He brought her up to a sitting position, cradling her against his broad chest. She noticed that the wolves had scattered. Brae was squatting a good distance away, her body stiff. Caim stood several feet from her, legs spread apart and arms folded across his chest. She tried to make eye contact with him, but he avoided her gaze.
“Brae, make yourself useful and get something to clean her up. The rest of you”—Asch deepened his voice and pointed toward the cavern exit—“out.”
The word reverberated throughout the cavern. The pack readily obeyed, slinking off into the night. Brae scrambled up and disappeared down one of the den passageways, leaving only Caim, defiantly unmoving. She decided Caim stayed because he refused to be dismissed by Asch and definitely not because he was concerned about her.
Glaring at him, Asch said, “You’ve done enough here. Leave.”
Caim huffed, still facing away from them.
“The human should have known better than to get in the way. Perhaps she will learn her lesson.”
Caim turned to storm off toward the exit, not looking back.
Mila knew she shouldn’t take exception to his crass attitude. All they had done was have sex. It wasn’t like he actually cared about her. She should just ignore him, stand up, and brush herself off.
Instead, she started to cry.
She didn’t cry often. It wasn’t because she was tough or composed. It was because she didn’t cry like women in movies with one gentle tear rolling daintily down her face. She couldn’t even pull off glistening rivulets of tears. Nope. When she cried, it was like someone had opened the floodgates on her entire splotchy face.
Asch drew her closer, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his chest. It was very gratuitous of her, but she couldn’t stop herself. The past week had been the most overwhelming time in her life. There was the anxiety that had led up to her leaving Tye, the exhausting journey to Lazarus territory, and the kaleidoscope of emotions she’d experienced since joining the pack: fear, apprehension, doubt, dread, anger, lust, and now, disillusionment.
Joining a werewolf pack had always been her greatest fantasy. She had gotten Wolves of the Cordilleras when she was twelve as she came into her own as an adolescent. The memoirs of Marie and Rein, the lost Frenchwoman and the alpha who had taken her into his pack, were the only things that had made her believe true love existed. As she had gotten older and tried in vain to find that kind of love, she had come to the conclusion that a human man just wasn’t capable of the sort of devotion an alpha had toward his mate.
How stupid that had been. Caim had nearly killed her, and he didn’t even have the grace to look apologetic. Here she was, crying in the arms of a man she had probably cheated on, but really, who knew at this point?
Her life was a disaster.
“Calm down, Mila,” Asch said firmly. His hand rubbed circles over her back. She sagged against him as the tension seeped out of her body. She let him hold her while her sobs ebbed, not speaking until she was confident her voice wouldn’t crack.
“Were you fighting because of me?” Mila asked, her voice small.
Asch shifted her to gaze down at her face. “Did he hurt you?”
Thankfully, he looked a lot less angry. She sniffed and swiped at her nose.
“Well, yeah,” she said, pointing to the area on her forehead that was still throbbing with pain.
Asch’s lips pinched together, and she realized he wasn’t referring to her fall. She cringed, remembering that he could probably smell Caim on her—in her. She shuddered at the thought.
“No,” she told him. She felt humiliated and wanted to look away, but she didn’t. “It wasn’t like that.”
Asch let out a breath and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, his expression had softened considerably.
Mila stared up at him warily. “Are you okay?” she asked, sitting up in his arms.
Asch rubbed the bridge of his nose. “When Caim said that he took you, I thought the worst.”
Mila grimaced. “He told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re all right.”
Mila forced herself not to let his words make her giddy. It wasn’t overly hard, considering she was still in a great deal of pain.
Brae padded back into the room, approaching cautiously. She was carrying a wicker basket in one hand and in the other, a wooden bowl that sloshed with water as she walked. She set them both down beside Asch, concern marring her lovely features. She tucked a lock of her white-blonde hair behind her ear as she sank down to the floor next to Mila.
“I am very sorry that I dropped you,” she said, her brow wrinkling.
“It’s no big deal.” Mila dismissed the apology, waving a hand.
Brae bowed her head, looking at Asch through thick lashes. For a moment, she didn’t look like the beautiful, lithesome woman she was, but more like a dejected pet. Asch gave a long-suffering exhale and reached out to place a hand on her head, giving her a few quick pats.
“I’m not mad at you,” he told her. “But we talked about this. You need to be more careful.”
Brae reached up and wrapped a hand around his wrist. She brought his hand down to the side of her face, rubbing her cheek against him.
“I’ll be more careful. I promise.”
Mila tried not to look sullen as she watched the intimate exchange. From the way Brae had spoken of him the night before, Mila had gotten the impression she knew Asch well. Mila didn’t like the way her teeth clenched and her blood heated at the sight of them. It was totally irrational. If anyone was the intruder here, it was her, not Brae.
Excising himself from Brae’s grip, Asch reached inside the basket and pulled out a crisp washcloth. He dipped it in the water and brought it to Mila’s head, dabbing lightly. The “scratch” turned out to be a rather deep head wound as evidenced by the now crimson cloth Asch drew back to rinse.
Wincing, Mila asked, “Will it scar?”
“If we bind it, maybe not,” Asch told her. “Even if it does, your hair will probably cover it anyway.”
Haughtily, she replied, “If it does scar, then I’m going to skin that bastard.”
Brae seemed to think she was joking and began to laugh. Brae covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes brightening.
“I don’t know that you could, but I would enjoy seeing you try.”
Mila grinned. “I wouldn’t underestimate me.”
“Oh no,” Brae said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t, and I doubt anyone will, now that you’ve staked your claim on Caim.”
Mila yelped just as Asch brought the cloth down on a particularly sensitive part of her wound.
“What?” she bit out.
She had not “staked her claim” on Caim. All they had done was have sex—fantastic sex, but it was still just sex—and that was the very last thing she wanted to talk about while in Asch’s arms.
“We were worried when we heard that Caim had coupled with you,” Brae said. “Caim is a very aggressive partner. You seem to be okay, though. Was he gentle with you?”
Mila gaped at her, sputtering. Fortunately, Asch came to her rescue.
“Brae,” he said in a warning tone.
Her shoulders sagged. “Boundaries?”
He nodded. “Boundaries.”
Mila wondered if she would ever have that level of intimacy with another person where just a word or a small gesture could be so potent with meaning. Her own relationships had been shallow by comparison.
“Thread the needle for me,” he told Brae.
At the word needle, Mila gripped Asch’s thick bicep, her hand clammy. “No. Needles,” she ground out.
The corners of his mouth twitched. “There aren’t any hospitals out here,” he said patiently. “I can’t leave you with an open wound. It can get infected.”
“It’s not a wound. It’s a scratch,” she said defensively. She looked to Brae for support, but the other woman was doing a worse job of hiding her amusement than Asch.
Without much of a choice, she begrudgingly let Asch sew her up. It stung, but he was gentle and careful not to cause any undue pain. When he was done, Brae applied a sweet-smelling salve to her forehead. Her wound sufficiently doctored, Asch stood, bringing her up with him.
She looked up at him, only now remembering how large he was. Asch was every bit the alpha that Caim was, only in different ways. Where Caim’s features were roughly hewn, Asch’s were finely chiseled. Asch was sinewy and clean-cut, where Caim was brawny and hirsute. Asch was the embodiment of her every fantasy, while Caim was her darkest temptation. The realization she thought she could handle both men made her head spin. It was impossible. In his way, each alpha was utterly overwhelming.
Asch brought his hands up to cup her cheeks, his eyes fixing on hers. Her heart fluttered, and for a moment, she forgot that it wasn’t just the two of them in the room.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
He seemed sincere, but she didn’t trust it. “I just wanted to talk to him about a plan Brae and I had, but things just …” Her face heated as she trailed off, unable to think of anything that didn’t sound lame. Caim had only wanted to touch her; it was she who had given him the invitation to take things further. Things hadn’t gone too far; they had gone exactly where she had wanted them to, and now she was going to have to bite the bullet.
“I know. Brae told me about it,” he said. “I think it might work.”
Mila tipped her head to the side. “You do?”
“I didn’t at first,” he clarified. “But smelling him on you doesn’t bother me as much as it should.” He lowered his voice, a slow smile spreading across his face as he dipped his head closer to hers. “Though it does make me want to cover you in my own scent.”
Her stomach clenched and a rush of heat flooded her at his candid words. Logically, Mila knew she was in no state to consort with the sensual creature in front of her, but her brain and her body weren’t on the same page when it came to her alphas.
Her alphas …. Whoa, that was a stretch.
Asch gave her a final, lingering look, and then glanced over to Brae. “Stay with her today. Make sure she’s all right.” He looked between the two of them. “I’ll be back later.”
He released her and Mila swayed a little, but maintained her footing. She watched him as he left, heading for the exit of the den. She didn’t have to ask where he was going. They had a lot of things to work out, and thankfully, it no longer fell entirely on her. She’d let Asch handle Caim for now.
3
An oppressive mist and a heavy silence reigned over the hour before sunrise. The wolves had dispersed into the woods, taking the time away from the den to hunt for game. Last night’s hunt had been paltry—four quails and a rabbit. Deer were scarce in the valley and would become more so as winter closed in on them.
In his wolf form, Asch climbed along the steep shoulder of the mountain. He could have climbed his way up the bluff in his sleep, and some days, he had. While the rest of the pack slept, he would slink away in a weary daze and scale the mountainside. On the flat plateau of the bluff, he could look down at the vast expanse of his unspoiled territory and be reminded of the great responsibility that rested on his shoulders.
Sometimes, it took minutes, other times, hours before he found the will to return to the den. On the days when he thought he couldn’t, Caim was always there to drag him back down.
For Caim, his wolf was a pervading force, always alive and moving just beneath the surface of his human flesh. He let his instincts guide him in all things, and he was born knowing that he would be an alpha. The world that he had been raised in had prepared him for the harsh realities that came with ruling a pack. The isolation was easy for him to bear because he had always viewed himself as being separate from others.
It was harder for Asch, who, even now, kept his wolf on a tight leash. He had repressed that part of him for so long that in his younger years, he had oscillated between the denial of his wolf and a complete lack of control. It had been his inability to conform to human society that had driven him into the wilds with Caim, but after a decade of mastering his wolf, he had realized that he didn’t want to be one thing or the other. He wanted both.
Caim must have heard him coming, because he was standing on the plateau, his back turned. Asch could tell by the way he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease his discomfort that Caim had just shifted.
Asch shifted as he approached, easily slipping into his human form. He advanced slowly and gave the other male a wide berth, standing a few yards away.
He knew Caim would be here. Much like him, Caim often sought out high places when he needed to clear his mind, though for different reasons. The younger male had once told him that when his human emotions weighed heavily on him, he would go high up where the world was small. It reminded him of how eminent he was and how insignificant everything else was by comparison.
Caim did not look very eminent today. His stance was stiff and his broad jaw locked. The only movement he made was the clenching and unclenching of his fists.
“She should have known better than to get in the way,” he recited.
“You’re right,” Asch replied. He paused for a moment, but Caim still looked agitated. He added, “She’s okay, though it might scar.”
“I do not care.”
Asch suppressed a grin, wanting to bait him further. He let the moment pass, knowing they had more serious things to discuss.
“I’ll tell you what I told Brae. You’re gonna have to be patient and careful with her. She’s not a wolf. This is all new to her. You know what the world she comes from is like.”
Asch wondered how much Caim remembered of his time in Halifax. Caim had been fourteen and on the verge of becoming feral. Even after the rage inside of him had quelled, Caim had still obstinately rejected any attempts to humanize him.
He had hated everything.
He hated wearing shoes, he hated using a fork, he hated taking a bath, and above all, he hated having to follow rules. Even as Asch had aided Caim’s mother in trying to reform him, he had admired Caim’s tenacity and envied his conviction.
Caim was a wolf. He knew it with absolute certainty and no one could take that away from him.
They were silent for a while. Asch let his words sink in as they both looked out across the misty valley.
Finally, Caim said, “She means to share us.” He looked over to Asch, his expression pensive.
“We have to try. It’s for the good of the pack.”
“What if I do not want to share her?”
“Then, I’ll fight you for her,” Asch replied tightly.
“You would cast aside the years that we have been a pack for a human you just met?”
Asch knew that Caim was just being petulant now. When the time came, Caim would fight for her too, whether he wanted to or not.
He considered his next words, trying to figure out how to explain a part of himself that he was only just beginning to understand.
“You’re three years younger than me. You may be big and you may be an alpha, but I doubt you’ve felt it like I have. The pull to take a mate … it’s all-consuming. The instinct may not be strong in you now, but maybe in a few years, you’ll get it.”
It was the only way he could describe it so that Caim might be able to understand. He couldn’t tell Caim how he longed for human companionship, someone who understood the human part of him but accepted the wolf in him too. It was what he had been searching for his entire life.
“I will not,” Caim responded. “I will have Mila.”
Asch looked over at him, lips parted.
Caim shrugged and said, “We will have Mila.”
* * *
Morning light filled Mila’s bedroom, reflecting off the shaky silver plate. She smacked her lips together and felt around on the bed for her mascara while she swiped at the corners of her mouth. In her experience, the
re were no self-esteem issues that an eight-hour lipstick, pore-refining toner, and volumizing mascara could not solve.
Brae peeked from behind the plate. Her mouth fell open.
“Mila,” she gasped. “You were right. Makeup does make you beautiful.”
Mila reached up to steady the dinner plate acting as her makeshift mirror. She pursed her lips at the wolf.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now keep that plate still,” she chided.
Mila’s makeup had its work cut out for it today. Her self-esteem, which typically hovered between Queen Bee and Mistress of the Universe, had plummeted to an all-time low. Between Caim’s complete disregard for her well-being and spending the day with the obscenely beautiful and nauseatingly loveable Brae, Mila would have happily crawled into a hole and stayed there for, oh, a decade or so.
After Asch had left, Mila had helped Brae clean up the supplies. Although she had already bathed earlier in the night, she had insisted on returning to the river to wash up, determined to rid her flesh of any traces of Caim. She had thoroughly scrubbed herself but no amount of cleaning could remove the marks he’d left on her flesh and the persistent ache between her thighs.
The plate wobbled again, causing her reflection to become distorted. Brae peeked out from the side again.
“Do you think I could wear some of your makeup?”
Mila gave her a dry look, reaching over to angle the plate. “No way,” she said, waving her mascara wand. “If the guys see you in this, they’ll never look twice at me again.”
Brae looked like she was about to respond but stopped short. She set the plate in her lap, sniffing at the air. Her expression immediately soured. Mila sniffed the air as well, and when she could detect nothing foul, sniffed herself sheepishly. She didn’t smell bad. In fact, she smelled incredible. Like earth and pine and … Caim.
She growled—actually growled—before falling back on the bed in a huff. Brae ignored her theatrics, her eyes narrowed. Mila followed her gaze to the doorway as the flap was drawn back and a familiar woman entered, carrying a tall stack of folded clothes. Her auburn hair was now knotted into a thick braid and tied with a lavender ribbon, but Mila recognized her as the hostile female who had brought her food the day before.
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