by T. S. Ryder
At the mere mention of the rival alpha’s name Desmond’s shoulders tensed and he had to force himself to remain in Marceline’s embrace.
“Ramson will be lucky if he so much as survives our next conversation,” he growled, clenching his teeth together. To his surprise, Marceline suddenly pushed herself away from him and gripped either side of his face with her hands. Her eyes met his, searchingly and then they slowly widened as she realized that he knew.
“Desmond. Just let this go, please... You said you’d forgive anything I did,” she begged, fear coloring her voice. She finally allowed herself to examine the room, eyes moving over first the hole in the wall and then the broken cell phone, before she looked back at Desmond with accusing, tearful eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t love me after this. This is why I never came back to you after the first time that—“
“It’s not you I’m angry with!” Desmond snapped, struggling visibly to control himself. “You were trying to survive! You were too proud to admit you needed to just come back home! Sure, that was a mistake, but he was the one who took advantage of that prideful weakness!”
As he ranted, he paced back and forth across the room, his entire body trembling with the strength of his rage. He would never dream of telling a rogue wolf that they had to let him sleep with them in exchange for not killing them. Especially not when he knew that rogue posed no threat to himself or his pack!
“Desmond, please... Just, leave it alone. There is nothing you can do about it!” Marceline cried out. “It... He... What’s done is done! I did what I had to, to keep his wolves from killing me, or worse! When... When he told me I would need to pay him, I thought he meant money. But then he showed up and…”
With the tortured sigh of someone who knew they could run no more, Marceline left him to find her phone and, after some fumbling around, gave it to him.
Confused, Desmond took it and looked at the screen. It took him a moment to put two and two together, but when he did...
“Marceline... who is this?” he asked, his voice strained with emotion. He could not take his eyes off the image on the screen – a photo of Marceline with a little girl in her arms, a girl with Marceline’s curly hair… but his blue eyes.
“Her name is Therese,” Marceline finally replied, a weak sound so unlike her that it tore into his heart even more than the realization of what she was about to tell him did. “I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left,” she told him, “It was too early to tell. But when I realized I was about to have your baby... I didn’t think straight, Desmond. I was still too angry to come back, but I wanted a good life for us and didn’t have many options on how to go about it. I knew I had to keep her away from all this ugliness, though, so I went to my Auntie May’s, over in the north county. I hadn’t seen her in years, but nobody in the pack knew about her, not even you, and I needed to be somewhere safe until I had Therese. She took us in, and when then time came, she agreed to keep Therese for me so I could work without worrying until I had enough to build us a home of our own.”
Tears had begun streaming down her cheeks and soft, hiccupping sobs tore past her throat as she sunk to the floor. “The first time Ramson came demanding payment... I said no, but he then mentioned Therese, saying how it’d be a shame if she and Auntie May had to suffer for my stubbornness, and I just… I couldn’t let him hurt them, Desmond. I’d do what I did and ten times more to keep them safe.”
The more she spoke, the more choked her words became. “I didn’t know how he found out about Therese, but he did... he knew about it when I first came to him, and he planned the whole thing from the start. And after that first time... all I wanted to do was come back home... All I wanted to do was forget I had sold myself to him... but I couldn’t face you, Desmond. I just couldn’t. I was terrified of your disappointment, of you taking Therese from me, and I just… couldn’t.”
Desmond just stared at the wall with a hard glare and listened as she broke down, his anger mounting until she mentioned wanting to come back home. As soon as she said she couldn’t face him, his heart shattered in his chest and he slowly moved towards her.
“Marceline,” he sighed, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his arms. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have turned you away – and I sure as hell wouldn’t take away your baby... our baby. This isn’t your fault,” he whispered to her, rocking her slowly back and forth as she cried against him.
Heavens, this was a whole lot to wrap his head around at once. He wanted to cry, and rage, and laugh, all at the same time, but he knew he had to set processing all he just found out for another time. Marceline needed him to be strong now. To keep her safe and make things right.
“Listen to me, sweetheart. I’ll fix this. Ramson will pay for what he’s done to you... And then you and I? We’ll fix things between us like we should have years ago.”
She nodded slowly against his chest and sniffled softly, to which he sighed and kissed her forehead.
“Ok,” she whispered.
Desmond smiled. “Good. Now, finish your shower, and I’ll bring you clothes this time. I promise.”
Desmond had time to bring Marceline clothes, heat up a can of soup in the microwave and clean up the first aid kit before she turned off the shower and moved back into the bedroom. Both of them had calmed considerably. Tomorrow, he’d worry about what he was going to do about Ramson. And after he’d dealt with that, he’d travel up North to meet his daughter. But tonight, he told himself, was all about Marceline.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her, unsurprised when she shook her head.
“No, just tired,” she mumbled. One of his t-shirts covered her body down to her thighs and the towel she’d used to dry off with was tangled in a mass on top of her head. “I think I might just try to sleep. Are there still spare blankets in the hall closet?”
Desmond looked at her in confusion. “Spare blankets? What do you need one for?”
“To sleep on the couch? I didn’t figure you’d want me in here since...”
“No. You’re sleeping in here,” he said firmly, shocked she’d even ask such a question. He’d longed to sleep next to her again for years, and wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to share a bed with her again. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t slept quite right since she’d left him.
“Are you sure?” she asked. She was met with a withering look as she slowly pulled the towel from her hair and laid down against the pillows. Already, her eyes began to droop.
“You’ve had a rough day, sweetheart. You need proper rest and you won’t get that out on the couch,” he said, reaching over to the lamp beside the bed and flicking it off. Slowly, he laid beside her and cradled her to his chest with a soft hum, pleased to find she made no attempts to move away or protest.
“Besides,” he whispered, hugging her closer until his lips rested just above her ear. “I missed you too much to sleep away from you tonight.”
Marceline giggled softly and pressed her face against his neck, a soft hum falling from her lips.
“I love you, Desmond.”
“I love you, too.”
He waited until he was certain she was asleep against him, before kissing her on the forehead. It wasn’t like him, being so outwardly emotional, but then, the day had been tense and he owed it to himself to love Marceline. After all, there was no promise that Marceline would keep wanting to fix things between them in the morning.
Chapter Six
Desmond didn’t know when he had finally drifted off to sleep, but it seemed only seconds had gone by before he jerked awake. At first, he wasn’t sure why. The sky was still dark outside and the clock beside the bed showed it was just past three. Marceline laid curled up beside him, her curly hair splayed out like a mane around her head.
Slowly, he relaxed beside her again and closed his eyes again, only to tense as a strange smell hit his nose. He stilled completely, not even daring to breathe as he strained to listen around him. Something was wrong.
Marceline
’s deep breathing was distracting beside him and deadened the other soft sounds of the night, yet still he strained until—
“Say goodnight, Desmond.” The soft shnk of a knife being pulled from its sheath sent adrenaline flooding his system, fueled all the more by the softly whispered statement. His eyes flew open only to stare straight up into Ramson’s cruel green irises.
He moved—too late—to attack the rival alpha that stood over him, only to feel the cold bite of steel sink into the flesh of his chest.
“M-Marceline!” he choked out, eyes lightening silver with the danger of Ramson presence.
“Shut up. She’s mine, Desmond. There is nothing you can do to stop that,” Ramson snarled, turning the knife handle as he bore deeper into the wound he’d created.
Blood poured from Desmond’s chest and yet his skin still shivered. The clicks and pops of bones reshaping could be heard for a mere handful of seconds until a wolf exploded from Desmond’s body.
With a thunderous snarl, he charged at Ramson, lunging at his legs, his sides, his hands, anything he could get his jaws around. At one point, he sank his teeth deep into the rival alpha’s calf, but even as a human, the man possessed a strength and agility that he should have.
With a few sharp shakes, Desmond lost his hold and Ramson bowled him over, a second knife gripped in his hand.
“Give it up, Desmond,” he sneered, lunging forward with blinding speed that left Desmond with a fresh slash across his snout. He snarled deafeningly but made no move to attack further as his eyes started blurring with blood loss. “Marceline was never yours! She never wanted you! You’re stifling! Uncaring! She h—“
Three loud cracks of a gun firing cut off his word, and with wide eyes, Ramson looked down at his chest. Blood welled up from three, near perfect, circular wounds until, much like the wound Desmond had suffered, it coated his entire front and dripped to the floor.
“Don’t speak like you do any better, Ramson.” Marceline murmured, the gun she had threatened Desmond with the morning before was once again gripped firmly between her hands.
The rival alpha’s eyes flew wide as he stumbled about, turning to face the woman with pure hatred in his gaze until, with a gasp, they rolled back in his skull and he fell face first into the growing puddle of his own blood.
Marceline shivered as she dropped the gun, tears of fear and anger apparent in her dark brown eyes as she quickly ran to Desmond’s side and with trembling hands, inspected the stab wound on his chest.
“T-Turn back, baby… Please. W-We,” she sniffled, a look of panic on her face. “We need to get you patched up.”
Desmond whined, his eyes hazy and distant. For a moment, he didn’t think he had the energy to change back, but one look at the sheer desperation on his mate’s face and he slowly, painfully shifted back into his human form.
The wound on his chest was deep. Far deeper than anything he’d ever received before and his entire body felt cold. In the growing darkness, though, he was aware of Marceline’s touch as she held him.
“Gauze...” he whispered, forcing his eyes to focus on her perfect face. “Pack the wound with gauze.”
“I can’t leave you!” Marceline cried, clutching desperately at his hand as tears rolled down her cherub cheeks.
“Sweetheart, I’ll be ok,” he whispered, a faint smile on his lips. “Pack the wound. Stop the bleeding.”
He watched as she nodded and smiled. With a shaking hand, he reached up and brushed away a tear on her cheek. She laughed sadly and pressed into his touch, shaking herself, she got to her feet and walked away.
In the moments she was gone, Desmond had to seriously struggle with himself not to fall asleep.
“It’s just a little blood loss,” he scolded himself, gritting his teeth. “What’s the big deal?” But, he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t relieved when his mate returned and began stuffing the stab wound with gauze, as instructed.
“Son of a…” he swore, alertness gripping him as pain at her prodding rocked through him. A cold sweat had broken out on his skin by the time she was through. Things must not have looked so bad, though, because Marceline smiled and laid down beside him on the blood soaked floor, her hand resting against his bandaged chest gently.
“I thought you were the one who was going to take care of me,” she teased softly. Her lips pressed lovingly against his side before he could answer, and he sighed, knowing she meant the words to help him feel better.
Ramson was dead. His pack would scramble to find a new alpha that, hopefully, wasn’t as corrupt by lust as Ramson had. There was nothing left to worry about, except—
“Marceline?” Desmond whispered softly, his voice hesitant as he forced himself upwards just enough to look at her properly.
“Desmond what—“
“I want to meet Therese,” he told her, “Soon.”
Marceline stared at him with a stunned expression on her face. Her dark eyes were puzzled, scared and excited all in the same instant. For a moment, he worried that her concern about him taking their daughter away from her still haunted her, but then her face softened, and a rock fell off Desmond’s chest. “I’ll call Auntie May tomorrow, see if she can bring Therese,” she told him gently.
She began to settle at his side again when he called for her again.
“Marceline?”
“Yes, Desmond?” she asked, no doubt expecting another glimpse into the soft heart of him, the one that he saved just for her... and, now, their child.
“Will you marry me?”
Whatever she was expecting to hear, the look on her face told him that was not it. Her mouth gapped open, and she clearly didn’t know what to say. As she closed it slowly, still silent, he began to fear she would reject him, but then she curled ever closer and rested her head just below the wound she’d taken care to bandage.
“Of course…” she whispered, tears in her eyes once again and a smile on her lips. “Of course I’ll marry you, Desmond.”
He smiled and laid his head back down with a sigh, eyes slipping closed. “Good,” he whispered, finally allowing himself to wrap an arm around her and pull her closer.
“I’m never letting you get away from me again.”
“Do you promise?” she asked, kissing over his heart.
“I promise.”
*****
THE END
Bonus Book 2: Claimed by the Dragon Shifter
Description
A curvy young witch with a large responsibility PLUS a hot Dragon Shifter assigned to protect her PLUS someone trying to kill her!
Avalon Grey has always known she was born to a noble heritage and with a heavy responsibility. As a direct descendant of the famed Morgan le Fay, it will soon be her duty to protect the gates of Albian until the time King Arthur returns to this world.
However, before she can protect the gates, she first must gain control of her magic.
To achieve this goal, her parents send her to the prestigious University of Magic Vancouver. There she meets Vaughn Albanesi, the hunky Red Dragon assigned to be her protector while she is at the school.
With his intoxicating presence everywhere she goes, Avalon finds it increasingly difficult to focus on her studies. She only has ten months until Samhain Eve to bring her magic under control and that may not be enough time.
With Samhain Eve drawing ever nearer, Avalon must prove herself worthy and able of claiming her birthright and protecting Albian's gates, both to herself and to the world at large. If she can't, then it will be letting down generations of her ancestors, as well as putting the world at risk of war.
To make matters worse, somebody at the University might be trying to kill her...
Chapter One
The University of Magic Vancouver, or Ma-Vic as it was affectionately known by its students and alumni, was the premier magical university in the world. It only accepted the most talented, the most prestigious, the most promising students to be taught by its masters.
At leas
t that was what Avalon's mother kept telling her. In truth, it had cost a tidy donation, enough to build a whole new wing onto the university library, to get her admitted. Avalon had seen the letter the board of trustees had sent her parents, though she hadn't told them that.
Sitting in the backseat of a rented Mercedes-Benz sedan, Avalon stared glumly out at Vancouver. She had expected more from the city, somehow. The tall buildings with their glinting windows in the downtown area were nothing really unique. Crowds of people moved along the streets, moving with a sense of purpose and haste that usually thrilled Avalon.
Vancouver wasn't as energetic as New York, nor was it filled with a historic air like London. Given the amount of bohemian scarves, vintage clothing and distressed designer jeans, it was also far more hipster than Avalon cared for. She had spent most of her life in luxury hotel rooms and at diplomatic parties, shaking hands with people from all over the world. She had acquired more refined tastes.
Still, she would only be here for a few months. Ma-Vic prided itself on turning out top notch witches with incredible skills within a single semester of their intensive programs.
Avalon tugged at her seatbelt, wincing as she heard the child lock engage. She tried to find a position for the belt that was neither squashing her breasts nor cutting into her neck. She succeeded only in losing what little space the belt had given her.
Her mother, Elaine, smiled in the rearview mirror at her, noticing the signs of Avalon's restlessness. "We'll be there soon."
Avalon tried to smile back at her, but her stomach twisted in knots. If the best tutors available were not able to help her get a good handle on her magic, how was this school supposed to?
It was desperation, bribing her a place among other students who were no doubt going to be talented, prestigious and promising.