by K. L. Kreig
“So this is good-bye then?” he choked out.
“It has to be,” she murmured.
“Please tell me you’ll be okay. I can’t leave until I know that.”
“They broke a lot of things, but not my will to live. Otherwise, I would have never made it out alive. I will be okay, Mike. I’ll never be the same, but I will be okay. Someday.”
“Can I hug you?” he asked. He didn’t want to do anything that made her uncomfortable, but he’d been connected to this woman for more than half his life. Just walking away from her with nothing but a sad good-bye didn’t seem right.
She looked nervous when she nodded.
“You sure? Because I don’t—”
“Yes. Yes,” she breathed.
Mike slowly and carefully wound his arms around her slight waist at the same time she let hers fall around the back of his neck. When she was all the way pressed against him, he intentionally kept his hold loose and brought a palm up to cup her head. She laid her cheek on his shoulder. They just breathed.
He didn’t know how long they sat like that. Seconds. Minutes, maybe. They were quiet, both lost in their own thoughts while they remembered before erasing each other.
It was a futile attempt, on his part at least. He’d always remember.
“You may forget about me, Jamie, and that’s okay. I want you to. But as long as I live, I’ll never forget you.” How could he? She’d brought him to Giselle. With a lingering kiss to the crown of her head, he let her go, standing when she sat back on her heels.
Then without another word he walked out, realizing you can never really leave your past behind because it’s already shaped your future.
19
Giselle
“Eight in the right corner,” Mike announced. She couldn’t see his face because his back was to her, but she heard the cock and bull in his tone. She could just envision the smug grin stretched on his impossibly beautiful face. The challenge lighting up his cloudy blues.
“That’s an impossible shot, fucker. But it’s your money, so hey, I’m happy to take it.”
“Yeah, I’m probably overreaching,” he batted back. It was a lie. Mike had Manny right where he wanted him. It had been as easy as leading a lamb to the slaughter. She felt the glee pinging off his insides like a pinball machine. She stifled a laugh.
Giselle stood right inside the door of the game room and watched—well, ogled—her Fated’s fine, tight ass as he bent at the waist and meticulously lined up his shot. When he reared back, she enjoyed the bunch of his triceps, the strength of his hand gripping the cue. Jesus, that man was sexy. So fucking sexy.
And tonight, he was going to be hers.
Ren’s statement the other day battled with her will and had finally won. “You’ve been evading anything that resembles a relationship since I’ve known you.”
He was so right. She had and she was done bobbing and weaving.
She wanted Mike. She wanted more. She wanted it all.
Giselle struggled with this decision all day. While it was the right one, it still weighed on her, even now. She had unfinished business. Business she’d had every intention of still following through with up until the moment she held that sweet baby in her arms.
Then a spotlight of an entirely unknown color shined down, drawing a path she didn’t even know was possible.
That innocent little girl needed parents, and Giselle didn’t want her to go to just any family. Giselle wanted her and Mike to be her family. As impossible as it was, she was finally, finally ready to be a mate. And a mammi.
That meant, though, giving up revenge. That didn’t just feel like a failure, it was unconscionable. But to track Siobhan meant risking her life. It was a risk she was no longer willing to take—now she had too much to live for. She had others she loved, others who depended on her. That still didn’t mean it was easy to accept. It wasn’t. It might never be. The thought of Siobhan, or those like him, destroying the innocence of little girls, a girl like the one she wanted to raise and protect, was absolutely gut wrenching.
But it was him or her.
She couldn’t have both.
And she chose her. For the first time in her life, she chose herself.
A loud whoop cut through her, focusing her attention back on the males in front of her. She laughed softly when she saw Manny reluctantly handing over a hundred.
“How the fuck did you make that?” he asked with a scowl on his face.
“Oh, did I forget to mention you’re looking at the BCAPL three-time National 8-Ball Champion?”
“You played me, asshole.” Steam practically rose from Manny’s ears. He was always a sore loser, especially at pool, which he considered his “calling.”
“I didn’t play you. I won fair and square,” Mike said nonchalantly, stuffing the bill into his black wallet and shoving it back into his pocket.
Manny stalked around the table until he was right in her Fated’s face. Looking down his nose, he spat, “You’re a fucking pool shark and you just played me.”
She stiffened. If that fucker even breathed wrong in Mike’s direction, she was going to rain down the fires of brimstone on him before she broke every finger and ripped his balls clean from his body.
Yes…she had a thing for balls. It was the most vulnerable and treasured part of a male’s anatomy. Sans his dick.
Mike’s spine snapped, not backing down a fraction. “I think you need to find your nut sack, vampire, and take your loss like a man instead of a little bitch.”
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
The air in the room thickened until she was sure there would be bloodshed. Then Manny threw his head back and laughed, clasping the side of Mike’s head in an unyielding grip. “Yep, you’ll do just fine, human.”
“I don’t believe I asked for or needed your approval, vampire.”
Manny’s smirk grew. He released Mike and flipped his gaze toward Giselle. He knew she’d been there the whole time. Prick. “You can keep him.”
“Fuck off, Manny,” she gritted. He chuckled under his breath. She wanted to take a pool cue and shove it so far up his ass he’d never quite talk the same again.
“Well, I’m outta here before I’m taken for another hundi. Catch you later,” Manny said coolly. He was smart to keep a wide berth as he breezed past Giselle, but not smart enough not to goad her a little more with a smug wink.
“Fucker,” she yelled after him, ignoring his laugh.
When she turned back to Mike and his gaze collided with hers, she immediately felt better. His smile practically melted her on the spot. “Hey, baby.”
Why did just that look, that voice, those stupid endearing words make her feel better? Because that’s love. “Hey,” she replied lightly, her own smile taking root.
It took him just a few long strides before he had her back on the wall, her face between his hands and his mouth to hers. “I missed you,” he mumbled, caging her in with his bulk.
She’d missed him, too. She’d been gone nearly all day. A hell of a lot longer than she’d expected or planned, but Kate had to practically pry that baby from her grip. She’d fed her, changed her, rocked her. Fell in love with her.
“How was your day?” he asked. It’s as if he knew she was as different as she felt.
“It was good. Really good, actually. Yours?”
Giselle wanted to tell him about her, about number one. About her microscopic fingernails and her toothless smile. How her eyes were the color of jade and sucked you into her very soul, wrapping you a million times around her heart. How she kicked her little, bowed legs as if she was pedaling a bike when Giselle changed her diaper. How she was the most perfect thing ever born.
But his mouth descended again on hers after he mumbled, “Just as,” and she was just as lost to him as she was to her. When his lips started a trek along her jaw, her body instantly liquefied. “I want you,” was a desire-filled call brushing against the shell of her ear.
“I thought
you needed help?” she teased softly. He’d told her this morning that he’d become her sex slave and needed to find a sex addicts anonymous support group.
With his hands slowly climbing her torso, inching closer to her now-aching breasts, his lips made their way to the other side of her neck. “Addicts mean well until they need their next fix,” he breathed unevenly. “It’s all lies. Don’t believe me when I tell you that again.”
“Well, who am I to push you toward recovery when you’re not ready?”
She was just reaching for the fly of his jeans, his hard cock already straining against it, when a throat clearing to her right froze her in place. Leaning his forehead to hers, Mike cursed under his breath. Shit. She should have flashed them out of there back to his place, but was too caught up in the moment. In him. In possibilities that felt more real every second.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Ren’s voice rumbled next to her. He sounded genuine. “But I need a few minutes of your time.”
“Kinda busy here,” she retorted snidely, unable to look at him out of sheer embarrassment at almost being caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Giselle. It’s important.” That gave her pause. The gravity of his tone. The use of her full name. The weight of his words. Every hair stood on end.
“Go,” Mike said softly before placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
They exchanged a look. Ren and Mike. She wondered what passed between them because it was something. Something big.
Oh God.
Why did it feel like yet another shift was about to happen?
_______________
“What’s wrong?” Giselle demanded after they’d walked down a few doors into a small conference room.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If nothing’s wrong, what’s so goddamned important that you couldn’t wait?” she grated, now irritated she didn’t tell him to fuck off when she had the chance.
“Sit down.” The detached nod he gave in the direction of a chair burned her. And scared the shit of out her.
Please don’t say something that’s going to fuck up my life, she silently pleaded with him. Please.
“I don’t need to sit. Just tell me. Whatever it is, just say it straight up.”
Taking a step forward, Ren grabbed both her hands. His large palms engulfed hers and her own began to sweat. Swallowing past a lump slowly choking her, she whispered on a rasp, “What the fuck is going on, Ren?” You’re scaring me.
His flinty eyes stabbed hers, staring, gauging. Power pulsed from him in dense waves. Testosterone dripped thick, like raw honey. Victory shone in the gloss of his enlarged pupils, making him seem more menacing than usual. She recognized the look of triumph. It was almost as if…if he’d just been in battle. What the…?
“Siobhan is dead,” he declared matter-of-factly.
Siobhan is dead.
Siobhan is dead?
The air suddenly became reedy and hot. Her knees went weak and she almost bit it before Ren had her shoved in a chair. She vaguely noticed he was on one knee in front of her, talking, yet she couldn’t hear any noise coming out.
Siobhan is dead.
Siobhan is dead.
Siobhan is dead.
Dead.
That can’t be true. She had to have misheard. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, baby girl. Siobhan is dead.”
Dead. Could that really be possible? After all this time?
“But…but how? When? I don’t understand? And how did you find out?”
Guilt was a funny thing. No matter how old you got or how experienced you were it was an impossible emotion to hide. Tricky to bury. It flickered ever so fast, and if you weren’t paying close enough attention, in that one nanosecond, you’d miss it.
Giselle didn’t make mistakes like that.
“Ren…what did you do?” she breathed harshly, not sure if she was relieved or mad as fuck he took something that was supposed to be hers.
His lips pursed when he answered, “I did what I had to. It’s done now.”
“Tell me,” she demanded urgently. “Tell me what you did.”
Ren’s jaw set as hard as his eyes. “I set that motherfucker on fire and watched his flesh and bones turn to ash after I cut his motherfucking head from his shoulders.”
Her entire body sagged against the leather cushion. She should be pissed at him for doing this. She should be happy that Siobhan was dead. Rejoicing. At peace. This was something she’d wanted for over a century, yet now all she felt was…numb.
Giselle let her eyes fall to her lap. She wanted to drill Ren into the ground until he told her everything, but strangely, she wasn’t really sure it mattered anymore. Her last reason for avoiding the bonding was now gone, truly dead, and even though she thought she’d let it go earlier, it would have always been the tiniest nit in the back of her head. That one small taunt, a fester of regret.
“You’re sure? He’s really dead?”
He turned her palm up and dumped a heavy, bloody metal pendant into it. “Pretty fucking sure.”
The sight made her stomach churn. She turned the ruined family heirloom over and over, trying not to remember the way it hit the back of her head repeatedly when he…
Bloody hell.
“It’s really over then?” she asked, breathing deeply while refusing to let herself get dragged down into hellish memories.
“It really is.”
They stared at each other. She knew him well. Better than anyone. He was waiting for her to scream and pitch a hissy fit because he avenged her without her permission. Yesterday, she probably would have. But today? Today she’d had an epiphany, so all she felt was immense gratitude that he loved her enough to free her soul this way.
“Thank you,” she strangled out. With a slow, deliberate exhale that final toxic part of her life left for good.
“No thanks necessary.” Ren stood gracefully, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead on the way up. “So, you have a good day?” He tried to make the conversation light, his face stoic, yet the minute the question was in the air, she knew.
With the force of a gale wind, Ren had shoved her toward her Fated, but the brush of a feather was all it took for her to find her daughter.
Sneaky bastard.
She was itching to talk about that little girl. This needed to be a conversation she had with Mike first, though, not Ren, so she diverted.
“Are you ever going to tell me the whole story? How you found him?”
“Some other day. Right now, I think you have someone in the other room who’s been unbelievably patient waiting for his Fated to make some pretty big decisions. Don’t you?”
A slow smile crept its way across her face and pretty soon she was beaming. Then she did something she rarely did. She threw her arms around Ren’s neck and squeezed, pouring every ounce of love she had for her pseudo brother into that hug. “Thank you,” she said on a quiet breath.
“For what, baby girl?” he mumbled in her ear, hugging her back as hard.
For being a friend even when I tried pushing you away.
For believing in me when I didn’t.
For being willing to kill for me so I could have my chance at happiness, unencumbered.
For everything.
“For saving me from myself.”
His chuckle warmed her deep inside. “Don’t let all my effort go to waste.”
Not a fiery chance in hell.
Giselle had wasted the entire last year denying what could be, but no more. She was home and she was moving in permanently. But she had one last obstacle left to eliminate before she bonded with her rightful mate.
And it would be the hardest thing she’d ever, ever done.
20
Mike
“You look different,” he told her. She felt different to him, too. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but he’d sensed it the second their eyes met in the pool room earlier
. Something in her had changed.
“Different how?” Giselle took a sip from a bottle of water she’d been nursing. She leaned leisurely against the kitchen counter, one hand tucked under the opposite armpit. She was trying to appear relaxed. He knew better. And him being the asshole he was—or maybe just a man thinking with his small head—he could hardly concentrate on anything else but the swell of her breasts playing peekaboo from her low-cut blouse.
Would he always have this visceral physical reaction to her? Hell, who was he kidding? He was a guy. He’d be two hundred and pop an instant woody if she just breathed in his direction.
“Like that invisible weight has finally been lifted.”
She smiled then. Really smiled. God, it hit him in the center of his chest every fucking time. He’d do anything to make her do that, twenty-four seven.
“It has,” she replied, sounding a little surprised herself.
“Come here.” Palm up, she gave it a glance before setting her bottle on the countertop. She sauntered—in that sexy way only she knew how—over to where he sat at the table. The moment her hand touched his he had her between his splayed legs. He pushed up her shirt and started roaming the flat planes of her stomach with his tongue before she could protest. “Wanna tell me about it?” he coaxed between kisses.
He thought she’d say no. Expected to have her pinned to the wood his elbow currently rested on in about five seconds when she surprised him, answering a soft, “Yes.”
“Really?” Looking up over her mountainous breasts, her lips were drawn tight, her face serious. Her eyes scared as fuck.
“Yes,” she reiterated again. “I want to tell you about it. I want to”—she paused and dove her hands into his hair, lightly rubbing his scalp—“tell you everything.”
The hard-on he’d been sporting suddenly died an awful death. His stomach felt sick. Shit. This was it. Everything he thought he wanted to know about her past suddenly went out the fucking window. He couldn’t bear the tears and agony each mouthful of her torment would bring him. “You sure, baby? We don’t have to do this, you know.” We don’t ever have to do this if you don’t want, he wanted to add, but didn’t. If she needed to do this, he had to let her.
