by Celia Kyle
Damn it. It was there, just beyond her reach.
She kept hold of the small piece of something, and went into the bathroom. She wrapped it in tissue and decided she’d tuck it in her bag. Later she’d show it to Wyatt and get his opinion.
For now, she had to get through the ride to Wyatt’s.
Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and finished gathering her belongings. In minutes, she was ready to go and striding into the living room.
Her mate stood near the front window, his back to her as he stared into the street. He was so strong, so solid and fit and powerful. He was everything she’d always dreamed of having in a mate. It wasn’t just his body that drew her. It was the innate goodness she sensed in him.
Now she needed to make sure she was worthy of such a male.
“I’m ready.”
Wyatt turned his head toward her, and she met his amber gaze. The lion inside him was still very near the surface, and she didn’t think it’d retreat anytime soon. Especially once it caught sight of her bruises and the bite on her shoulder. She had to admit it worried her, much more than a little.
“Then let’s go, sweetheart.” He closed the distance between them and took the bag from her hand. “I won’t be able to rest easy until I’ve got you in my den and can look over your injuries myself.”
Inside she knew he wouldn’t hurt her like those in her past. He would care for her. She had to trust him. He was her mate, her one, and everything inside her demanded she put her faith in Wyatt.
So, she would.
Millie followed Wyatt out of the house and to his SUV. Once again, he lifted her into the seat, and she fought to hide the wince that came with the action. “You’re beat up more than just your ribs, huh?”
The words were tender; the tone was not.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
She forced herself to sound more confident than she was. “Really. I’m sure my panther will fix me right up.”
Even though it hadn’t yet, which scared the hell out of her even more.
“Uh-huh.” He pushed her door closed and then moved around the truck to climb behind the steering wheel. “We’ll be home in a couple of minutes.”
We.
Home.
Something inside her, the barrier she’d kept between them, cracked and pieces crumbled with the words.
“Okay. I don’t… I don’t remember last night, so it’ll be good to see where you live.” Panic assaulted her at the loss of memory once again.
“I know, sweetheart.” He reached over and snared her hand, twining their fingers. “We’ll figure it out.”
Millie didn’t say a word after that, content to bask in his confidence. He believed his words whole heartedly, so she would believe in him.
Fifteen minutes later, after leaving the center of Ridgeville and traveling down a two lane road, they pulled up before a nice sized ranch-style home. A garage occupied one end while the rest of the house was spread out to the right.
A flash, a snapshot, burst from her memory, and she realized she’d seen this before. She climbed from the SUV before Wyatt could come around and help her. She shoved at the door and ignored the blooming ache in her ribs as she stumbled to the ground. The red door. The blue shutters. The far right window with a broken latch.
She lurched forward, sandal-clad feet skidding on the gravel driveway, but she kept moving toward the house.
“Bethy!” Wyatt wrapped an arm around her waist, and she hid the wince that came when he brushed against one of her larger bruises. She leaned against him, but refused to let him slow her.
“I remember your house.”
When he tried to steer her toward the front door, she wouldn’t be redirected. She kept moving, traveling to that broken window. There was no way she could know all of this unless she’d been there.
“Bethy, sweetheart.”
“One second.” She broke from his grip and pushed past the low bushes. “My paw prints.” She pointed at the ground. She’d seen her own often enough to recognize them as hers and hers alone. “My nose.” Smeared wet spots had dried on the glass overnight. Testing her own memory, she tugged on the window, and it rose without a sound. “She was determined. She must have let go enough for me to get it open for her.”
“I didn’t even realize it was broken.” He paused and looked at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “She?”
“My panther.” She tipped her head toward the now open window. “Sneaky bitch.”
“You talk about her as if you two aren’t the same.” He frowned. “I know we talk about our cats, our animals, as something separate. Sometimes we act more animalistic, but you’re saying—”
Millie looked away and shrugged one shoulder. He had to know eventually. “Think of it as split personalities. There’s me. There’s her. Then there’s the other.” She swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. “We’re not like everyone else. We’re all different. Different voices. Different personalities. Just… different. Dangerous.”
He pulled her into his embrace and she let him. “You’re perfect and don’t let anyone tell you differently. Dangerous? Only to anyone who threatens you.”
Millie snorted. “You mean everyone.”
Wyatt shook his head, but didn’t say anything. “C’mon. I’ll fix the lock on the window real quick. I need you safe. Then we’ll take a look at that bite and those bruises.”
She didn’t mention she could take care of herself. The hate-filled part of her ensured her protection.
Millie looked at the ground, noting the disturbed dirt and the other odd pattern in the soil.
Or did the power fail to keep her safe?
*
“C’mon, sweetheart.” Wyatt urged her away from the window and toward the front door. Before he stripped his mate bare, he’d take care of the broken window and double check the others, as well as the back door. He had no doubt there were quite a few other scrapes and bruises marring her pale skin. Plus, he imagined there was more to her story than a lost night.
He was determined to find out.
At the front door, he was quick to unlock and push it open, holding it wide for his mate. His lion chuffed and rumbled in pleasure the very moment she stepped across the threshold and entered their den. They had her now, safe and in their home, and they wouldn’t let her go. He’d been secretly pleased she’d been willing to come to his home. He wanted her within his den. Thankfully, she’d given him an easy way to accomplish that feat.
Once inside, he pushed the door shut and made sure the locks were enabled. He’d have to add another one or five. He needed to ensure Bethy was safeguarded.
Wyatt flicked the light switch and illuminated the interior of his home, wincing as light spilled across the living room. Crap, his house was a disaster area. It hadn’t seemed so bad when he woke, but he’d also been half asleep.
The furniture looked more worn than he remembered, and there might be a half-dozen or so empty bottles of beer on the end table. Plus the empty liquor bottles. And then there were the pizza boxes on the coffee table, and he was pretty sure there were a couple of slices in there. He’d decided to save them for later.
He winced. Yeah, he wasn’t the cleanest lion in the pride. At all.
“Um, here.” He rushed around her and grabbed a couple of the empty bottles, pausing to brush off one of the couch cushions on his way. “Go ahead and sit down and I’ll…” Make a wish that the house was fucking clean.
A soft, delicate hand on his arm had him stilling. “Wyatt, it’s fine.” She shook her head, and the sight of her gentle curls bouncing had his cock going hard.
He was the sickest. Fuck. Ever.
He got turned on by his injured mate’s hair.
He’d never tell a soul.
Well, unless the other guys admitted it first.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to bring you back here. I mean, you were here last night, but you were a panther, and it was dar
k.”
Bethy scrunched her nose, and he wanted to kiss the tip.
He was pussy whipped without the pussy.
“I think I remember the house.” She shook her head. “I know I recognized the outside, but in here. The scent…” She sighed. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
Wyatt looked at her with a critical eye. Purple bags lingered beneath her eyes and lines of fatigue marred her face. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “You slept well beside me, but we don’t know what happened later.”
“I know I was here.” Her eyes were filled with so much hope, and he knew his sweet Bethy was torn up about not remembering. “I mean, I’ve never been here before, but I remember the house and the window and the scent inside your home.”
“It’s a good start, sweetheart.” He grabbed her bag from her hand and then snared her fingers in his loose grip. “Let me show you the guest room. I can assure myself, and my cat, you’re okay and then you can lie down.”
Wyatt wasn’t going to mention she hadn’t been up long, and it worried the hell out of him that she wanted to nap already.
“Guest room?” She pulled against him, snaring his full attention.
“It’s that or my room, sweetheart.” He laid it out there and would let her decide.
“We’re mates, though.”
“Yeah.” He wasn’t going to let hope bloom.
“So we belong together. I can’t promise…” A blush tinged her cheeks, and she waved her hand around. “That. But can I sleep in your bed?”
“Sweetheart, you can sleep wherever you want.” He squeezed her fingers gently and let his lion’s purr travel through him.
“Then take me to your room.” A tremble traveled through her fingers and into him, but he decided to take her words at face value. They both had their demons, and it was hard and nerve wracking as hell to deal with them.
“Okay, then.” He resumed his slow, but steady steps.
Wyatt led her down the hallway, thankful there weren’t dirty clothes littering the ground. In his bedroom, he sent up another prayer of thanks he hadn’t left the space a complete disaster area. Sure, there were a few random bits of clothing—thank God, no dirty boxers—but there were no empty bottles or half-eaten pizzas hanging around.
He looked toward the pile of his discarded sports gear. A lot of the men in the pride tended to get together for anything from basketball to hockey and anything in between. Everything needed to play any of those sports was carelessly piled in one corner of the room. Dirty or clean—mostly muddy and dirty—were stored there. He really should have rinsed his cleats after that last game at the park. He looked at the bat lying on the ground, caked in mud after he’d tossed it away to tackle Harding. Okay, cleats and bat.
Once inside, he released her and stepped aside, letting her take a good look around the space. “We can swap some of this out if you’d like. I’m not attached to any of it. It’s just stuff, and I want you to be happy, Bethy.”
She was silent as she looked around and then finally turned to him, flashing him a bright smile. “It’s you, Wyatt.” She shrugged. “And that’s all I need.” Taking a deep breath, she walked to the bed and stroked the comforter. “Will you help me? My muscles are bunched, and the bite is on the back of my shoulder.”
Skin. He was going to touch and stroke her skin. His cat was still furious she’d been hurt, but a tiny part of him looked forward to caressing her.
“Sure.” His voice was husky, the growl of his cat imbuing the single syllable.
Wyatt dropped her bag, not caring where it landed or if it struck anything. He only had eyes for Bethy.
In two strides, he was behind her, his hands hovering over her shoulders. His cock, his wayward fucking cock, twitched and half-filled. “How do you want me to help you?”
“Just,” she held her breath and he did the same. Would she change her mind? “Just grab the bottom of my shirt and help me work my arms out.”
“Then off?” He was torn between wanting her to say yes and not wanting to rush her into anything she wasn’t prepared for.
“Not-not yet.”
“Okay, sweetheart, whatever you want.” He did as she asked, grasping the bottom hem of her T-shirt and gently lifting it.
Her pale skin was revealed in minute increments so he wouldn’t accidentally harm her further. The first inch or two pleased the cat, the animal purring at the idea of their mate being exposed to them. But it was the third inch that had his beast ending its purr and rolling it into a low growl.
Purple bathed her skin, starting above her hip bone and traveling along her back. The more revealed, the more bruising he found. Some spots were pale blue, while others were dark purple, attesting to the depth of the injury.
A barely perceptible shudder wracked Bethy’s body, and he cut off his growl, cursing himself for scaring her. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you. Just mad you’re hurt.”
“I know.” He sensed the conviction in her softly spoken words.
He paused as he neared her shoulders, holding the fabric as she wiggled and shifted until her arms pulled free of her shirt. It was then he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Holy hell, she was trying to kill him. Even in the face of her injuries, his cock went from slightly stiff to rock hard. If he moved and peered over her shoulder, he could catch a glimpse of her bare breasts. He imagined them full and round, nipples practically begging for his mouth.
Damn.
It took a few more tugs and shifts, but finally her arms were free of the fabric and he was able to expose her shoulders. More bruising, what looked like a boot covering her left shoulder. And on the right… Thin twin puncture marks. Too far apart for any of the small shifters they had in the area. Not nearly separated enough for it to be one of the lions in the pride.
He let her tug the shirt from his grasp and cover her chest with the fabric as she hugged herself. He was sad to lose the chance at seeing her body, even if it was bruised to hell and back, but he was more worried about the bite.
He gently brushed his hand over the wound, noting the skin was slightly warmer around the holes when compared to the rest of her body. Yet, there was no redness or sign it was infected or irritated. In fact, all he really saw were two small injuries that were slowly healing.
“I know you’re beginning to remember coming to the house. You can’t think of where these came from?” He kept his voice low, knowing his sweet mate was probably nearing the end of her rope.
Bethy shook her head. “No. I went to bed and woke up covered in mud, scratches, bruises, and that.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Mud?” He took another look at her back, seeing evidence of the scratches she mentioned. “When did you get out of bed this morning?”
“Eight. You showed up around eight-thirty.”
Wyatt glanced at the alarm clock’s glowing red numbers. “We’re at just after nine. These scratches should have healed by now. Definitely some of these bruises. And this bite is still very pink.”
Bethy swallowed; throat working and the desperate half of him wanted to lick a line along her neck. “I know. I don’t know why it’s not.” Another tremble, but this one was accompanied by a wave of anxiety.
The lion forced him to move, demanded they gather her close and comfort her. Then again, Wyatt didn’t even try to resist his instincts. He immediately gently pressed his front to her exposed back and wrapped his arms around her waist. He worried she’d rebuff him, shove him away, but instead she sighed and gave him her weight.
“We’ll figure it out together, sweetheart. You mentioned you’re not together like other shifters. It might be a matter of your cat or your power getting you into trouble.” She shook her head, and he nuzzled her neck, drawing her scent into his lungs. “Yes. But no matter what it is, nothing is going to happen to you. Do you understand? You’re mine, and I’m going to take care of you even if it means tying you to my bed.”
Wyatt winced. Damn, talk
ing about tying up a woman who’d spent years being abused by Alistair was the most insensitive thing to say. Ever. “Bethy, I’m sorr—”
She spun in his arms, turning to face him, and he met her golden gaze. Hints of darkness lingered in the golden orbs. He wondered if that was the third part of her, the power she referred to as something separate from the woman and cat.
“Don’t be sorry. You…” She shook her head and turned her focus to his chest. “You haven’t treated me like I’m broken.”
Wyatt shrugged. “You’re not.”
“But even after you found out I could hurt you, you didn’t treat me differently.”
He raised his eyebrows. “But you haven’t hurt me. Everyone is so afraid of you, Bethy. Everyone is so worried about you hurting them. Maybe the part of you that’s angry is taking care of them before they could hurt you.” He cupped her cheek and forced her to tilt her head back. “And maybe that part of you that lashes out at everyone else doesn’t touch me because it knows I’d die to protect you.”
Wyatt waited, hoping she sensed the sincerity in his words. Because he meant them. Every. Single. One.
Minutes ticked past, and she didn’t say anything, didn’t move, breathe or blink, and he wondered if he should apologize. He wasn’t sure why he’d be apologizing, but Alex had told him that when it came to mates: apologize first, figure out why later.
“Bethy—” He didn’t get the words out. Not when she pressed to her tiptoes and brushed her plump lips over his. Not when she lapped at his mouth, and he opened for her. Not when she slipped her tongue into his mouth and drew him into heaven.
*
Millie sank into him, letting him take her weight as they kissed. She was so damned tired, bone hurt, and needed to lean on someone—on him—for a while. The women in the pride had been wonderful to her, but Wyatt was… hers.
His tongue tangled with hers, dancing to a seductive beat while they kissed. His warmth filled her, sinking into her body, soothing the remaining aches and pains.