by Kyle, Celia
Except that made her madder. “This is what his father was? On the inside?”
Mister Simons answered her. “Yes, Miss Dane. I’d like you to perhaps take some time—”
“No,” Wyatt’s mom glared at him. “If I would have known, I would have aborted him.”
“Mom…” What was she saying? He stepped toward her, holding out his hand. She always held his hand when they walked. She didn’t want to lose him ever. He was her bestest boy.
But Mom… Mom scooted back and then she was in the hallway and she was running and…
“Mom? Mommy?” He didn’t know what aborted meant, but she was his mom and she was leaving. Mister Simons reached out for him, but he was faster. He ran past the principal and into the hallway, yelling after his mother. “Mom, wait. I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” She got to the door that led to the parking lot and flung it open. The sun lit up the hallway and then it slammed closed behind her. “Mom!”
Large hands grabbed him, stopping him, but his mom was leaving without him. She was supposed to pick him up. “I’m sorry, Mom!”
His eyes hurt really bad now and his cheeks were all wet and he didn’t care if Max saw him cry because his mom left him and said he was a demon, but he wasn’t. He was a good boy. He was!
“Mom!”
Bethy’s small hand sliding over his chest pulled him from the painful, horrifying memory. “Wyatt?”
Wyatt wiped away the tears on his cheeks. Damn it, every time he let the memories come through, they made him fucking cry.
He took a deep, shaky breath. “It took my mother an hour to go from loving me to loathing me. Sixty minutes.” He’d remember that last look for the rest of his life. “Bethy, my own mother didn’t love me. She was disgusted by me. Hated me for what I am. Told them I was a piece of shit like my father and simply gave me away without a second glance.” He tightened his hold, the old pain surging inside him once again. “Gave me away like I was nothing. Mister Simons didn’t explain abortion to me then. It took years to finally realize what she’d meant.”
Wyatt voiced the same question he’d asked himself over and over again throughout the years. Every time he got close to a woman, every time he was tempted to enjoy himself on the night of a Gaian Moon, he voiced the question.
“How can I be a mate or a father, when I couldn’t even be a son?”
Bethy’s full weight slumped against him as if she deflated and then she moved, changing position until she straddled his lap. Small hands cupped his cheeks, and he allowed her to move his head.
“Wyatt, I don’t ever want you to think that again. Ever.” He noted the single tear trail its way down her cheek. “You,” she sniffled. “God, you don’t even know.” She shook her head. “Even when I told you I was dangerous, you didn’t care. You just wanted to be with me. Even when I sent you away, you came back.”
He eased her hands from his face and stroked her cheeks, catching the next tear that fell. “To be fair, you came back first.”
She sniffled. “Shaddup. The point is, any other man would have walked away. Hell, most of the pride won’t come within a hundred feet of me. I only got to go to the picnic because Maya promised everyone they’d be safe. And you chased me down…”
“I didn’t know you could kill me,” he countered.
This time she growled and his cock twitched in his jeans. Hell, he came a handful of minutes ago, and he was ready to go again.
Bethy glared at him, and her fangs grew to peek past her upper lip. In a lightning fast move, his hands went from wiping away her tears to pressed against the wall beside his head, her grip holding him captive. “Stop it. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. If I fucking say you’re the best fucking mate, you’ll listen. Your mother was a bitch—period—and you are so much better than her sorry ass.”
“Sweetheart,” he grunted because then a set of white fangs flashed before sinking into his uninjured shoulder. She bit down, and the scent of his blood permeated the room in an instant. His dick hardened fully, coming to attention with the feel of his half-nude mate pressed against him, her fangs in his flesh.
As quickly as she struck, she released him and sat back. She ran her tongue over her lips, gathering his blood, and moaning when she swallowed it down. “Mine.”
It hurt, but Wyatt nodded with a smile. “Yours.”
She leaned forward and licked the wound before laying her cheek on his shoulder. “You deserve more than a mate with a deadly case of split personalities, but no matter what, Wyatt Dane, you deserve to be loved.” She sighed. “I promise to do my very best to finish getting there.”
Finish getting there…
Wyatt couldn’t doubt her conviction, couldn’t doubt the feelings behind her words. He just wasn’t ready to believe in himself. He tested her hold, pressing against her grip the tiniest bit and he lowered his arms when she released him. He rested his palms on her hips, stroking the exposed skin and dipping beneath the waistline. The button was still undone, zipper still lowered, which gave him room to touch her. He noted the fullness of her ass, the way it filled his hands. He peeked over her shoulder and stared down at the top curve of the globes. He wanted to nibble and taste her there. Well, everywhere.
He also noticed something else, something he could hardly believe.
Bethy didn’t have a single bruise, not even a hint of green or pale blue indicating her injuries were still healing. They were gone. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”
She glared at him. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and not believing—”
Wyatt grinned at her frown. “I’m asking because you’re not bruised anymore.”
“I—” She snapped her mouth shut and looked down at herself, squeaking when she seemed to realize she was half naked and bloody as hell. Her small hands jerked to cover her abundant breasts. And didn’t do a very good job of it.
It didn’t keep her from looking though. She wiggled and squirmed, forcing his cock to throb and ache with need while she pulled and pushed her breasts this way, and that to look at her stomach.
“They’re gone. How the hell…” She looked over her shoulder, neck muscles straining with the move. “Is the bite…”
Wyatt abandoned his spot at her hips and slid his palms along her sides, tracing the curved lines of her body. “Lean forward.”
Bethy did as asked and pressed her front against his chest more fully, giving him a perfect view of the back of her shoulder. Regret, anger, and pain hit him from all sides while the lion released a monumental roar.
“I’m sorry, love. It’s still there.”
58
“Love your enemies. It pisses them off. Then again, I prefer stabbing them with whatever’s handy. But you know, potato, potahto.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and woman who doesn’t give a damn how you say potato, she’s still gonna throw it at the bad guy.
The rest of the day had been quiet, easy. Wyatt hadn’t put any other pressures on her, and she’d done her best to quietly apologize for tearing into him like he was a porterhouse. They’d both had a lot to think about. He with his past and hopefully realizing she was bound and determined to love him, while she…
Millie reached across and rubbed her left hand over the two small scars on her right shoulder.
They’d decided that maybe the cat had been holding back because it’d wanted Millie to mate. As soon as she’d tied them together, the panther jumped into the game and took care of healing her. Unfortunately, that hadn’t stretched to the bite on her shoulder.
She let her fingers worry the small, raised bumps, fingernails scraping against the sensitive skin as she fought to remember how she’d gotten them. Still, her mind came up blank. Snippets of her night spent with Wyatt began returning—his blood seeming to jump-start her memory—but there was nothing between the time she’d left Wyatt and the moment she woke muddy and bruised.
She stroked the scars again.
Why did they feel s
o familiar? The cat urged her to leave it alone, to stick close to Wyatt and stay inside. Scarily, her powers agreed.
Millie growled at herself, snatched her hand away and spun from the window. What did they know? They couldn’t be bothered to be part of her instead of separate beings.
She shoved aside their desire to forget, to shield her from the memories. She stilled, turning inward and digging through the shadows of her mind. Her Sensitive abilities darted left to block her while the cat crouched low, ready to pounce. It didn’t matter, she would have her way. The events of the previous night were just out of reach, so close yet still outside her grasp.
Inside herself, she stepped forward only to be brought up short by the cat. She bolted left and was halted by the cloud of rage. Another move to the right and it swirled around her, enclosing her in the darkness.
No. She would know, damn it.
Millie pushed and struck out at the ethereal ball, swinging her arms through the darkness. Fuck.
Taking a deep breath, she did the one thing it wouldn’t expect. She’d always been careful, cautious, and afraid. Screw it. She’d never know anything if she didn’t fight for it. She crouched low in her mind, gathered her strength, and jumped head first into the cloud. She dove through her thoughts, flew past the cat and rage alike and deeper into her own mind.
It seemed like hours later she collided with the ground inside her, slid across the smooth surface and finally slowed and stopped. She felt the cat and her power tear at her, roar and pull on her in objection.
It didn’t matter. She’d gotten what she wanted. The past lay open before her, ready to be brought forward.
Except last night. Somehow she’d slipped beyond the prior evening and deeper into herself.
Unlike what she’d been told by Maddy and Elise, her mind was not like a massive room filled with filing cabinets just waiting to be opened. They’d told her over and over again that their thoughts and experiences had to be kept orderly, that her brain would automatically keep things organized for her. A Sensitive couldn’t function and use their powers properly without some sort of order.
Millie took stock of her surroundings and realized that part of her problem stemmed from her cat and ability’s constant battle to hide things from her.
Her memories weren’t ready for her in small stacks, but were scattered like sheets in the wind. Each page contained yet another remembrance, but they were random and messy.
Though, the most recent events were slightly more orderly. She moved beyond them, past her months in Ridgeville, assaulting Harding. Then, even further along through the time she’d been hidden away in the compound.
From there… Oh, dear God, from there…
Bits and pieces of her life were strewn through the darkness. Would she ever find herself amongst the mess she faced?
Millie paused near a small pile of memories and reached for them with a trembling hand. Panic assaulted her, her cat and that cloud of rage forcing their emotions on her. She paused, fingers a hairsbreadth from those sheets of paper. Did she want to know? The other two parts of her were fighting her, pummeling her, trying their best to keep her from looking into the past.
She didn’t care.
Millie let her fingers wrap around one sheet, tips gliding over the memory in a trembling caress and then she was thrown into that piece of her past. Was she eleven? Twelve? No, thirteen. Yes, thirteen and locked in a well-known room. The space was a memory the other parts of her had allowed her to keep. The plain brick walls with a single, solid steel door.
The lock clicked and the door slid aside to expose her visitors.
Alistair.
Alistair entered first, his midnight hair and pale skin were familiar. As were the ice blue eyes that focused on her. They glowed in the harsh light of the room, piercing her with their intensity. She feared him, yes. He beat her, attacked her, backhanded her when she talked back.
Oh yes, he scared her.
A movement behind him drew her attention and Millie froze. This was the person of her nightmares. Her heart raced, pummeling her with the desire to burst from her chest. She had to run, had to hide. Claws formed at her fingertips, the cat rushing forward. She could scratch him, claw him. But she tried that every time. Every time she attempted to injure him and every time she failed.
The male who truly terrified her stepped forward, moved into the light. He smiled at her, that wicked, deadly smile, and flicked out his forked tongue. “Hello, Millie-love. I’ve missed you.”
“F-f-f-f…” She couldn’t get his name out.
In the present, the cat and her power rushed her then, tearing her from the past and shoving her away from tortured memories. The page representing that grotesque encounter slipped from her hand, yet the feel of her own blood sliding over her fingertips remained.
She’d bled so, so much that day.
Millie fought for breath and stumbled back, catching herself on the wall. Dear God. Now she understood why those two parts of her demanded she forget. Now that she knew just a tiny hint of what her body could take, she wished she’d forget again.
Shaking her head, she fought to clear her mind of the panic coursing through her veins.
One thing was for certain, they needed to work together, not against her as they had in the past. Not knowing could be dangerous. She knew it was the cat who’d rushed things with Wyatt. If he hadn’t been happy with the half-mating, it wasn’t the cat who’d pay the price. It would have been the human part of her.
She knew the human body could take a lot of damage, but she doubted she would have come out the other side if Wyatt had been furious with her. Angering him, hurting him, would have crushed her.
Millie tilted her head to the side, listening for Wyatt, and heard him talking on the phone with Alex. Just because she needed him, they needed each other, life in the pride couldn’t stop. She knew that.
Until he could hold her close, comfort her, she’d let the outdoor air soothe her frayed nerves.
Moving through the home, she headed toward the back, pointing at the deck as she passed Wyatt’s office so he knew where she’d be. He nodded and gave her a wink with a mouthed, “be careful.”
She’d always be careful, she had him to come back to.
On her way out the door, the bright pink cell phone on the counter rang. The Prima had given it to her when she’d come to live in Ridgeville and demanded she carry it always. The monstrosity buzzed and hopped along the smooth surface, and she scooped it up on the way outside. From what Wyatt said, Maya had been upset about the picnic. Millie wondered if Alex told his mate about how she’d awakened that morning. Then again, Wyatt was probably giving the Prime the details now.
It didn’t matter. Millie could tell Maya herself. Stepping onto the back deck, she nudged the door closed behind her and took a deep breath. The air was clean and fresh; the scents of the city’s cars not reaching this far into the country. From what Wyatt told her, the pride house was just over the next hill. Close, but not too close, he’d said.
The vibrating phone in her hand repeated the annoying ring, and she answered the call.
“Hello.”
“Fi-na-lly. God. You’d think you had a social life or something.” The last few words were mumbled, and she imagined the Prima speaking around an ever-present spoonful of ice cream. “Anyway. Did you get dirty?”
“Dirty?” Millie hardly ever understood the Prima.
“Yeah. Dirrty. Two Rs. Like Christina Aguilera.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shook her head and half-grinned as she sat on one of the deck chairs.
Maya gasped. “You don’t know? It’s a travesty! The world is coming to an end!” The Prima groaned and then a high-pitched squee reached her. Millie pictured the Prima bouncing in her seat. “I know! How are you feeling? Still have the need to kill people? Because I’m thinking of a smaller get-together complete with alcoholic beverages and copious amounts of dance music. We’ll make sure that W
yatt holds your hand the whole time since he seems to be one of the anti-batshit people like my kidlets are. We can catch you up on what you’ve missed these past thirty years or so. Alex,” the Prima screamed, “can we have another par-teeee?”
She was pretty sure she heard Alex’s roaring “no” through the phone and echoing across the expanse separating the homes.
In less than a second, Maya was back, and she heard the smile in the woman’s voice. “Alex said yes.”
Millie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That’s great, Prima.”
She snorted. “Prima-shmima. Call me Maya. I only use the title when it gets me something I want. Such as Carly’s last container of Choccy Mint ice cream. Then it is awesome being mated to Alex.”
That drew a laugh from her, and she smiled wide. When was the last time she’d just… laughed?
Movement out of the corner of her eye snagged Millie’s attention. She turned her head, still grinning as Maya chattered in her ear about the best places to visit “downtown.”
A snake slithered over the smooth wooden deck, its gaze trained on her as if she were its target. It crept closer and closer, and Millie pushed to her feet, then climbed atop the chair. Fear crawled down her spine and pumped through her veins.
Yes, she was a panther. Deadly. Dangerous. But for some reason her human mind was on the same page as both her power and her cat.
Run.
Far. Fast. Forever.
Run.
F-f-f-frank.
“Maya,” she whispered, afraid speaking would somehow cause the snake to come closer. “What kinds of snakes do you have in North Carolina?”
“Wha—”
“What kind of—”
Then it didn’t matter.
Because the snake grew. Its width expanded more and more while its tail shortened and that broad head enlarged. The thin, eight foot long serpent shifted, twisted and changed until it stood on two legs before her. Brown eyes. Brown hair. And two wide-spaced, thin, long fangs.
