Betrayal: Reckless Desires (Dark Wolves Book 2) (10 page)

Amalija couldn’t look at him as she reached for her jeans. It took some maneuvering, but she managed to shimmy and step out of them. As soon as she did, she shifted. Later, when she wasn’t so raw, maybe she could face him and they could talk, but right then, she needed the quiet that being in her wolf form would provide.

The transition hurt like hell. Being a shifter didn’t mean that injuries miraculously disappeared with the shift. If anything, it aggravated them, but he was right, it was better to heal in wolf form. With the tree behind her and Wesken in front, unless she wanted to push through the brush to get away, she was trapped.

He tipped his face up to the sky, ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it in his fists before grunting, long and loud. If she had to guess, he’d cursed in his native tongue. When he looked down again, he sighed and shifted to his wolf form again.

Amalija tried to sit, but he butted her with his head, nudging her into action. The last thing she wanted to do was walk, but at the same time, she didn’t want to stay where they were. Knowing that Vincent’s corpse was lying off to the side made her stomach roll. Not that he hadn’t deserved to die—he had—but she didn’t want to be near him. Even if he was dead.

Hopping on her good leg, and with Wesken behind her the whole way, she managed to go a mile—maybe two if she were really generous—but her energy was gone. With a whimper, she found a little grotto a short distance from the trail and lay down with her head on her paws. If Wesken wanted to keep going, he’d go alone. She was done.

Wesken nudged her with his nose, but when she didn’t lift her head, he turned around and left. Inside, her wolf howled, and her heart shattered. She had hoped that they could at least talk. Thought that maybe he’d be reasonable and hear her side of the story, but he’d walked away. She watched as he went back to the trail, but then, rather than start toward the village, he examined everything around him.

With his nose to the ground and his body alert, he covered every inch of the area between her and the trail, then disappeared from her sight. It took a few minutes, but he finally came back and, apparently satisfied with what he’d seen, he came in, sniffed her shoulder, then lay down, curling his huge body around hers.

He gave her a little grunt, then put his head down and closed his eyes.

Wesken didn’t know what the hell to think. The stories he’d heard from Roxie were consistent with the woman he thought Amalija to be. His gut told him to trust her, or at least hear her out, but after all the lies and the deceit, how could he believe a word she said?

He lifted his head as she started kicking and yelping in her sleep for the third time in the last hour. He nuzzled her neck and scooted closer, soothing her once more. As soon as he did, her jerky movement stopped and she settled. Wesken took a deep breath, filling himself with her scent, soaking it in. Until he’d caught a glimpse of her being dragged away, a small part of him had been terrified that he would be too late to save her. Fear and fury like he’d never experienced had the wolf pushing him to greater speeds than he’d ever run. His muscles had vibrated with uncontrolled power.
Mate
, the beast had growled at him. But it couldn’t be.

Yet there he was, laying wrapped around her, and all he could think about was waking her and claiming her. It had to be the waning adrenaline of the fight. The crippling fear of finding out that she was in the hands of the enemy had worn off, he’d made sure there were no new threats in the area, and now the wolf was restless. But it had nothing to do with mates or the lack thereof. He knew this. Unfortunately, his wolf—and his body—disagreed.

He didn’t doze off until the sun had disappeared and the stars had long since taken its place in the sky. And each time what he could only assume was a nightmare disturbed her sleep, he got closer until no distance separated them and his head rested across her body.

***

Amalija woke to a comforting weight pressing her down. She didn’t have to guess at what it was. Wesken’s scent was all around her—on her. She took a deep breath, soaking him in. He could have left, but he hadn’t. He’d stayed with her, protected her, and even comforted her when her past had merged with her present in her nightmares. If he didn’t care at all, he would have been gone, or at the very least, he would have left her to her fitful sleep.

Still in her wolf form, she opened her eyes and stretched as well as she could with Wesken partially covering her. The moment she did, he lifted his head and looked at her. Part of her wished she was brave enough to shift and initiate the conversation they needed to have, but she wasn’t. Not yet. If she was going to have to plead her case, she wanted to have clothes on.

When she moved to get out from under him, he let her. He followed her out, stretching in the early morning sun, and she had the sudden urge to nip at him and take off running, if only to see how he would react. She hesitated, testing out her front leg. Finding it better, she caved in to her wolf’s urge to play. She pounced, then bolted toward the trail. She made it all of twenty feet before he was on her.

He knocked into her, sending them both tumbling through the blueberry bushes along the side of the trail. In a smooth move, he had her pinned on her back and nipped at her shoulder, then her front paw. None of the bites hurt, but with his weight holding her down, she couldn’t get away. She wriggled and twisted her spine, trying to dislodge him, but there was no use. He opened his jaws wide and clamped onto her neck. Not in an Alpha-demanding-submission way, but in the way a male might bite his mate—claim her.

Every part of her wanted it—craved it—so much, but not with everything between them that still needed to be figured out. When he claimed her—if he claimed her—she wanted it to be with a clear mind and full knowledge that it was right. She wanted him to need it as much as she did.

She stopped struggling, leaving her neck open to him, not wanting to push the wolf. His hot breath ruffled her fur, and his chest heaved against her as he fought to catch his breath. A moment later, he hopped off her, taking his warmth with him. He didn’t go far, but with his body as tight as a bow, one thing was clear. Play time was over.

The village was rousing by the time they arrived. Argram was already out, instructing the men on their duties. If the way his brother stopped talking when he spotted them was any indication, Wesken would say he was preparing a crew to go after him and Amalija and tightening security around the village. More men would be on watch, both day and night, until they eliminated the threat.

Wesken should go over and be a part of the discussion. Protecting the pack was his job, after all, but he couldn’t. He needed to get Amalija home, and then he needed to think.

He’d almost claimed her in their wolf forms back in the forest. It had taken more strength of will than he’d thought he possessed to keep from sinking his teeth deep and joining them as mates forever. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been mated before. Wolf shifters, even the Erritrol wolves, mated once. For life.

He heard Argram call after them, but he kept moving. He waited until Amalijawas safe in her home before loping off to his own. He shifted as he entered, heading straight for the shower. Her scent still filled his senses, and damned if his wolf didn’t want to roll in it. Maybe if he got rid of it, his wolf would settle.

He soaped himself up, rinsed, and then did it again. Still, her scent tormented him. He slammed his palms against the wall and let the hot spray wash over his back. Maybe he needed to put more distance between them, but even he didn’t kid himself into thinking that would work. He loved the woman. And that screwed everything up.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, he wrapped it around his hips, then took another to dry his hair.

“You done hiding?” Argram asked from where he was perched against the wall next to his room.

“I’m not hiding. I had a shower. I’ll get to work in a minute.”

“How is she? Did he hurt her?” Argram looked ready to explode.

Wesken shook his head. “Nothing serious. A shoulder injury and a couple of scratches, but I found them before the bastard did anything more. And yes, he’s dead.”

“Good. So what the hell is going on?”

“I need to get dressed.”

“Yes, you do. I’m tired of looking at your naked ass. But you can talk while you dress.”

Maybe he should talk to his brother. He might have some ideas on how to get out of the mess he’d put himself in. “Something has been happening—is happening—between Amalija and me,” he said in a rush.

“Any wolf with a nose knew that yesterday,” Argram replied, but then he lifted his hands in the air when Wesken glared.

“I told her I’d been mated before, but it didn’t matter. One thing led to another. Now I’m not sure what to do about—”

Wesken stopped short when his brother snorted.

“What?” Wesken asked.

“Nothing.”

“Say what’s on your mind,” Wesken asked, his irritation making his voice sharper than it needed to be.

“You were never mated, brother.”

“Have you forgotten my mate? The one who tried to kill yours and your son? The one who almost killed the fucking Queen of Avalore?”

Argram growled. “I remember Kendra well. I will never forget her. But she was not your mate. Not in the true sense of the word.”

Wesken pulled a pair of jeans up his damp legs, struggling to get them over his hips. “Of course, she was. We exchanged the mating bite. Often.” Disgust rolled off him at the memory.

“Be that as it may, you were never meant for one another. Biting a female doesn’t automatically make them your mate.”

He didn’t dare hope. If he and Kendra weren’t mates, then Amalija could be his. His wolf gave him the mental equivalent to an eye roll and an
I told you so
. “How do I know?”

Argram looked at him with his head cocked to the side. “You haven’t figured it out, have you? Tell me this… How long did you grieve for her when she died?”

“I didn’t. She was a traitorous, murderous bitch. She didn’t deserve my grief,” Wesken answered. She hadn’t. And so he didn’t. It was that simple.

“And I’m here to tell you that none of it would have mattered. Had it been Miga who had done all those things, I would have grieved. That’s a lie. I wouldn’t have survived long enough to grieve. Seeing a single tear slide down her cheek brings me to my knees. The very thought of her being in danger, or—heaven forbid—in pain, brings my wolf to the surface to the point where I can’t control it.” Argram clenched his fists. “Do you have any idea how hard it was seeing her suffer, seeing her blame herself when Malec was taken? I would have killed each and every wolf for miles around, regardless of their loyalty, had it not been for the fact that she needed me. And you don’t want to know how intense those feelings are toward Malec. Now the question is, did you ever have those feelings for Kendra?”

No, of course, he hadn’t. “You know I didn’t. Our emotions weren’t restored until after she was dead when Brienne broke the curse.”

“So then, other than the fact that you bit her neck, and she bit yours, what makes you so sure you were mated?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

“The way I see it, you can be stubborn and refuse to believe what is in front of your face, or you can talk to your mate.”

“She lied to me. To all of us. How can I trust her?” So much had happened in such a short period, Wesken wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“Did she? Did you ask her if she was originally from the Komoro pack?”

“No, but she could have said something.”

“Right, and did you tell her all about the Dark Lands and the horrors you’ve lived through?”

“I told her…” The conversation they’d had by the lake came back, in all its horrifying clarity.

“You told your mate you weren’t mates?” Argram guessed, and when Wesken nodded, he coughed. “I bet that went over well.”

Wesken’s stomach dropped. “And I told Amalija of Kendra’s betrayal.”

Argram blew out a breath through puffed cheeks before getting up and shoving him toward the door. “Talk to her. Get her side of things. From what I’ve learned, she had every reason to want to forget her past.”

Amalija sat there, waiting. For what? She wasn’t sure. If Wesken knew she wasn’t born into the Komoro pack, then so did Argram. She’d half expected Wesken to shift and demand answers as they came back to the village, but he’d stayed in his wolf form, stubbornly following her as she made her way home. With each step she took, her heart broke a little more. He didn’t want her side of the story. Well, fine. She didn’t need him.

Liar.

She should go out and find Argram. Maybe he’d be more forgiving than his brother. If she could convince him, then maybe she could stay with the Komoro pack. But did she want to? The torture of seeing Wesken on a daily basis, knowing that he hated her, would kill her. She took a step toward the door, then sat down again. Why would he forgive her when the Mahehkans had abducted his son less than twenty-four hours before?
Because he’s a reasonable and fair Alpha, that’s why.
He wasn’t Roger. At the very least, he would listen. Having made up her mind, Amalija stood, marched to the door, and swung it open.