by Karin Tabke
Falon slid from the bed and sauntered toward him. “Did the big bad wolf get burned by his own huffing and puffing?” She traced a fingertip along the width of his chest and up and over his shoulder. As she rounded behind him, she traced her fingertip along the rigid line of his shoulders. “Perhaps you should rescind your spiteful orders.” She rose up on her toes and whispered against his ear. “Be careful what you ask for, Lucien, you might get it.” She strode past him into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
He stood for long, furious minutes fighting down the violent reaction she evoked from him. Never had a female infuriated him the way this one did. Never had he wanted to bend one to his will as he did this one. Never had he wanted to sink to his knees and beg a female to let him in as he did this one.
And never had he lost control and composure with one as he did Falon.
Be careful what you wish for, indeed. She would be the death of him!
In slow, measured steps, Lucien returned to the common room. Sledge had not moved from where he hit the floor. Lucien waved him away. “Go. We have no business.”
“Will you meet with Corbet?” the biker asked, slowly standing up.
“No.”
“Not even hear him out?”
Lucien growled. Humans were the most insipid beings on earth. “Leave here!”
When the heavy metal doors closed soundly behind the Viper leader and his ragtag men, Lucien looked at the haggard faces of his pack. There were less than seventy of them now. Each and every one deserved more than what they had endured these last sixteen years.
“Our time is at hand, Mondragon. I have marked my mate. Soon she will return the mark and then—” Emotion filled Lucien’s chest. “Then there will be such a rise of the Lycan nation, no man, Slayer, or beast will deny our right to live freely and without persecution!”
Three
FOR THE FIRST time in nearly sixteen years, Lucien watched hope spring into the eyes of his pack. It warmed his heart to see them smile. And for the first time since he was ten years old, he felt that same warmth swell inside himself. Not even when he was about to mark his first chosen one had he felt such optimism for the future. Perhaps it was because he never actually marked her. Perhaps had he, he would have felt the same sense of euphoria he now felt having marked Falon.
He smiled and gathered them close. “We are on the precipice of something great, Mondragon,” he said softly, as if saying it too loud would jinx it. As they huddled around him, their excited anticipation for the coming night was palpable. It was good, their lust. As was customary when an alpha marked his mate, the pack celebrated by playing the field to narrow down their chosen ones for the day the mark was reciprocated. By the time Falon marked him, his pack would have decided on mating pairs and when Falon became pregnant, it would signal a wild tidal wave of fertility for the pack. Within the year, an entire generation would be born and for as many years as he and Falon were together, his pack would regenerate their bloodlines.
And, gods willing, he and Falon would set the bar high and have more than a single child. A profound sense of what he must do swelled within Lucien. For the first time in his life, Lucien looked ahead and saw the faces of his children before him. Strong, lusty children full of fire like their mother and passion like their sire.
He wanted that. Strength, power, a family bound not only by blood but by love. It was the family his mother and father had built for their children. It was a family, though imperfect, he had thrived in.
But before he could begin, there was the rising. To destroy the Slayers, every pack must focus solely on that end and be proactive.
“In less than two months’ time, the Blood Moon will rise. Between now and then, it is imperative we hunt daily. Each Slayer we destroy now is one less to rise against us later.”
Cheers rose up around him. Lucien waited for his pack to settle down. “I have met with each California pack leader over the last month, even those who do not approve of Mondragon, and all have agreed we must be proactive now. To that end, at first light tomorrow, we will hunt daily.” Aggressive growls of approval rose around him. “My promise to you is that before the next full moon, I will cut Balor Corbet down, strip him bare, and—” Lucien caught Falon’s scent. He raised his head and looked past his gathered pack to see her standing on the last step of the metal stairway. She stood tall and proud, and shock of shocks, clothed in one of his black T-shirts and a pair of black sweats. Collectively his pack turned and followed his eyes. He felt their anxiety rise. They were unsure how to feel about this female they were supposed to accept as their alpha when she made it clear she did not want to be a part of Mondragon. Lucien understood. But he was determined to change both Falon’s and his pack’s feelings toward the other.
He nodded. Thank you.
Falon leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. I didn’t dress for you.
Of course you didn’t.
He dragged his eyes from her and turned back to his pack that was now focused solely on Falon. In a drastic shift, their mood went from excited and hopeful to agitated and wary. Not anxiousness for the coming matings or for the hunt, this anxiety was altogether different. What had just happened?
“What is it?” he asked no one specifically.
He was met with downcast eyes and shaking heads. Something was wrong. He looked back at Falon, who had not moved, but knew by the rigid set of her spine she detected the change as well.
There was no love lost between Falon and his pack. Though they had been loyal once to Rafael, their loyalty now lay firmly with Lucien. That Falon was the marked chosen one of his enemy did not sit well with the pack. It was something Lucien had not considered when he had agreed to accept Falon as his chosen one.
“There have never been secrets here,” Lucien said, angry his pack refused to look at him with Falon in the room. “Speak!”
When they remained silent, he looked to Talia, who stood off to the side. “What are they afraid to say to me?”
Talia looked over at Falon, then moved into the gathered pack to stand in front of Lucien. “They fear she may carry Rafael’s child.”
Talia’s words stunned Lucien. He felt as if he had been a mule kicked in the gut. He had never considered since Falon and Rafael had traded marks that she could indeed be pregnant with Rafael’s child. He snarled and turned to Falon, who stood proud and defiant before them all.
“Do you?” Lucien demanded, striding toward her but stopping before he came too close. He was afraid of her answer and what he might do.
Her cheeks pinkened. Her body trembled. “I am not pregnant.”
“How sure are you?”
“Sure enough that I would have killed you or any Lycan who tried to keep my child from his father.”
“Always standing up for my brother. How do you expect Mondragon to accept you as their alpha when you cannot even look at them?”
“I did not choose to be here, Lucien.” Falon looked at the gathered pack. “Any more than they chose to have me here.”
She stepped down off the last step and strode toward him. “In fact, Lucien, you have been the one who has fueled the blood feud for the last sixteen years. You have refused all attempts by your brother and the council to breech the divide. You have held both packs hostage to your bloodlust for vengeance.” She stopped several feet from him and demanded, “Is it even remotely possible, Lucien, that your beloved chosen one was a Slayer? Is it even remotely possible that your brother who loved you above all others acted not only to protect the pack but to protect you?”
“She was not a Slayer,” he defended. “I would have known it. Sensed it, felt it every time I fucked her! What she was, was the one thing that belonged to me.” Lucien jabbed his index finger into his chest. “The one thing Rafael could not have! So he took her from me! Just as he took everything else.”
The pack stirred, Lucien’s righteous anger transferring to them.
Falon looked around to them as they ti
ghtened around her and Lucien. “Why didn’t you take another mate before now? You still would have had the satisfaction of revenge by destroying Rafael’s mate that you so desperately wanted.”
“Because until you, there were none worthy enough to stand beside me.”
Falon’s eyes widened, the golden flecks in them pulsing. Lucien smiled a bitter smile and ran his knuckles across her bottom lip. “And now that I have you, I will not let you go.”
“So I am your prisoner.”
“You are my chosen one.”
“There is no difference.”
“One day you will see that there is.”
You will force yourself on me again?
I did not force you. You wanted what I wanted.
Not with my heart, Lucien. There is a difference!
I have said I will not touch you again unless you ask it of me.
Let me go.
I cannot.
You will not.
Emotion roiled in Lucien’s chest. He could not, would not let her go. She would run to his brother, and he would be left with nothing. His heart thudded like an engine against his chest. If he had to have her unwilling as opposed to gone from him forever he would insist she stay.
And she would grow to hate him more than she already did. Could he live with that? Could his pack? Hatred and distrust was not a foundation on which to build a dynasty. But he could not stomach her with his brother or any other man, when he wanted her for himself.
He stared at Falon’s beautiful, defiant face. Could she come to care for him enough to accept him and his pack? The answer became painfully clear. Not if he forced her to stay.
Swiping his hand across his chin, Lucien looked at his pack. They regarded him as they always had, with complete trust. A trust he did not altogether deserve. Falon was right; he should have taken a mate long before now. Just as his brother refused for his own reasons, and Lucien his, they had both let the packs down in the most basic of ways. To thrive they needed to reproduce. The blood feud had prevented it.
Keeping Falon here against her will with the rising just two months away would cause discord with his pack. Having her here against her will would distract Lucien from what he needed to do: destroy Slayers. Keeping her here against her will was not the act of a true alpha. It was the act of a coward. In that instant of clarity, the hope for his future that had swelled only moments before crashed down around him.
As pack leader, it was expected he do what was best for the pack, not for himself. And what was best for his pack was an alpha whose chosen one was in for the count.
Lucien took a leap of faith and threw the dice. He pointed to the large double metal doors leading to the enclosed yard and beyond. “You are not a prisoner here.” He stood still, staring at the door. If she chose to walk past him and out the door, he would not go after her. His pride would never allow it. But nor would he allow her to go to his brother.
Her eyes widened. “I am free to go? And never return?”
“Go anywhere, except to my brother, and I will not stand in your way.”
You are bluffing.
Lucien shook his head. I will not force you to stay.
What game do you play, Lucien?
No games. If I force you to stay here, you will grow to hate me more than you do now. But more important, Mondragon cannot thrive under an alpha who does not place their well-being above his or her own.
Falon gasped at his honest words. He watched the wheels turn in her head. His vengeance aside, he wanted her to stay because he wanted her for himself. He wanted—argh! He would not make a spectacle of himself. He would not force her to stay here, any more than he would force her to mark him. She was a wild and free spirit, one that would dry up and die if corralled. Giving her her head was key to lassoing her power. It was also crucial to the survival of his pack.
Lucien strode to the heavy metal doors and yanked them open. Sunlight flooded the large room. It was imperative to his pack that if Falon chose to stay, they understood she stayed of her own choice, not because she was being forced. Otherwise, they would have no confidence in her and would always question her loyalty as well as her authority. And that was not something Lucien could allow. Either she was in or she was out.
Falon took a step toward Lucien. His heart thudded dully in his chest. She took another step and another, her focus on the open doors. The pack parted as she passed through them. She kept her chin high, refusing to look at them almost as if she saw the want in their eyes for her to choose them, because if she chose to stay with Lucien, she also chose them. And they desperately wanted to unite, as a true pack should. She stopped at the door and looked out. She looked up at Lucien, then looked back to his pack and stepped through the threshold.
The pack moved in behind him, straining to watch her next move.
“Open the gates,” she commanded.
Lucien pressed the main switch to the left of the doors. The tall metal gates jolted, then rolled back. Falon strode toward them, not once looking back. When she cleared the gates to the outside world, she stopped.
Lucien’s stomach did a slow, aching roll. He and the pack held their breaths. When she took another step away from them, Lucien’s stomach dropped. She took several more steps away from the compound.
“Lucien,” Talia whispered. “Bring her back.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“You must! If the Slayers or the Vipers get ahold of her, we are doomed.”
“I will kill any man who lays one finger on her.”
Falon turned then. Almost fifty yards separated them, but Lucien could see the flare of her nostrils, hear the thud of her heart against her chest, see the indecision in her eyes. It was clear she was torn. But why? There was no love between them or her and his pack. Why did she hesitate? Was it because she still mourned the loss of his brother? In his own way, Lucien mourned as she. He mourned the loss of the love and closeness they shared despite the constant rivalry. They shared the same blood, the same womb, the love of the same mother and father, and yet they were bitter enemies. He wanted to ease the ache in her heart but could not bring himself to give her the one thing she wanted most.
FALON TURNED AWAY from Mondragon. Inhaling deeply she beheld what lay before her. Freedom. Civilization. Unlike Vulkasin, whose compound was a hidden fortress buried deep in the depths of the Sierras, Mondragon hid in plain sight. The compound was a warehouse nestled against the beginning swell of the Sierras at the edge of a bustling town. Probably Folsom. To the north was Rafael. Here Mondragon. And all around her, Vipers and Slayers.
Fear of the unknown skittered along her spine. What would happen to Lucien if she continued to walk away? To Mondragon? To the brothers? One night, not so very long ago, when she was just as confused and afraid as she was now, she had come to the realization that if there was ever going to be peace between the brothers, she would be the only one to broker it. She felt that now, stronger than ever. Lucien was the key. It was reason enough for someone else to stay, but for Falon, what stayed her step was Rafael. How ironic, that for him she would choose to stay for Mondragon. Rafa had sacrificed their love for her life. The noblest of all sacrifices. She would not desecrate such an honorable act by walking away.
The sound of the metal gates jerking to life pulled her out of her thoughts. Her stomach lurched against her rib cage. She turned to the closing gates and Lucien standing stalwart behind them at the doors to the clubhouse.
Never had a man infuriated her as he did. She wanted to slap him for his insensitiveness. He was his own worst enemy. Stubborn, vindictive, and in pain. She could see it in his eyes every time he spoke of his brother. She shivered as she remembered his passionate taking of her just an hour before. Her body warmed, wanting more of him. She hated herself for it, but—at least they had that.
As the gates clanked shut, Falon’s closed heart did the opposite. It cracked open. She would not abandon Lucien. Nor would she abandon Mondragon. She cracked a smile as she env
isioned throwing herself on the sword, the martyr of all martyrs. But there was honor in that. And it was what Rafael would want her to do.
“I have no choice but to stay,” Falon softly said, stepping toward the closed gates.
“So I am your default?” Anger flickered through Lucien’s words.
She understood it. Her own anger that fate had torn her from the arms of the man she loved and set her down here was no less than Lucien’s feeling that he was sloppy seconds.
“I will honor Rafael’s sacrifice with my own.”
Angrily Lucien strode toward her; he pulled the gates apart just enough for her to step through. “So now you are a martyr?”
“You gave me a choice, Lucien. Stay or go. I choose to stay here. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Not because you’re throwing yourself on a sword!”
“You expect too much from me! I cannot just turn my feelings off and on!”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced in front of her, then abruptly stopped and stared hard at her. The turmoil in his eyes was devastating. He was a proud man desperate to put his pack back together. He wanted her to stay for more than his pack; she could see it in his eyes. Vengeance or not, he wanted her for himself. Falon shivered at the realization that she, too, despite her love for Rafael, wanted a part of Lucien for herself. What part she did not know. If she stayed, it would reveal itself. And that terrified her. She was emotional ground beef as it was. She could not take much more. “I’ll give you a week to sift through your emotions, Falon,” Lucien said softly. Falon nodded and slipped through the gates. Then he said, “The seven days are conditional.”
Her head snapped back and she looked up into his blazing eyes. Angry, angry Lucien. Would he ever smile?