Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption

by Nicky Charles

  The only real complaint she had against the man was that he had a habit of going off on his own with no warning, only to return a few hours later looking as if he’d like to rip someone’s face off. He never mentioned what he’d been up to, merely disappearing into the cellar and then reappearing some time later covered in sweat and in a more pleasant mood.

  If he’d been an established pack member, she’d likely let it slide for a while, but Damien was a newbie and her Alpha instincts were on alert. As soon as he returned from his current jaunt, she planned on confronting him.

  Almost on cue, he appeared. Through her office window, she could see him coming down the sidewalk. His stride was long and fluid yet the set of his shoulders conveyed his mood even before she could make out his face. She watched him run lightly up the steps; the front door was used more now that he’d repaired them. He disappeared from her view, but she could hear his booted feet thudding on the porch and…the front door slammed shut. She leaned back in her chair, rather smug that she’d pegged him so quickly.

  In her mind’s eye, she watched him walk towards the kitchen, grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head out the back door towards the cellar, all without saying a word. As usual, he’d returned pissed off and she was about to discover why.

  She logged out of the email she’d been answering and pushed her chair back with carefully controlled movements. Anticipation of the confrontation had her adrenalin already starting to pump. It wasn’t that she was hoping for a fight, but the memory of their first brawl played through her mind. Confronting someone who matched her skill level didn’t happen often and she was looking forward to the competition.

  Taking her time, she headed outside and around to the cellar, allowing him to settle into his routine before she descended into the exercise room. At the most, ten minutes had elapsed. Not long, but sufficient that a fine sheen of sweat was beginning to form on his skin. He’d stripped off his shirt, the discarded garment lying on the floor beside his bottle of water.

  The weights on the machine made a staccato rhythm as he lifted and lowered them, his rapid breathing punctuating the chorus. For a moment, she paused at the bottom of the steps, admiring the flexing of his muscles, the look of intense concentration on his face. Being an Alpha didn’t make her immune to the sight of a ripped male.

  “You need something?” He growled the words, his brows lowered. Of course, he’d been aware of her presence.

  “Yeah. I do.” She stepped into the room and stopped in front of him, her hands planted on her hips.

  “Spit it out, then.” He released the weights and leaned forward to wipe his face on his shirt.

  “Where were you?”

  He stilled, the material still covering part of his face. Slowly, he finished drying himself before letting the t-shirt fall to the floor.

  “And if you say ‘out’, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

  Damien cocked an eyebrow, but for once her verbal jab didn’t bring a curl to the corner of his mouth. Funny, she hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to seeing that flash of amusement on his face. Instead, he grabbed his water bottle from its spot on the floor. After a long drink, he replied. “I had things to do.”

  “Such as?”

  Swinging his leg over the bench, he stood up and walked to the punching bag. “None of your business.”

  She followed him. “I’m your Alpha. Everything you do is my business.”

  “No. You’re not my Alpha. I don’t have an Alpha. I answer to no one.” He punched the bag and it swung towards her.

  Sam punched it in return, sending it swinging back towards him. “You answer to me. While you’re here, you’re my responsibility. Book of the Law, Section 5, paragraph nine.”

  He held onto the bag. “An Alpha is responsible for all Lycans residing in his territory, even if those Lycans are not members of the pack. The Alpha will ensure all Lycans follow the Book of the Law and conduct themselves in such a manner so as to not endanger, or bring undue attention to, the Lycans who reside there.’ But you forgot subsection two. “...provided that the Lycan in question does not have an Alpha in another territory. Transient Lycans may use a letter of exemption from an Alpha so they are not bound by the dictates of another pack.’.”

  “You can quote the Book of the Law?” His response momentarily distracted her.

  “I’m a rogue. Not an idiot. And yes, I’ve picked things up here and there.” He sent the punching bag back in her direction and she neatly caught it.

  “I’d argue that you aren’t transient. You’re living here.” He was silent and she pushed her advantage. “Plus, you don’t have a letter of exemption. So, tell me, what are you up to?”

  He clamped his mouth tightly shut. She had a feeling he had a valid rebuttal, but some reason was reluctant to use it. Instead, he glowered at her.

  She returned the look full force. “I asked you a question and you will answer.”

  “I don’t have to put up with this crap.” He moved to leave and she stepped in front of him not in the least fazed by the cold look on his face.

  “You’re not leaving until you tell me what you’re up to.” When he tried to step around her, she grabbed his arm and yanked him back. She could see him clenching his jaw, knew his temper was rising. Her wolf urged her to press him further, to engage in a fight to prove she was the dominant one here.

  “You don’t want to do that.” There was a definite warning in his voice. “If we fight, I’ll win and you really don’t want to lose to me.”

  “As if.”

  “I mean it, Sam. You’re good, but I could have taken you in the alley if we’d been fighting for keeps.”

  “How?” She jutted her chin.

  “You move your left foot before you throw a punch. You drop your arm too much when you do a roundhouse kick and you don’t get it up fast enough afterwards. It leaves your chin exposed.”

  She frowned. Years ago, her instructor had often told her about projecting her punches through her stance, but she’d thought she’d fixed that problem. And no one had ever mentioned her arm. “Show me.”

  “No. I’m not in the mood.” He took a step towards the door, but she grabbed his arm again.

  “We’re not having sex. You don’t have to be in a ‘mood’.” She rolled her eyes. “Cancel that. Actually, you look in the perfect ‘mood’ for a fight.”

  Damien sighed heavily. “Fine.” He moved towards the middle of the matted floor space, but she wasn’t waiting. Her wolf was pushing her, eager to confront the male before them. Swinging out her leg, she caught Damien in the back of the thigh.

  “Why you—!” He staggered but caught himself and spun around to face her.

  “Never turn your back on your opponent,” she jeered, nimbly hopping out of reach.

  “If that’s the way you want to play it.” He launched himself at her and she barely sidestepped in time. As it was his shoulder brushed hers. It was enough to knock her off balance and, when she leapt to the side to avoid his kick, she landed awkwardly.

  Damien moved in, landing a hit to her ribs then one to her thigh before she regained her footing. He attacked with a calm, focused intensity, each kick and punch delivered in rapid succession. Sam blocked him over and over, barely having time to deliver any strikes of her own. When she did, they counted as evidenced by his grunts of pain.

  Left, right. Spin and kick. Keep her arm up. Dodge to the side. Duck under his blow and come up inside.

  Adrenaline surged through her, heightening her senses. His scent, the sound of his breathing, the tang of sweat in the air. All her attention was on the man before her. The purpose of the fight, the reason she’d confronted him to begin with, faded into the background.

  Sweat dripped down her face; she shook her head to clear her vision and then moved to deliver a roundhouse kick forgetting his comment about her dropping her arm too much. That was when he made his move.

  Damien knocked her backwards, the force of his blow rever
berating through her so that she staggered and fell against the wall. Before she could react, he moved in, his hand gripping her throat, his body pressed fully against hers.

  For a moment they froze in place. Damien’s lips were drawn back in a snarl, the silvery blue of his eyes seeming harder and colder than usual. Sam swallowed with difficulty, her neck stretched so that her chin tilted upward, the vulnerable arteries exposed. She was vividly aware of how her damp t-shirt stuck to her skin, the way every breath he took caused his chest to rub against her breasts. His thigh was tucked between hers, his fingers pressed into her flesh. He could easily crush her windpipe, yet she wasn’t scared. Exhilarated, breathless, horny…

  Damien took a deep breath and slowly released her throat. As he moved to step back, her wolf howled in protest and, before she could even think, she reached up, grabbed his head and kissed him hard.

  His body stiffened, but she didn’t care. Here was a male she could meet on her own terms. Rising to her toes, she assaulted his mouth and, when he began to relax she pulled him closer, dragging her fingers through his hair, pulling at the silky black strands.

  Sam felt him hesitantly wrap his arms around her. For some reason he was fighting his desire for her, but his resolve was crumbling. Yes! She wanted him, needed him. Whimpers escaped her as she urged him onward and then, as if released from a tight rein, he crushed her to him, kissing her as if he’d been celibate for years. He grabbed her hair, holding her head still as his tongue plunged into her mouth. She met him, stroke for stroke, challenging him, teasing him, revelling in this new battle they waged.

  Desire raged out of control and she straddled his thigh, desperate to be closer, to feel more of him. He wanted her. The evidence nudged against her through their clothing. She clawed his shoulders, arched her back as he squeezed her breast. His hand cupped her rear, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  Damien rocked against her and she moaned at the building inferno within her. Licking his jaw, she made her way down his neck. Her tongue encountered a slight mark on his skin, what felt like an old scar and just as she kissed it, he jerked as if ice water had been dumped on him.

  Before she could even process what was happening, he was pushing her away, barely giving her enough time to get her feet under her before stepping back.

  He was breathing heavily, his eyes reflecting his confusion.

  “Damien?” She took one step towards him, but he backed farther away.

  “No. I… Sorry.” He dragged his hand through his hair and shook his head. “This was a mistake.”

  “The kiss? Or the fight?” Sam frowned, trying to understand.

  “The kiss. Maybe both.” He looked away. “I’m mated, Sam.”

  A cold feeling washed over her at those words. Had he lied? She hated liars. “I thought you said she was dead.”

  Damien blinked. “Yes. Beth is…dead.” He swallowed hard and began to back away from her. “Uh… Listen, we’ll talk later…about fighting techniques. I have to go.” He turned and walked quickly towards the stairs.

  Sam debated about pushing the issue. After all, she still hadn’t found out what he was up to when he went out on his own, but this wasn’t the time. Besides, she wanted to mull over their encounter. His mate was dead; she should feel guilty that she was relieved by that fact. Wishing someone dead wasn’t…nice. Her mouth twisted at the bland word, but how else did you put it?

  “Tonight on patrol. We’ll talk then.” She called the words after him. He didn’t reply.

  As the sound of his footsteps faded, she leaned back against the wall and slowly ran her tongue over her lips. The taste of him lingered there and the animal inside her hummed its approval. Strange. Her wolf had never reacted this way before. Human males were, quite frankly, boring. And Lycan males… Well, being a female Alpha had certain disadvantages in that area. Her grandfather had warned her numerous times to be wary. ‘You’re attractive enough to get a mate on your own merit, but your position in the pack will require extra caution. You’ll never know if a male is simply trying to find a fast track to power. If anyone shows an interest in you, double check his motives first.’

  She’d heeded his advice, turned away a few losers who thought to fuck their way into power, but that shouldn’t be a problem with Damien. He was a rogue who picked up odd jobs here and there, not the type to want to take over the pack. Of course, rogues didn’t settle down, but was that what she was looking for?

  He is a male worthy of us. The others were not. Her wolf cleared up the confusion. This is the one we should keep as our mate.

  “Really? You know this already?” Sam chuckled at the animal’s quick decision, but then narrowed her eyes as she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror. Puffy lips, flushed cheeks, her hair askew. She ran her hand down her body, recalling how it had felt to have Damien’s hands on her, to feel his body rocking against her aching core. Even now she still felt the need for him.

  Damn. She wasn’t looking for a mate, she had enough to do right now. But Damien had potential. He was a good fighter, sexy, plus he made her laugh. And her wolf approved. Indecisiveness wasn’t typical of her. Weighing all the factors, she gave a quick nod and set her course of action.

  Damien stood in front of the bathroom mirror staring at the faint scar on his neck, the physical reminder of his blood bond with Beth. He touched it with his fingertip, tracing the slight roughness, trying to recall how it had felt to have Beth kiss him there. Instead of the usual flood of old memories, he could only think of Sam, the roughness of her tongue on his skin, the feel of her lean, muscled body against his, the way her scent lingered on him.

  When she’d pulled his head down and kissed him, he’d been shocked. That was the last thing on his mind today. He’d been too angry over his failure to find Dante to even think of sex. But when Sam’s hot mouth had teased his, desire had slammed into him. Feelings long denied had clamoured for release, and he’d allowed himself to get caught up in the moment.

  Even now, his body ached uncomfortably. A quick glance down showed his arousal would still be obvious even to the most casual observer. Giving a snort of disgust, he stepped into the shower, turned on the cold water and gritted his teeth.

  The icy drops stung against his still sensitive skin, but he welcomed the discomfort. It was a small enough punishment for the sin he’d almost committed. He’d pledged his life to Beth using the old, traditional human vows of sickness and health, good times and bad, ’til death…

  “I’m mated, Sam.”

  “I thought you said she was dead.”

  “Yes...”

  That snippet of conversation played over and over in his head. Why had he agreed? Yes, Beth was dead, but her spirit lived on in his heart. Her dying words had asked him to never forget, and he’d kept the vow since that day. Now guilt twisted inside him.

  His wolf paced restlessly, too. It was disturbed by the encounter, not angry with him like in the past, but for once unsure of what the correct course of action might be.

  “Ha, I have the upper hand this time, old boy.” Damien shut off the water and grabbed a towel. “What we need to do is focus on our job and forget about Sam Harper. And that should be pretty easy. After all, she’s nothing like Beth.”

  He concentrated on bringing an image of Beth to mind. Her dove grey eyes, her gentle smile, her long hair he loved to wrap his hands in. For once, the picture waivered, refusing to come into focus. Shocked, he froze in place, the towel clenched in his hand. His breathing quickened, a nervous fluttering began in his stomach. What was going on?

  Furrowing his brow, he tried harder, imagining her light laughter, her soft touch. Like a will-o-the-wisp her memory drifted by, escaping as he attempted to latch on to it. How had she tasted when he kissed her? And her scent had been…

  When he could finally see her, he exhaled, the feeling of panic that had been threatening easing off.

  Beth was still with him.

  Chapter 11
/>   Sam sighed and wished she’d ignored the summons to her grandfather’s room. Over the past several months she’d been going through some of the boxes in the attic, sorting out old ledgers and journals based on which Alpha they had belonged to; making digital copies of the most important historical data, and purging what didn’t need to be kept. She’d been periodically giving him some of the items to read, thinking it would keep him busy. However, this latest batch, his own private journals, had sent him into a querulous mood for some reason and now she was taking the brunt of it. For the past half hour, he’d been grilling her about how she was managing the pack, with pointed references to how things had been done back in his day.

  “And why haven’t I met this rogue you hired yet?” Sam’s grandfather growled at her from his chair near the window.

  “You’ve been sick the past few days. And you know that your medication makes you sleepy. You wouldn’t want to meet him when you weren’t at your best.”

  He clamped his mouth tightly shut, obviously not pleased that she’d pointed out his weakness. However, it was the truth and Sam tried to stick to plain speaking when it came to her grandfather, despite his age and health.

  Rather than concede that she was right, he came at the topic from another angle. “I saw him come in earlier today. I want you to bring him to me now.”

  “Now?” Hell. She wasn’t sure what had gone wrong with Damien in the exercise room and had no idea what type of a mood he might be in.

  “That’s right. Otherwise you’ll come up with another damned excuse.”

  “It wasn’t a ‘damned excuse’, it was a perfectly good one. But, I’ll bring him here if that’s what it takes to make you happy.”

  “Good.” Her grandfather folded his arms and glared at her. “Get moving. I haven’t got all day.”

  She bit her tongue to hold back a rude reply. There was no point in provoking a slanging match. Reluctantly, she headed upstairs to find Damien.