Memories from their time on the roof had plagued him as he protected the woman he was sure was meant to be his mate. She was…perfect, so much more than he ever could have hoped for.
But she was perfect as she was, untainted by a connection to him.
Realizing who she was to him had thrown ice-cold water over the heat that had overcome him. If he’d succumbed to the need he felt for her, the desire commanding him to lose himself in her, he would risk sentencing Sophia to the same fate he’d been living with for so long.
His actions would also prevent him from gaining his own powers back, a punishment that seemed mild in the face of the crime.
To him, there was nothing to think about. If he willingly mated with Sophia, he would be just as bad as Ranulf, selfishly ripping his mate’s gift from her.
He also knew with certainty that, without her powers, Sophia would die. Éloy had been taken over by his compulsions, barely lasting half an hour around her before giving in. He wasn’t as old as Zarenyen, but he wasn’t young either. Éloy’s immense power was the only reason he’d been able to hold himself back from hurting Sophia, but Heath wasn’t under any illusions that other faeries would do the same.
He trusted Éloy’s word, and knew a message had already been passed around the city regarding Sophia’s mark, but she was in no way safe. The younger Fey wouldn’t be willing to fight their own nature for some strange were, especially one who appeared to be no threat to them.
The fact that she was a threat is what would save her, and that was only because of her elemental abilities and the extraordinary control she had over them. Without that, Sophia would be almost as weak as a human: she was stronger than most humans due to her immortality, but weak compared to other immortals in terms of physical strength.
At Briony’s truck, Heath almost ripped off the door’s handle when an image of Sophia, broken and lifeless, filled his mind. The day when she’d been burned haunted him, the memories whispering of her future torment, all because she’d been too powerless to fight back. If they hurt her that badly when she had abilities at her disposal, what will they do to her when she’s weak?
He knew she would either be found broken beyond what Aiyanna or Briony could solve, or dead. That was how powerful this Christabel was, with her diluted strength overcoming a man like Éloy and her cunning in getting the jump on Sophia in her own home, when she’d been utterly unprepared for battle.
Each finger Heath laid on Sophia would be a bone broken later, each caress blood spilled, blood Heath would be responsible for.
He was content to watch over Sophia, to protect her in any way he could, but he wouldn’t be the cause of her injury, much less her death. Even a woman with an iron will such as hers could understand that knowingly putting her at risk would damage Heath beyond redemption.
He’d been fracturing for centuries, losing his humanity in pieces every time Jeremiah lied about him to the Elders, every time he forgot his powers were gone and tried to lift water up into vapor, only to feel nothing but a strain in his mind, as if his abilities were trying to comply but simply couldn’t. After each year that passed with no hope in regaining his life, more of that part of him, the good part that loved visiting his high school mentees, that secretly liked how Mary and Leila doted on the pack, slipped away.
If it weren’t for Big Mama’s promise to help him, he knew in a matter of years he wouldn’t be the same person anymore, wouldn’t be someone worth trusting around a woman like Sophia, who’d given herself over to human traffickers without batting an eye for the sake of human women.
When she’d been kidnapped, Heath would have given all four of his limbs to get her back, to risk countless humans in order to keep Sophia from harm. At the time, he hadn’t thought about the humans—they were nothing to him, worthless.
It should scare him, that he’d become someone who cared so little for human life, but he was numb to it—too far gone to realize the horror of what could have occurred had he gotten his way on that night six months ago.
All the good in him that was left, the only part of him worthy to be in Sophia’s vicinity, was the barrier that stood between their mating, the wall that would ultimately protect her from the consequences of their combined, nullified powers. If that last part of him broke, releasing his savage need to make her his, he wouldn’t be worthy of the freedom Raphael had granted him.
For this crime, he felt shame for merely considering the act, much less acting on his base urges.
He pulled up in front of a bike shop on Julia Street but didn’t move to get out of the truck, lost in thought. A car passed by, its model similar to the one he’d crushed the day before, reminding him that he, too, was in danger, danger he’d promised himself he’d keep Sophia away from.
Since he’d felt Sophia’s touch on the roof, he’d only thought about himself in terms of her, in the ways he could potentially hurt her, but he’d forgotten the peril his mere presence would bring.
They were both being hunted, and if he didn’t rein himself in, he’d get her killed.
He forced himself to calm down a few notches, waiting until his eye stopped staring at him and began to glance around curiously before he climbed out of the truck and grabbed his bike.
An hour later, his mood had improved drastically. His bike would be fixed completely in a matter of weeks, and the trip to the shop had been brief enough that he had time to head to the nearby public high school to tutor a young human named Andrew in BC calculus before Drew’s study hall ended.
Heath liked math, had followed its developments as well as he could over the centuries, and had always been good at following the books he’d read. He much preferred those that had problems in them; he relished solving a long, complicated problem, or building a correct proof.
He liked that when he went about a problem in the right way, possibly getting slightly creative, the solution would come. It was objective and predictable, unlike his immortal life.
“You’re quieter than usual today,” Drew said, raising a pair of dark eyebrows high.
Heath spared him a withering glance. “You got a C on a test you should’ve at least earned a B+ on. What the hell happened?” Last week, Drew had been whizzing through the derivatives and second derivatives like they were long division.
Drew scowled, fidgeting with the zipper on his backpack. “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”
“You didn’t ask me a question.”
“In that case, I’ll ignore yours.”
Heath took a deep breath, wondering how in the world teachers put up with a class full of kids like Drew—smart as whips, but all too aware of their own intelligence. “A woman,” he said, knowing the human wouldn’t relent until he spoke.
Drew whistled low. “That’ll do it,” he murmured thoughtfully. “She not into tats? Because I thought girls liked that.”
Heath just shook his head. “Something like that. Now explain the grade.”
Drew shifted uncomfortably, lowering his head and voice. “I went out with some friends the night before—we bought some cheap whiskey and ended up breaking into the YMCA’s pool after hours, so I was pretty hungover for the test.”
Heath wasn’t surprised to hear Drew had a fake ID, as they were pretty common across the city, given the strict policies at bars and clubs. What pissed him off was Drew’s blatant disregard for his future—if they’d been caught, it could have ruined his chances for college. Even now, he’d have to work twice as hard to earn the grade he’d hoped for in the class.
Heath told Drew what he thought without concern for tact. The boy listened to him; Heath would do him no favors by sugarcoating his words.
“You can get scholarships to schools,” he finished, thinking about the massive celebration they’d held for Leila when she’d earned her academic scholarships, “but you have to earn them honestly. You’ll be eighteen soon, and if you have a record and another student doesn’t, they’ll pass yo
u over. Don’t screw up everything you’ve worked for.”
Drew nodded, looking genuinely contrite. In the boy’s hazel eyes, Heath saw what he himself had lost—the drive to become someone better. It gave him satisfaction to see that spark in Drew, to witness it come into fruition as he peppered Heath with questions about the next chapter in his textbook, asking him to work out some problems for him to use as an example.
Heath finished the last problem and handed Drew his papers. “What’re you going to get on your next test?” he asked firmly.
“An A,” Drew said with a definitive nod.
“Don’t pull that shit again,” Heath muttered low enough that only Drew heard him. The teen was still laughing when Heath walked away, noticing someone watching them through the large window on the far side of the library they’d been working in.
Alexandre met him at the back door of the school. “Now that you’re free, you don’t have to do that anymore.” His grin was obnoxiously broad, but they both knew they never had to volunteer to start with—Raphael would have made sure they were released with or without “good behavior.”
“Do I look free to you?” Heath asked archly.
“Fair point.” Alexandre met his brisk stride. Heath wanted to find out where Sophia was, make sure she was safe. To do that, he’d have to find her in person. I’ll avoid contact with her. As if refusing to touch her or speak with her would justify placing her at risk.
The need to see her gnawed at him, uncaring of whatever harsh decisions he’d made. He felt like an addict, lost to Sophia after just one touch of her small hands, his body and parts of his mind completely out of his control.
“We spoke to the were who tried to assassinate you,” Alex said, cutting to the chase. “I thought you’d want to know as soon as we did, and your phone went straight to voicemail.”
Sure, Sebastian had already bought both him and Sophia new phones, Heath decided to head to the brewery next. Most likely Sophia would be there too.
“What’d you learn?”
“I didn’t learn anything—something had Cael in a vicious mood, and he drew the information out of him. The man’s name is Niven, and a were called Ranulf, his Alpha, sent him to kill you. Apparently word is out that you’ve been freed, and this Ranulf isn’t pleased. Is he the Alpha you beat the shit out of but didn’t kill?”
Heath nodded, wondering whether his mother or brother knew about his stepfather’s command. He understood he’d hurt the other man’s ego, and likely lost him a great deal of respect with his pack, but he hadn’t expected this.
The men he’d killed yesterday would have been his own packmates, had he never been exiled.
Heath pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “I can’t kill Ranulf.” He wondered how in the hell he could stop the Alpha without killing him. “He’s mated to my mother.”
“I’m sorry, man.” Alex’s eyes were wide. He clapped Heath on the back. “He may not be willing to lose more men, you know?”
Heath cursed, shook his head. “He doesn’t give a damn about his men,” he murmured, wanting to kick something.
Ranulf ran a large pack, and Heath knew he wouldn’t bat an eye at leading dozens of his soldiers to their deaths like sheep to the slaughter.
* * * *
Mary Newman took her mate’s hand, pulled it over her shoulder and dragged him up to the loft above her art studio. She couldn’t get any work done with Raphael pulling out his hair in his office, which he’d been doing constantly over the past few days. During the last months, she’d discovered how much of a challenge it was to be the Alpha and lupus dux of a clan prohibitum, but she’d also seen that Raphael would walk through fire for his pack.
He worked for those men hours upon hours every day, studying ancient texts and speaking with the Elders and Vale, who were unraveling the secrets Jeremiah had kept hidden for hundreds of years. He’d been scheduled to meet with them in New York City, but postponed the trip in light of the new threats toward the pack.
Now he had a rogue werewolf in his territory, and Mary knew Raphael was at a loss at what to do with him. Her mate was as kind and gentle as a man could be. Leila called him a “big softie” often, embarrassing Raphael more than he would admit even though Mary was proud of how accurate the sentiment was. Even so, she’d seen the violence Raphael could unleash when those he loved were harmed, knew the wrath he would release upon anyone who dared hurt an innocent.
She’d learned her mate inside and out, and could feel his torment in deciding what should be done with a werewolf who came to this city for the sole reason of killing his best friend. Because the man was following orders from his Alpha, and according to the rules Raphael had been studying ceaselessly for months, disobeying the Alpha was the same as willingly leaving the pack.
It was why Raphael tried so hard not to give orders to his packmates—he didn’t want obedience, he wanted men who would look out for the pack and their city, which they never needed to be ordered to do anyway.
Sometimes they would lie in bed for hours discussing the pack, and the hard decisions Raphael had ahead of him as their leader. Mary would always listen intently, touched at how deeply Raphael valued her opinions. Like today, every once and a while he needed to be reminded that he was doing his best, but he needed to take a moment for himself.
Mary liked Raphael’s hair too much to allow him to pull it all out.
She didn’t let go of his hand until they were on the balcony facing the river she couldn’t see, but could smell even without keen canine senses. The air was cool, and Mary lit a lavender-scented candle before settling herself in Raphael’s lap, sinking into the hard warmth of his body.
“Have you spoken to Nathaniel about Niven?” Nathaniel was one of the more approachable Elders, someone who could be trusted not to mince words. He would know what to do with Niven.
Raphael shook his head. “I talked to Marguerite, who told me the issue was with their Alpha, not Niven. They’re already investigating Ranulf because of the papers Vale found in Jeremiah’s house, so this was viewed as more evidence against him. Alphas can’t send soldiers out to kill another were, especially one the Elders just awarded freedom to.”
“They don’t care about Niven then?” Mary wasn’t surprised—the Elders’ time was precious; they rarely became involved unless threats were made to the werewolf race. A rogue Alpha was a threat, but not one of his soldiers.
“He’s only a pawn,” Raphael answered, running his hand through his long black hair. Mary grabbed that hand and kissed it, and then she kissed his mouth softly, drawing him out of his thoughts and into her arms where he belonged.
After a few minutes of comforting one another, each breathing in the other like much-needed air, Raphael pulled back with a groan. “Once I figure out what to do with Niven, I’m taking siesta,” he growled into her ear. His hands pressed against her teasingly, letting her know exactly how he planned to spend his small break.
Mary combed his hair back from his face with her hands, pulling it to the nape of his neck and tying it back with a band she had around her wrist. “You’re a great Alpha,” she said honestly, knowing he was the only man who could find justice for this ill-treated clan “Whatever you decide about Niven, it’ll be the right choice. I have no doubt.”
Raphael kissed her hard, his teeth banging against hers, his hand on the back of her neck pressing her even closer to him. “You’re the only reason I can do this,” he whispered, his love for her showing in every facet of his expression.
He rose, looking out over the city one last time. “I’m deciding so many people’s fates, Mary,” he murmured solemnly. “How will you forgive me if I make a mistake and hurt someone?”
Mary stood and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her front to his back. “You’ll make mistakes,” she told him in a whisper, “but you’re not out to harm anyone. You’ll have to be tough as Alpha, but the core of you is made of loyalty, trust and love. Stop
doubting yourself when you need to trust your instincts.”
She pulled herself away, and he flashed her a grateful smile that melted her heart before he strode inside, back to his office. Mary stayed where she was, the movement of a small group of men and women catching her eye. They walked so quickly she didn’t get a good look at them, but she knew each of them carried something metallic, like swords.
They were headed away from the firehouse, or she would have alerted Raphael right then. She would mention the group to him later; once he’d slayed a few more dragons and she could show him just how much she adored him.
* * * *
Sophia was not at Full Moon Brewery, and Heath wasn’t happy about it.
He palmed the new phone in his hand, disliking the bulky case Sebastian had put over it, but willing to keep it if it meant the new phone would survive a swim in the Mississippi. Somehow, he doubted the technology was quite there yet.
“She hasn’t been here to get her phone?” Heath asked, eyeing the plastic bag on Sebastian’s desk. Filled with electronics, there was an unopened box inside it.
Sebastian shrugged, his eyes on a page full of numbers in front of him. “She said she’d be here later, so I’m not going to worry until then. Besides, she’s with Briony and Harry.”
“Do you really think Harry can guard her?”
Sebastian finally looked up, his expression dry. “No, but he’ll let me know very quickly if something happens, which Sophia wouldn’t do on principle.”
Heath laughed, knowing Sebastian was right—Sophia wouldn’t ask for help in a fight unless the situation was dire, no matter whether she could use the assistance or not.
Heath loved her strength and her pride, even if the latter had the potential to drive him insane.
“You’re her mate, aren’t you?” Sebastian didn’t sound as angry as Heath had anticipated he’d be, but he didn’t sound thrilled with the idea, either.
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