by Bonnie Vanak
Robert picked up the empty absinthe glass, sniffed it. The stern look he aimed at her made her stomach turn.
Oh, it wasn’t good to piss off the alpha.
“You tricked Louis into drinking the whole thing.” Cracks appeared in the glass as he squeezed it. “Do you know how lethal it is for ordinary Lupines to drink straight absinthe?”
Aurora didn’t flinch at the dangerous note in his deep voice. “I drank it. I’m a puny Mage.”
“My sister and her mate are upstairs in the lodge, Louis having nearly fucked himself into a goddamn heart attack.” He stood over her, towering and threatening. “My brother-in-law could have died fucking his mate! What do you say about that?”
Her mouth trembled, but she refused to lower her gaze. Refused to be afraid. Damn, she was tired of being pushed around and afraid.
“Sounds like a hard way to go.”
No laughter from Robert. Instead he dropped the glass and dragged her with him as he walked out of the tent to the lodge.
He marched her up the stairs, into a bedroom. Louis lay upon the bed beneath the covers, his florid face flushed, panting in great, jagged breaths. In a crimson robe embroidered with a Chinese dragon, Susan sat next to him, stroking his damp hair. Other Lupines gathered around the bed, murmuring chants. A wooden bowl filled with crushed berries sat on the nightstand. Her nostrils twitched and she recognized the smell of hawthorn, an herb used to lower the heart rate.
Regret stabbed her. So did guilt. She pushed a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me.” Robert jerked a thumb at his sister. “She deserves your apology.”
Several pairs of accusing eyes settled on her as she walked over to Susan, her chest tight. Gods, she hadn’t wanted this. She’d only wanted to free her own sister, not cause this kind of wretched pain.
“I’m so sorry—” Aurora began.
Susan looked up, and the determination in her eyes startled Aurora. “I’m not. I’m glad he did it.”
Whispers floated through the air like the wind rustling the leaves. Robert stiffened. “Susan…”
“Oh Robert. You’re my little brother. I love you, but you have to admit it, it’s pointless.” The Lupine began to weep. “It’s already begun. The signs are there, and everyone knows it! You can’t save us all. And if we’re all going to die anyway, then at least we had some happiness. I’m so tired of you warning us to be cautious, because we’re the only blood relatives you have left. I’ve been afraid of what comes next, afraid to love him the way we were meant to love…and tonight, finally, we did what we’ve been longing to.”
Robert’s face tightened. He leaned down and pulled his sister to her feet and wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed into his broad shoulder. “No one else is going to die. I promise you, I’ll make sure of it. It’s going to be all right.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Susan lifted her head. “Save him.”
“The hawthorn—” he began.
“He’s eaten it and it hasn’t helped.” Then Susan looked at Aurora. “Please, can you save him with your Mage magick, as you saved the baby?”
Stricken with guilt, Aurora perched on the bed. She took a pinch of the hawthorn berries and cradled them in her palm, murmuring an ancient chant the Mages had taught her. A good chant, before everything had turned sour and only darkness remained.
It must work.
She popped the berries into Louis’ mouth and forced him to chew. The Lupine’s eyes opened, and a darkness entered his gaze as he swallowed.
Then he screamed, the scream turning into an eerie howl. Louis threw back the bedsheets and growled.
And shifted.
A large gray wolf stood on the bed. The magnificent beast shook its body, fur rippling with the motion. Susan cried out with delight, and as the wolf sprang off the bed, she shifted as well. The pair ran off into the hallway.
Robert arched a dark brow at her. Aurora felt self-conscious as everyone stared.
“It was a spell for shifters to return to their beast form. They heal better in beast form.”
A half lie. Everyone murmured and looked at their alpha. Looked at him, waiting. Wondering perhaps, if he would forgive her.
Or tear her apart.
Robert went to her as she stood. His expression darkened. “I forgive you for tricking Louis into drinking the absinthe. But you will not violate my orders again. There are things you do not and cannot understand.”
As he went into the hallway, she and the others followed him down the stairs, where the two wolves pawed at the closed front door. Whining, Louis looked back at Robert.
Robert opened the door, but the wolves did not move. They waited, looking at him. He shrugged off his shirt. “Tonight, we run with Louis and Susan. As pack.”
Before she could blink, he shifted into wolf and raced out the door, the others shifting as well and following.
Leaving her alone once more.
Aurora sank to the floor staring after them—a sleek streak of gray, black, and silver fur running with the moon.
Chapter 11
The pack seemed friendlier today. Susan even invited Aurora to coffee, just the two of them. Over coffee and freshly baked blueberry muffins, the alpha’s sister had gently scolded Aurora for disobeying her brother. But then she opened up. Susan worried about her brother.
They remained talking for a few minutes, and then others from the pack joined them, voicing the same concerns about Robert. He’d been working too hard, always working and refusing to delegate tasks for his beta to handle. They worried he overextended himself. They looked expectantly at Aurora, as if wishing her to address these concerns. She promised to talk with Robert.
Perhaps she’d finally made inroads with everyone. She did like it here, with the peaceful gardens and the simple lifestyle of working the land.
After breakfast, Aurora headed towards the nursery in search of Robert, but stopped short on the flagstone pathway. She reminded herself that she wasn’t here to make friends. She remained a slave, one who had a dragon to slay.
The thought hurt.
She found Robert near the shade house, working the earth in his usual uniform of a blue chambray shirt and jeans. Aurora went to him. Apologizing seemed to be her strong suit lately.
“Robert, I’m sorry about Louis.”
He glanced up. “I already told you, it’s all right. He’s going to be fine.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I should have warned you what the drink does to Lupines. Susan was right. I have been too harsh on them. So maybe what you did was a good thing for my sister and her mate.”
Cheered, she sat on the iron bench and watched him plucking weeds. “Next time I’ll just give Louis a little blue pill.”
His mouth quirked. “That never works on wolves. It makes our fur stick straight up, not our cocks.”
Aurora laughed, joy bubbling inside her. The small amount of trust he’d placed in her fed her hopes. Maybe even after she’d killed the dragon, they would remain together.
Right.
Robert’s smile faded. “You could have killed him. This is why it’s important to obey me, Aurora, and do as you’re told. There are reasons for what we do in this pack.”
“And will you share those with me?” she challenged. “Instead of giving orders?”
“Perhaps in time I will, after we are mated.”
Doubtful. He might have forgiven her for nearly killing Louis, but he wouldn’t trust her, just as she was loathe to trust him. Remembering the witch’s duplicity, she felt her stomach tighten.
Best to stay on guard around this powerful alpha.
Aurora focused on the moment. There had been so few moments of joy in her life and being here, among the gardens, made her happy.
He beckoned to her. “Come here and see what happened with the milkweed you planted.”
Kneeling on the grass, she peered at the bright orange and yellow blossoms. A fat yellow and black ca
terpillar inched along a stem, chewing furiously.
“New life,” Robert said softly. “The cycle of beginning. You planted these flowers and already they are giving life.”
Delighted, she stretched out her finger and the caterpillar crawled upon it, searching for food. Aurora set it carefully back upon the plant.
Robert gave her a tender look. “You are good for the land and our people, Aurora. You have the same respect for the earth we hold dear.”
“Of course. I love being outdoors.” She stretched her arms, watching him watch her. “Too many times I was shut away in the darkness.”
His expression darkened. “I could kill those who’ve hurt you.”
Her mouth wobbled. “A little late, wolf. The witch is long gone. And that is the past.”
I hope it’s the past. Because if you hurt me like the others have, it would hurt worse. I don’t want to care for you, but you’re getting under my skin.
To divert his attention, she gestured to the dying plant. “It looks so dry.”
“The plants are withering. We haven’t had rain in weeks.” Worry etched his brow.
He stood, picked up the hose and began watering the rows of flowering bushes, directing the spray over the wilted ones.
“Do you ever stop working?”
He glanced at her. “It’s a lovely day. The others went swimming. You should join them.”
Aurora watched him spray the plants. She felt a few droplets hit her and shivered. “That water is cold.”
“Melanie said you like the cold.”
Melanie said. Why not ask me yourself? Must you always rely on your pack for information?
“She says a lot of things.” Aurora stood and went to a hibiscus bush where a set of wind chimes tinkled in the breeze. She stroked the edge of a chime, sending it clinking against the others. “So do the others, especially about you.”
He went still. “How do you know?”
“I listen. No one really pays attention to me, but I pay attention to them. They’re worried about you.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Your pack knows that.” Maybe she could shake some sense into him.
Gathering her courage, she continued. “They are worried that you’re taking on too much work. You never take a day off. Maybe you should let others handle a few things. Are you too much of a control freak?”
The exasperated look he gave her warned her that she might be pushing him too hard. “I’m the leader—”
“So lead. But that doesn’t mean every single blade of grass relies on you.”
He lowered the hose. “Are you questioning my authority?”
“Not your authority.” She drew in a depth breath. “Your wisdom. You need to take a break once in a while.”
“I can’t,” he muttered. “Everything is slipping away.”
“Then don’t slip with it! You have a whole pack of Lupines willing to help you. Why won’t you listen to them? You’re so stubborn!”
“And you? Ms. Critical? What do you need to do? Damn it.” His body tensed as he turned toward her. “You need to cool down.”
Before she could stammer a protest, he turned and pointed the hose at her, full stream.
Ice coated her skin. Aurora shrieked in pain, thousands of needles sinking into her body. Her lungs seized up.
Can’t breathe.
Rings of tightness squeezed her throat.
Oh gods, it hurt so much, so much.
She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Paralyzed, her muscles painfully locking, she stumbled backward, shivering, wrapping her arms about herself, but there was no warmth, no succor, not even a match to chase away the horrid, painful cold.
He hadn’t forgiven her. It had been too easy.
Robert knew, and this was her punishment. The bitch had told him, or something must be in her dossier.
Aurora fought tears, but the razor’s edge of pain sliced her skin. Memories of the witch assaulted her. The witch, always taunting her, and the minute her back was turned…
Thirsty? Have some water! It likes the hose, it does! The slave likes the cold hose! Here, you ugly thing! Have at it.
Shrill cackles. Blasts of ice water aimed at her stomach, her loins, her thighs. A fire hose of water, hitting her square on as she struggled for breath.
Air, please, air!
But there was no air, only the white-hot pain skating along each nerve ending, until she doubled over and begged for mercy.
Dimly she heard the hose drop, the sound of boots upon the bricked courtyard. Two blessedly warm hands seized her arms. “Aurora! Sweetheart!”
Too late for that endearment. Her head pounded as if someone had driven a rail spike into it. She felt him lift her into his arms, and struggled to stay awake. If she collapsed into unconsciousness, he would hit her with the hose again.
And again.
Until she lay on the floor, wishing for death.
Just kill me, please. I can’t take this anymore. I’m so sorry, Em. I tried, I did, but it’s too much.
Robert ran with her to the lodge and raced up the stairs, his boots pounding on the steps. He ran into a bedroom and laid her upon the bed, covering her with a blanket at the bed’s foot.
Aurora did not shiver. She hurt too much for that, her muscles cramping as if a giant hand squeezed them.
So cold.
More footsteps. Sounds of running water. Then he tugged off her wet clothing. Closing her eyes, she whimpered.
Just leave me alone. Let me die.
“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmured.
He picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. “This will hurt. I’m so sorry.”
She cried out as he lowered her into the tub of warm water. Then he began chafing her hands. Aurora felt stinging needles of pain sink their claws into her limbs, her belly.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She never cried, ever, but this Lupine with his big hands and cold heart had done what the witch, the ogre, and the troll never could. Not even the indifferent Shadow Wizard had done it.
Robert had broken her.
All the tenderness, and the compassion, and the camaraderie, had vanished with the single cruel spray of the hose. She took her emotions deep inside her and curled up into a ball, like a hedgehog.
Never let them see your weakness, the Shadow Wizard had warned her.
Something hard and cold—No! Not cold!—pressed against her lips. “Drink, Aurora.”
Resisting, she pulled away. The liquid would offer no warmth, only sting and make her retch.
“Drink,” Robert commanded. Then he forced a little of the liquid past her lips. Instinctively she swallowed, then coughed. The brandy burned like fire down her throat.
“Good girl,” he murmured. He held the glass to her lips again, and she drank. Warmth, any warmth. Her survivor instincts kicked in.
He lifted her from the water, dried her with a fluffy towel and hurried into the bedroom with her. Then he threw back his head and howled. Such a piercing sound, it cut through her misery.
Aurora curled up again, into a naked ball. Dozens of footsteps pounded the wood floor, rushing into the bedroom.
Robert’s commanding voice. “Everyone strip, and curl yourselves around her. Give her your body heat.”
Protests. Outrage. She was different. Mage.
“Rob,” said Melanie’s quivering voice.
“You told me she liked the cold!” he roared. “This is your fault.”
“I’m sorry—” she sounded close to tears.
“Do it, Mel. Now!” he snapped.
Then came the rustling of clothing, and warm naked bodies curling up next to her. So many scents. Aurora sank deeper into the gray cloud that approached her. She only wanted to surrender to it, and let go for good.
Two muscled arms pulled her close, held her against a hairy chest and a long, wiry body. She smelled Robert’s scent of cedar and sandalwood. Warmth sank into her bones, a delicious toasty warm
th. She could not resist it and turned toward it, like a flower seeking the sun.
Warmth radiated against her backside, gentle hands stroked her side, head, limbs. Robert’s delicious scent enveloped her as he gathered her into his arms. The warmth made her drowsy and she drifted to sleep, wishing to never feel the cold again.
Never had Robert felt this despair before, not even when his parents had died and all seemed lost.
Back then, he was too worried to despair, too focused on surviving. Now all his attention centered on her. Aurora. His strong, brave Mage.
A day after the hose incident, Aurora remained bedridden in the guest room. He issued strict orders for others to wait on her, but she showed no response. Not even to Susan, who did her motherly best to coax her into eating. He checked on her constantly, but each time he entered the bedroom, she turned away from him and pretended to sleep.
She would not turn away from him tonight.
Guilt pierced him as he trudged up the stairs carrying a tray with a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup Susan had made just for Aurora. He had not meant to hurt her. Why hadn’t she told him about her reaction to the cold?
And why hadn’t she told him Melanie forced her to sleep in the barn?
Why didn’t you ask?
Mel had confessed, and Robert had punished her with pack ostracizing for the next two days, the worst punishment he could deliver to the sociable Lupine.
After entering the bedroom, Robert set down the tray on the nightstand. She stared dully at the television. A history show. She liked history.
Aurora turned away from him, but he joined her on the bed. Robert took her chin into his hand and turned her to face him. “Aurora, please. I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I could have killed you.”
Her body relaxed a little, but she did not meet his gaze.
“Are you comfortable here?”
She plucked at the bedcovers. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me that. You must eat something.” He picked up the spoon and held it to her mouth. She swallowed.
“Good,” he said softly.
