Deceiving the Protector

by Dee Tenorio

  Even if she was.

  “Leave me alone.” The words moved like blades through her throat. All that sleep had done nothing to heal what Asher had damaged in warning. He’d crushed her throat, done it remorselessly, just to prove he could have ripped it out if he wanted to.

  “I can protect you, Lia,” Tate said softly. “It’s what I’m here for. I’ll keep you safe. All you need to do is trust me.”

  She squeezed her eyes tighter at the solemnity of that promise.

  He couldn’t protect her. No one could. She was all that stood between him and certain death. But there was nothing she could say to make him understand that. Nothing he’d believe, anyway. He hadn’t trusted a single word she’d said since they met. To him, lies of omission were no better than lies in general. She lifted her face to stare at him, wondering if he could see how soulless she’d become to stay alive.

  Or was he blinded by the shadows where his own soul was supposed to be?

  She lifted her chin, holding her arm closer to her chest. “Why should I?”

  His mouth hardened into a flat line, his eyes little more than glittering slits of gray. Finally, he stomped over to his bag, dragging out a shirt tied into a knot at one end, bulging with fruit in the middle. He tossed her the makeshift sack. “Eat those. I’ll be back.”

  “Where are you going?” She was apprehensive to let him out of her sight but in no shape to stop him. Next, he yanked out what looked like a leather belt, the swishing whip of it sliding out of the pack loud enough to make her cringe.

  “Hunting,” he growled. “I have an irresistible urge to kill something. I’d rather it not be you. I’ll be back in an hour, maybe two. If you go anywhere this time, I’ll find you—and let me tell you, Lia, it won’t be pretty when I do.”

  Those last words were tossed over his shoulder as he brushed past the bushes to the trees beyond, leaving her alone in their small camp.

  Lia watched the spot where he disappeared for long minutes before reaching into the sack with her good hand. The deep, sizzling tingle in her neck began to burn, providing an ironic security to her mind. Asher was here. Watching her. She ate slowly, knowing every bite was being counted. Resented. Tallied.

  It didn’t matter. The need outweighed the risk.

  For now, she could only restore her body and wait for Tate’s return.

  Hunting in Wolf form had its benefits. For a few brief hours, he could forget all about the matters of being a man, of civility, and let savage needs have their way with him. He could claw, chase, run something to the ground without remorse. And he did. Over and over again. The latest rabbit in his jaws pushed its feet against the ground in one last bid for escape before he ended the hunt with a hard jerk of his muzzle. The satisfaction of a good run should have been pumping through him, but instead, aggravation sizzled through his blood.

  Why should I?

  Just the memory of Lia asking that question made his gut churn.

  Panting around the furry package he bore back toward the tree where he’d hidden his clothes and the small brace of rabbits, he didn’t feel all that much better than he had when he’d come out here.

  Why should I?

  It wasn’t even her voice he was hearing every time it replayed.

  Vayere-Scarlet, a name he didn’t like to think about and a memory he’d give anything to change. She had been beautiful. Lush and sensual, from the top of her golden head to the tips of her satin shoes. Haughty, too, with her red, red lips and skin so pale and fine a cream that a mutt like him should never have touched it. But he had touched her. Young and cocky, he’d dared to touch a Sibile his family considered a rare friend. To taste her and let her special magic go straight to his head. Seducing her rated among the greatest mistakes in his life, but he’d been drawn to her like a bear to honey, never once expecting to get stung.

  She was as different from Lia as water to a stone.

  But they’d both asked him the same damn question…with the same look on their faces. Disdain.

  The rabbit did little to stifle the menacing snarl that escaped him.

  Vayere’s lack of trust had hurt because he was young and stupid and in love with someone who could never give him what he needed. Hell, she couldn’t give herself what she needed. As a Sibile, she was part of a society that ruled absolutely. They made no allowances for love, for desire. For choice. Vayere’s life had been planned, her children already plotted out with a mate who’d been chosen for her from the best her people had to offer. Giving in to her hunger for him had been as far as the Sibile was prepared to go, but he hadn’t known that. Their affair had been going on for months when she made it clear she was never going to trust him enough to leave her people behind. He’d understood his own reaction then.

  He didn’t understand anything right now. Not why he was here, why he’d watched over Lia when he realized she’d dropped into a healing sleep, or why the hell he cared whether she disdained him or not. She didn’t know him. Didn’t like him. Didn’t have any reason to trust him. He couldn’t take it personally.

  Except every time he felt the inexplicable rage start to come down beneath cool reason, he saw the black bruises around her neck, deep red streaks of blood vessels having snapped because someone had damn near strangled the life out of her.

  And he hadn’t been there to stop them.

  Tate dropped the rabbit next to the others, then, stretching his neck, he enacted the change in himself. A tingling sensation washed over him like cool water down his spine. His vision changed from the sharp blacks and grays of the Wolf to the vivid color spectrum of humanity. It was always its most clear, most breathtaking, right after a change. His favorite part about the shift, really, and he was too pissed off to enjoy it, which just pissed him off more.

  How had someone gotten so close to her? Why hadn’t he scented them? And why wouldn’t she tell him what the hell was going on?

  Why should I?

  Tate tightened the belt too hard on the game before tossing them back down against the tree root. He dragged his clothes back on, yanking the fabric roughly before shoving his hat down on his head. He was going to get back to her and force her to eat the damn meat even if she had to choke it down. Then they needed to move. If he had to walk her step by step through the rest of the Underground to make sure she ate and stayed on her feet, he would. Because he was not going to let another woman in his care die. And if Lia had a problem with that, she was going to damn well just suck it up.

  He made no effort to lighten his steps as he headed back to their camp, probably sounding like a wounded elephant stomping through the trees, but he didn’t care. Better she know he was coming than her lying in wait with whatever sharp instrument of death she’d be using if he snuck up on her.

  She was sitting exactly as she’d been when he left, legs folded in front of her, another apple in her hand. It better damn well be another apple, anyway. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the small clearing and tossed down the brace at her feet.

  “You know how to clean those?”

  She looked down at the gray fur, then back up to his face, one brow rising in question.

  “I’ll make the fire, you clean the meat. I’ve got a travel pan with me, not much for spices, but good enough to eat. We can pack up and be out of here in an hour and a half.” When she made no move to touch the game, he stifled a sigh. “Tell me you’re not one of those creepy Wolves who like to eat it raw.”

  If a person could give the finger with just a look, Lia had it down pat, but she still made no move to pick up the rabbits.

  “This ain’t no charity, lady. You pull your own weight on this trip. Right now, you need the protein so you don’t die, and I need it so I don’t kill you. Now, you got a knife or do you need me to give you one?”

  His first glimpse of true surprise on her face almost made him grin at her. She blinked, her eyes huge in her face as he pulled out the large-handled one from the placket at his back. He spun it across his fingertips, wat
ching to see if any other revealing expressions surfaced. She frowned, small furrows forming between her brows. Distaste. Maybe unease. Definitely wouldn’t have to worry about her stabbing him in his sleep. He flipped it, blade into his hand, handle extended out to her.

  She eyed it as if it were some kind of snake.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not difficult. You keep the pointy side down and your fingers clear, it shouldn’t hurt you at all.”

  The derisive glimmer returned to her eyes. Strange, he liked her better when he could tell she was mentally calling him an asshole. Showed spirit.

  It was his turn to frown when her left hand lifted to curl around the knife handle. She took it from him stiffly, fitting her slim fingers over the warm grip carefully, making his teeth grit at the thought of how that hand might fit around something similarly sized. He shook the thought off, watching her try to fit her fingers to the grooves made by his much larger ones.

  He waited until she seemed secure to bring up the oddity of her movement. “I thought you were right-handed.”

  And he’d thought her back ramrod straight before. He looked down to where her right hand lay on her thigh, curled protectively against her body. He hadn’t given it any mind because she was at rest. Should have known better than to think she was capable of relaxing. He knelt, reaching for the hand. She lurched back, but by then he already had her by the wrist.

  She hissed as if in pain and for a split second, he knew she was considering the big-ass blade he’d just given her.

  He stared at her, just barely keeping the snarl inside when—God help him—terror glittered back from her eyes. Damn skittish woman. “I have to check if the healing damaged any of your veins or nerves.” He made the effort to soften his tone, but he wouldn’t accept her denial this time. “We’ve been here too long as it is. I need to know if you can take the travel or if I need to get more help.”

  “No one else,” she whispered, her voice only slightly less guttural than before.

  “No promises.”

  She tugged harder. “No hand.”

  He didn’t allow her to budge it, careful to keep her from hurting herself in her efforts to get away. All the same, her eyes watered, that emotive color shining as her distress flooded his senses. Her gaze darted from his face to the trees before returning. He was prepared for her to lash out again. For withdrawal or rejection. But the pleading twist to her lips disarmed his anger better than a bucket of icy water to the face. “No one else…please.”

  Fuck. He hated giving in when he knew he was right. “What if you need a doctor?”

  She swallowed thickly. Resignedly. “I won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  She shook her head and, to his shock, the resistance disappeared. Her arm relaxed in his hold, extending gingerly. “I know.”

  Her lips tightened until the corners turned white and he knew she wouldn’t say more.

  “No one else,” he agreed, grinding his teeth as he looked down at her hand and wrist. He expected discoloration, swelling, maybe. At times, he’d seen veins gone black from cell death, the limb incapable of regenerating. Sometimes they even needed removal. All he found here was smooth skin, gold from the sun, pale on the underside and palm. Her fingers curled inward, as if burned. Gingerly, he straightened them, hearing her hissed indrawn breath and forcing himself to keep going. No broken bones, nothing to indicate any kind of wound or blockage. “Flex it.”

  She shook her head.

  “I need to see if you can move it.”

  “It’ll be fine in a few hours.” She tugged and he let her go.

  “Why do I have the feeling this has nothing to do with what happened to your neck?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you feel.” The peek into her trust slammed shut with an almost audible clang, but at least she was more like the cantankerous woman he’d grown accustomed to. “You can see it’s fine. Leave me alone.”

  “Not until you show me your neck.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can tell if your body is healing normally yet.”

  “Do I sound normal to you?”

  “You sound like broken concrete in a grinder, now pull down the goddamn scarf.”

  Still holding the blade, she hooked the burgundy scarf with her pinky and dragged it down to expose her throat. The angry bruises hadn’t faded, but the streaks of burst blood vessels had disappeared. The healing had normalized, but she’d still need the protein to keep it steady. And so would he.

  He grunted his acceptance and she let go of the scarf edge. “You able to skin those rabbits with your left?”

  She nodded, her eyes flitting over the perimeter again. Not the ground. The trees.

  “What are you looking for, Lia?”

  “Nothing.” She lowered her gaze for a long second before sending him a sidelong glance. “Everything. You never know what’s out there.”

  But she did. He could see it. She knew what hunted her, but she wasn’t sharing the knowledge. Why? It was a question he longed to ask but he knew there wouldn’t be any answers. Not a real one, anyway.

  He swallowed back the irritation that she wouldn’t trust him. He had no right to it. Yet. “Hurry with the meat, I’m hungry.”

  He left her to her task, eying the trees as he went about unpacking what they’d need for cooking. Nothing rustled or moved, not when he handed her the supplies or when he gathered wood for the small cooking fire. But something was out there. It watched them—he felt it with every instinct he had. He just had to figure out why.

  Chapter Six

  Lia felt pleasantly heavy as she walked, chewing absently on her toothbrush. Her right hand tingled still, the warmth of his touch having cut through the icy pain that had gone down to the bone. A swell of bitter resentment rose in her, a flavor she knew so well she was tired of it. Because the pain was all in her head. All of it. No matter how she tried, it never went away.

  Psychological containment. That was what the scientists called it. Associate enough pain with shifting and the subject will soon bind itself to a human state, so afraid of the agony that it will cripple itself to remain whole.

  She never forgot those words. She’d listened while a crowd of scientists studied her, as if she were some kind of bug under glass. That was all she’d been to them. Nothing more than an insect they studied in order to better eradicate others just like her.

  Grimacing at the rancid burn between her fingers, she stretched them out, trying to loosen the joints. One clench…two…the third flex made the tears in her eyes flood over.

  “If it hurts that much, why are you doing it?” Tate asked, his smoky voice sounding genuinely curious.

  She looked over at him, once again wishing she could understand the first thing about him. He wasn’t a nice man, but he could be gentle. She’d almost forgotten what gentle felt like. The unavoidable times she’d traveled into more heavily populated places, people looked at her like she was too far beneath them to speak to, no matter how clean she made herself before going. They figured her for a homeless person and treated her accordingly.

  Tate probably treated everyone the same—high society, homeless, anywhere in the middle. They likely all got the same steely look and cool suspicion from him.

  Or did he hide it, as he’d done with her in the beginning?

  Tate put on masks so smoothly, so completely, that she almost couldn’t see the man behind them. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure when she was seeing him, except for those few moments when their eyes met and she couldn’t look away to save her own life. She could see the protector in him then, sense the hunter. Raw strength emanated from him in those moments, his intensity surrounding her, suffusing her. She could almost feel his arms around her, trying to pull her under his protection. She’d be safe with him. Not cosseted, maybe, but…she’d be able to breathe. To know the next breath was coming, sure as the sunrise.

  In those brief seconds of silence, she always wanted to go to him, even felt herself leaning into
it, but then the hooks in her mind would catch, yanking her back to the lies she couldn’t erase. The loneliness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. The overwhelming burden of restraining a monster…and why she’d do it all over again if she had to.

  Psychological containment.

  Then she’d hate everyone who did this to her—including herself—a little bit more.

  Ironically, Tate usually pulled away from her at about the same time, taking what he didn’t seem to realize he’d been offering, going cold in a millisecond. Every time, it felt as if he took all the warmth in the world with him.

  Maybe it was stupid of her to occupy her silence wondering about it, but she couldn’t help guessing at what had made him so defensive. Somehow she doubted it was anything scientific. The stories about the Alpha’s family didn’t have much detail, but she knew they’d come from an orphanage, not a facility like the one she’d been in after her parents died. Tate probably had no idea who his parents were, but that wasn’t so uncommon among wolves. Not like her. She remembered her parents as well now as she did before the squads came. Before the facility, with its stone walls and terrifying lessons. Before Asher…

  “Can’t give into the pain forever,” she said, reminding herself as much as answering him. She wiped away the useless tear drops that had slipped down her cheeks with the swipe of her sleeve. Her voice felt smoother, finally, the muscles in her throat no longer twisting against each other like fraying rope. The rabbit meat had gone a long way toward restoring her. Another few hours and she’d almost be normal.

  Just in time to see Asher again.

  She ground her teeth together and concentrated again on moving her hand.

  “So what’s your story, Sunshine?” he asked suddenly. “I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours trying to figure you out and so far I’ve got nothing.”

  “I have a name,” she replied, since he’d clearly forgotten. Irritation was hard to dredge up though.