Protecting Their Mate: Part Three (The Last Pack)

by Moira Rogers

  He was too weary for anger or indignation. Too tired to muster anything that might eclipse the sorrow piercing his heart. "Going somewhere?"

  Blake flinched and looked away. Looked down, as if all the pride and challenge that made him who he was had been stripped away. "You have to stop avoiding her. She needs a strong mate, and her wolf knows it."

  Arguing with a broken man was futile. "She's going to be so pissed at you."

  "I'm not leaving." Blake hoisted the duffel higher and finally met Lucas's gaze. "I just...can't be here while you find out. And I need to clear my head. Get control of myself."

  "Is that what you think? That those bozos weren't spoiling for a fight?"

  "I think I shouldn't have let one get past us."

  "Right, because you were the only one." Lucas swiped a dirty hand across his forehead and held out both arms. "If you failed so goddamn bad, what does that say about me?"

  But Blake didn't back down. "That you can't keep her safe while you're cleaning up my messes."

  "Good thinking." Pain lent Lucas's voice a rough edge, one he couldn't manage to smooth. "When will you be back?"

  "Ivan said he could get me into a few fights." Blake shrugged and tried for a smile. "Maybe having my head knocked around will get my brain working again."

  "What do I tell Ashley?"

  "I don't know. Whatever she needs to hear."

  "Look—"

  "No. She might be yours, Lucas. You might be the one she needs." Blake turned toward his motorcycle, as if he couldn't stand to look at him anymore. "If you don't make her happy, I will kick your fucking ass."

  It felt a little too final, in spite of his assurances that he wouldn't be gone for good. "What if I'm not?" he called after Blake. "Do you really want to risk walking out like this? Because she might not be glad to see you when you come back."

  Blake stopped beside his bike and stared at it forever before looking back. "If I don't go now, I won't be able to. And Grace will be sticking the next knife in my back."

  It was the one concern Lucas couldn't counter. It didn't matter how much Ashley adored Blake, or how much he wanted to stay. One thing easily overshadowed the rest—the possibility that he might somehow destroy the woman he loved.

  "Be careful," Lucas said finally. "And watch your back. That's non-negotiable."

  Blake smiled. And lied. "I always do."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ashley woke up alone in Blake's bed.

  The warmth of his scent surrounded her, and she burrowed deeper into the covers, hiding her face against his pillow. For a few blissful moments, nothing else mattered, and nothing was wrong.

  Then she remembered. The other pack, the fight, Grace, Tim—

  Twin chills, one figurative and one very, very real, slithered up her spine as she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.

  "It's okay." Connor sprawled next to the bed, in the chair that usually sat in front of the fireplace. "Everyone's okay, Ashley."

  Not everyone. "Emmett and the others?"

  "Not a problem anymore."

  More bodies, then. More death. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

  The bed dipped, and Connor wrapped his arms around her. "I'm not. They hurt you. And Grace..." He dragged her closer. "I'm not sorry."

  "It's just such a waste, that's all." Things really were going to hell, if Connor felt the need to climb into Blake's bed to comfort her. Ashley swiped at her cheeks and smiled. "You know, Blake might get the wrong idea if he finds you here."

  Connor didn't say anything.

  She felt it in his stillness, then, and wondered why she hadn't seen it before. He was being too careful with her—not like handling a wounded woman gently, but rather like trying not to spook a doomed creature.

  A strange sort of detachment tingled through her, leaving her lips numb. "Where is he?"

  At least he didn't lie to her. "He left a few hours ago."

  "To go where?"

  "Away." Connor cupped her face and rested his forehead against hers. "Lucas knows, I think. But the where's not the point."

  "Then what?" She'd told him she loved him, had seen the same emotion burning in his eyes. "Why?"

  He smoothed his hand down to brush the tender, bruised skin at the base of her throat. "Because he lost control and you got hurt. The stronger wolves... They can't handle that shit."

  And having him walk out on her was supposed to hurt less? "When will he be back?"

  Connor didn't answer right away. He slipped his fingers into her hair, tugging lightly through the loose strands and working away the tangles. "I'm not your mate. You can feel it, can't you? Part of you just knows."

  "Connor—" She caught his wrists and held them still. She met his eyes, and her next question almost drowned under a wave of pain and disbelief. "He isn't coming back."

  "It's not that simple—"

  "He isn't coming back." They were words. Separately, she understood them all. Together, they were as incomprehensible as the sky being lime green, or getting out of bed to stand on the ceiling.

  "Ashley." Connor tugged his hands free and grasped her shoulders. "That's why it matters, sweetheart. You know I'm not your mate. But if you can't say the same about Lucas—"

  She shook away. "I don't want Lucas."

  Connor caught her again, his grip firmer this time. "Are you sure?"

  No. The answer came from deep inside, driven by that tiny, utterly primal part of her that still demanded that she test herself against their alpha, just in case. It was pure instinct, the very foundation of who she was—who they were.

  And she would bury it forever, if that was the only way to bring Blake back to her.

  "Oh, honey." He dragged her back into his arms and buried his face in her hair. "They never see," he whispered hoarsely. "They never see how much they help, only the shit they couldn't get done."

  Blake was gone. He'd taken her confession of love, judged himself unworthy to keep it, and left her, all without a word. If she let it, the pain could splinter and destroy her.

  Instead, she diverted it into anger, fierce and raw. She stumbled from the bed, dragging the sheet with her as she stomped from the room.

  Jud stood in the hallway, full dressed and unusually somber. He raised both hands. "Ashley—"

  "No." She wound the sheet around her body, gathering it so she wouldn't trip and break her neck as she hurried down the stairs.

  Lucas was in his study off the great room, sharing a drink with Mac, despite the early hour. They both froze when she walked in, but Ashley was in no mood to be careful.

  Or polite. She took Mac's glass, drained it in one painful gulp, and fixed Lucas with a glare. "You know where he is. Connor said so."

  Mac took a step toward her. She bared her teeth at him, and he veered through the door instead, closing it behind him.

  Lucas scrubbed his hands over his face before leaning back in his chair. "Are you angry, Ashley?"

  "You're damn right, I am." It was better than the alternative, better than opening herself to the vast, excruciating emptiness that stretched out before her. "You let him go."

  A spark flared in Lucas's eyes. "No one is a prisoner here. That goes for everyone, not just you and Grace."

  "Fine. You didn't convince him to stay."

  He rose. "What makes you think I even saw him?"

  "You did." It was there, lurking behind the desperate indignation in his stare—the same cold pain that twisted her stomach into knots.

  He finished his drink and dropped the glass to his desk with a thump. "At least you're mad as hell at the right person. He didn't leave because of you."

  "No, because of us." And the chance that the word might even apply to the two of them.

  "It's stupid." Lucas abandoned his desk, instead turning to gaze out the window, through the half-open blinds. "He wants you so much. By the time he got you here, he was already nuts about you. And I figured that staying away from you was the right thing to do, you know? Onl
y I'm such an idiot." He spun around to face her. "And an arrogant asshole. Because it doesn't matter that I'm stronger, that I'm the alpha. If you and Blake are right for each other, then my dick's not going to make a difference. You're his."

  Ashley's temper withered. Lucas had had the best of intentions in not fucking her, but all Blake had seen was the half-formed motivation behind it—if I take her, I might take her away. His alpha's reticence equaled possibility, no matter what they all wanted, and that possibility had driven Blake away.

  She cleared her throat. "So what do we do?"

  "What do you want to?"

  "Find him," she answered without hesitation. "Tell him—no, words won't work. Make him see."

  He eyed the rumpled sheet wrapped around her and grinned suddenly. "Then get dressed and let's go."

  Chapter Sixteen

  The fights were rarely held in the same place two weeks in a row, but Blake had been to enough of them over the years to know that all windowless warehouses and grungy basements shared three important features: they were dark and gloomy, they filled up fast, and if the stench of spectators crowded in close didn't kill you, the sound of their bloodthirsty screams probably would.

  These concrete pits were everything he loathed about humanity. The press of bodies, the stale air. He felt cut off from the world, from the earth and the wind and everything alive. The people here moved too fast, too carelessly, flinging their limbs in every direction, as if they owned their space and his as well.

  He bristled when they jostled him, fighting back the urge to answer insult with action. He wasn't here to educate them. He was to fight, to bleed, to entertain. Maybe even to chase a little pain, because cracked ribs and a busted face would hurt less than his heart right now.

  "Ivan said you were here," a low voice drawled, somehow carrying over the din. "I told him he was full of shit. Shows what I know."

  Fucking Ivan. Blake tensed, turned slowly, and watched the werewolf parting the crowd by intimidating size alone. Dex was huge, strong, and had a cheerful violence in his eyes that rivaled Mac on a good day.

  And there was no way he'd just happened to show up tonight. "Well, Ivan didn't tell me you were going to be here."

  "He said you seemed tense." Dex shook his head. "Always the diplomat. Anyway, he was afraid you'd knock someone's block off, so he gave me a call."

  "Yeah?" It was such an Ivan thing to do, cleaning up behind wolves, nudging circumstances to avoid exposure. Not even out of a sense of nobility—Ivan made his living serving as an intermediary between wolves who wanted to hide and a world that had progressed too far to make that a simple task. "So what am I supposed to do? Beat on you?"

  "Sure." Dex clapped a jovial hand to his shoulder. "You whoop my ass, and we both make a shit ton of money. That's a win-win."

  Blake snarled. It was too easy. A toothless match, a mere show to get the humans' blood pumping, and when it was over he would still be hurting too much and not nearly enough.

  "What's wrong, sunshine?" The other man's dark brows drew together. "You're usually more cheerful than this. Well, a little bit more."

  "Nothing." It came out more harshly than he'd intended, and not very convincing, so Blake rolled his shoulders. "I'm out of practice at this. At dealing with them."

  "Eh, they're not so bad." Dex gestured to their left, toward a sultry redhead in a tiny skirt who kept glancing their way. "Take that one. Home with you after the fight, I mean. She's half in love with you already."

  The girl was pretty. She was smiling. She looked more than willing to leave with Blake now—or stay. Hell, she might even follow him into a bathroom or a closet or let him take her up against the wall in a shadowed corner.

  A few weeks ago, he would have done it. He had done it in the past. The women at fights like these knew what they were getting—someone rough and raw and wild. It had been a useful physical outlet for a lot of years.

  And it left him cold now. Not her, but all of it. The redhead wasn't in love with him. She didn't know him, or want to. Not the good and damn sure not the bad.

  Ashley knew it all, and still loved him. For now.

  Dex was watching him with too much awareness, so Blake shook his head. "Not looking for that right now. She's all yours."

  "Suit yourself." Dex hesitated. "This have anything to do with that rumor I heard about your pack?"

  Blake kept his expression blank. "What rumor?"

  "That you've got yourself a brand new member, and she's a hell of a lot prettier than Mac."

  Rumors like that had put Ashley in danger in the first place. Blake flexed his fingers and felt that stupid kid's throat beneath them again. "That could get someone hurt. Or worse."

  "Only if it's true." He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. "Holy shit. It is, isn't it?"

  Dex was a loner. A wolf who traveled between worlds, like all of Blake's pack brothers had been before Lucas sold them on a better dream. Dex had always seemed decent enough, but the knowledge that Lucas had two unmated females under his protection could rouse dark instinctive urges in damn near anyone.

  It was rousing some pretty dark instincts in Blake right now. Dex expected their fight to be for show, but accidents happened—and a wolf with a broken neck couldn't confirm any unfortunate rumors. Or try to act on them.

  Dex just grinned. "Cool the death glare, buddy. I'm not after your woman, and I can keep my mouth shut."

  She's not mine.

  He couldn't say it. If he said it, it would be real. "You sure you still want to fight me?"

  Someone halfway across the warehouse shouted Dex's name, and he raised one hand in casual greeting. "I wasn't before, but I am now. Bring it, Blake."

  For the first time since he'd hit the city limits, Blake smiled. "Oh, you can count on it."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The warehouse was dirty and loud. Scattered spots of harsh light gave way to near darkness, where people crowded together, yelling over the noise or quietly trading money for things Ashley didn't want to know about.

  She stared at the chain-link fencing instead. Yards of it in the middle of the open space, boxing in half a dozen tattered mats laid out over the bare concrete. Blake stood in the brightly lit center of the makeshift cage, his chest and feet bare, slicked with sweat and blood.

  Fighting was too tame a word for what he was doing. As she watched, he took a brutal blow to his midsection and barely flinched. His fist crashed into the other man's face, whipping his head around. Blood splattered, and the screams increased.

  The whole spectacle was pain made flesh. Not physical pain, fleeting and easily healed—for a werewolf, at least—but something deeper. It coursed off Blake in waves that hit Ashley square in the gut, twisting and tightening until it left her sick and dizzy.

  She closed her eyes, and Lucas steadied her with one hand on her elbow. "How long have they been at it?"

  "Too fucking long," Ivan snarled from behind them. "Lucas, get your boy in line before people start asking questions."

  "Maybe you shouldn't have let him fight like this," Ashley said shortly before making her way toward the ring. She didn't know what she could do to stop the fight, but logic wasn't what moved her feet. She had to get closer, be closer.

  Blake.

  He took another hit, and a third, shaking them off as if the pain was nothing—or even welcome. From here, she could see why Ivan was worried. Both men had blood over healed skin, their abrasions and cuts knitting together as fast as new ones could be dealt out. Only the bite mark on Blake's shoulder stayed fresh and raw, though it didn't slow him down.

  Even through her horror, it was impossible not to appreciate the sheer strength and grace of his movements. He only suffered the other man's blows because he wanted them, and he returned them with animal instinct and efficiency.

  No wonder Ivan had refused to send him into the ring with a human.

  Another solid punch spun him around. He started to correct and froze when his gaze locked with hers.<
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  A fraction of a second stretched out into forever. His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger. Then the moment ended as his opponent jumped on his hesitation and rammed him against the chain-link fence.

  The onlookers screamed, as if sensing the end of the fight in Blake's misstep. Bodies crowded around her, jostling her as they cheered and waved their arms.

  Blake whipped around and laid the other wolf out with one blow.

  The crowd roared and surged toward the ring. Ashley tried to fight her way through the mass of bodies, but there was too much pushing and shoving.

  Then Blake was there, right in front of her, gripping her shoulders with barely restrained anger. "You shouldn't be here," he growled, already edging her back through the tangle of people, most of whom scrambled out of the way after one glimpse of the fury in his expression. "I'm going to kill Lucas."

  "He brought me because I asked. Because I—" Her voice broke. "You left."

  "We can talk about it after we get you somewhere safe. Somewhere away—"

  "Blake!" Ivan waved at them.

  Blake responded by dragging her against his body with a pressure that almost hurt.

  Lucas appeared beside them and shoved a rumpled brown envelope at Blake. "Your winnings." Then he jerked his head toward an unlit exit sign on the wall. "Side door. Come on."

  Blake herded her through the exit. As soon as they were out in the empty side lot, he whirled on Lucas. "What the fuck were you thinking? Anyone could have been in there."

  "You were in there," Lucas shot back irritably. "Kinda the whole fucking point."

  "So was Ivan. So was Dex, for fuck's sake."

  Ashley stepped between them. "Can you both stop talking about me like I'm not here?"

  Blake clenched his fists and looked away. "Why are you?"

  Her anger flared again. "Oh, was I supposed to let you decide everything for me? Just sit at home like a good girl, waiting for you to come back? Sorry, Blake, but that's not who I am."

  He flinched. "I know exactly who you are."

  The sadness in the words stabbed at her. "Then you should have known I'd come after you."