of it. “You know, I’m not an idiot. I’ve heard the rumors. How do you think I feel knowing you’ve taken dozens of other women to your bed?”

  My posture freezes, shocked, the blood draining from my face before I consider her question. My shoulders relax, realization dawning on me that I may not be the only one struggling with jealousy. I stretch my neck, rolling out the kinks, and pick back up the menu. “Fair point,” I grumble. Another switch of subject. Think, Flint. Think. “Have you had the roasted duck? It’s pretty good.” She shakes her head no. Two points for Flint. “Good. Let’s get that and a bottle of white wine?”

  I wait for her to disagree, but she lifts her glass of water and swallows a sip. I watch her throat, compelled by the way it moves as it forces the water down. My dick twitches, straining against my clothes again as I envision other, more interesting things, being swallowed. I adjust my pants, moving the zipper to the left.

  Taking her lack of response as the go-ahead, I wave the waitress over and place our order.

  The waitress lingers, but I turn my attention back to the beauty in front of me, ignoring the flaunting of tits the waitress waves in my face. “Do you have any family?” I ask Irene.

  The waitress gets the hint and moves away from our table.

  Her eyes flit to mine in a quick motion after frowning at the spot the waitress once stood. She shakes her head a moment, seeming to clear her thoughts. “Yes. My parents are dead, but I have one brother.”

  I nod my head. “Is he living at the Riva Pack?”

  She clears her throat and toys with her
napkin. I note her reluctance before she answers. “No. He, ah . . . he moved after he got back from the war. I haven’t talked to him in years.” Her refusal to make eye contact causes me to frown. She straightens out her napkin. With her tone lighter, more chipper, she asks, “What about you? Any family?”

  The frown still on my face, I answer, “No. Well, yes. But I haven’t seen or heard from my parents in years.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, sincerity in her eyes.

  I shrug and take a sip of water, uncomfortable with her sympathy. “It’s no big deal.”

  The waitress comes out with our wine and fills our glasses. I keep my eyes on Irene as she watches the white liquid lick the inside of her wine glass. Her sensual lips are a shade darker than her skin and they twitch in anticipation.

  Another waiter brings out a small platter, the duck inside. Surprise lights her features, a small smile tugging at her lips as she glances at me. He opens the tray, and sits a bowl of salad next to it, bows, and leaves us.

  Irene’s tongue licks her bottom lip, causing my dick to twitch again. I adjust once more, my mind flicking to erotic things I want her to do to it. I take a deep breath and exhale.

  She places her napkin on her lap. “That was fast.”

  I continue to watch her, my head tilting to the side and my brain yet to give up the fantasies. “It’s their specialty tonight. They have several ready to go.”

  She grabs a fork and pulls salad onto her plate along with a chunk of meat. “This place is hard to get into.”

  I nod, placing the napkin in my own lap. “It is.”

  She pauses her fork midway to her mouth. The O shape doing things to me no other woman has. “Do you know someone here or something?”

  I blink, dissipating my dirty thoughts, and nod. “I do.” Pulling food onto my own plate, I take a bite, chewing slowly, and savoring the flavor.

 

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