This Dark Wolf: Soul Bitten Shifter Book 1

by Everly Frost

  I find strength enough to reply with a sharp tongue. “Oh, because you’re so strong? I need big, strong Tristan to help me, is that it?”

  “You need an alpha! And right now I’m the only one you’ve got.”

  I back into the coffee table, bumping my calves against it before I veer to the side. “I don’t need anything from you, Tristan Masters. Least of all a bodice-ripping.”

  He shakes his head at me, dangerously slow as he follows me at a prowl. “You have no idea what you did this morning. You asserted dominance over the strongest women in my pack. Do you understand what that means?”

  “No, because I don’t understand your rules or your laws or your fucking aggressive pack behavior.”

  “Aggressive?” His head jerks back as he stops short. “You haven’t seen the beginning of my aggression, Tessa.”

  I shiver, because I think I have seen the edges of his aggression, not least in the way he ripped off my buttons just now, but especially in the terrifyingly efficient way in which he did it. Helen warned me that I should take every story I’ve heard about Tristan, triple its brutality, and I might approach a true assessment of his capacity for violence.

  I shiver uncontrollably as I realize that, in the last twenty-four hours since we left Hidden House, he has concealed and subdued his true nature.

  Recklessly, despite the threat of violence, I lash out anyway. “If that’s true, then why do you care to help me at all?”

  “Because I won’t be my father.” He doesn’t shout, but if anything, the low pitch of his growl scares me more than a roar would have. “I won’t be like him.”

  For a terrifying second, I glimpse the depth of violence in Tristan’s eyes, held in check only by sheer will.

  I lower my voice. “Then stay away from me—”

  Pain shoots up through my chest all the way into my neck and shoulders. I double over, dropping to my knees, desperately keeping one arm outstretched, as if that will ward him off.

  I can’t stop my sobs. My right hand sinks into the carpet, clawing it, trying to find relief.

  I need relief from the pain.

  “It’s my fault your wolf is tearing herself to shreds.” He blocks out the light with his big body as he stands over me, merciless. “I need you to understand, the last time there was a fight like the one this morning, my father killed the loser. He encouraged fights and then he took his revenge on the one who failed. We lost good wolves to his bloodlust. I needed to make sure Bridget knew I wasn’t going to kill her. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose another member of my pack—”

  “You walked right past me.” I tip my head back with a snarl. It is his fault that I’m hurting. The pain started the moment he walked past me to console Bridget. “You rejected me!”

  “I only needed a minute, Tessa.” He tilts his head at me, teeth gritted, the corners of his mouth turned down. “Half a fucking minute to make sure she knew she was safe. You left before I could get to you. You couldn’t wait half a minute so I didn’t lose her—”

  “But you were willing to lose me!” I scream. “You were willing to shame me in front of your pack.”

  My accusation falls into the silence between us. Helen told me that Tristan has an unparalleled ability to perceive and neutralize threats and an unrelenting determination to protect his pack.

  It’s his loyalty to his pack that leaves me screaming now.

  “I am nothing more than a possession to you.” I moan, lowering my left arm to clutch my stomach, tangling my hand in my open shirt. “I’m not a member of your pack. I’m a means to an end—whatever fucking end that actually is. The only reason you want to help me now is because you can’t afford to lose me.”

  He’s blank, ruthless.

  “Yes,” he says.

  I can’t stop my scream. The clawing in my stomach and chest is like daggers suddenly ripping up through me. I dip toward the floor, nearly buckling beneath the pain.

  Tristan drops to the carpet in front of me. One of his hands grips my shoulder, the other my waist, pulling me upright, forcing me to look up. “You say you don’t understand pack law—and maybe you don’t—but your wolf does,” he says. “I rejected you, and now she’s tearing herself apart because she fought for dominance—she won it—but she was cast aside anyway. She knows what has to happen next.”

  “And what…” I gasp, tears falling down my cheeks. “Is that?”

  “We either fight or I mark you as my mate.”

  Everything freezes.

  I reel as his emotionless statement hits me, but he grips me tightly, relentless in his determination to keep hold of me.

  “When you dominated the strongest women in my pack, you asserted yourself as the alpha female,” he says.

  Pain and shock have become a state of being to the point where I’m turning numb. I can barely feel my feet or my hands, my arms sliding to my sides as he pulls me farther upright into a kneeling position like him.

  “Bridget had no idea how strong you are when she challenged you or she never would have done it,” he says. “Her instinct was to show you your place. Knock you down and be done with it. She had no idea you’d retaliate like you did. No fucking idea that you’re strong enough to challenge me. I want to kill her for putting me in this position.”

  Tristan’s declaration bounces back and forth inside my mind, a painful beat. The alpha female… the alpha… fuck…

  “That’s not possible…”

  “The problem is that you’re not my mate,” Tristan snarls. “If you were my mate, you would rule at my side. We would be equal partners. But instead, our wolves are now in a power struggle. Yours is tearing herself apart with breathtaking violence, while mine is slowly burning up. If I could walk away from this—if I could be the good guy—I would.”

  Tristan’s grip on me tightens, his palms dragging across my skin, tingling, making me shiver, as he slowly pulls me forward, my chest to his.

  “We either fight each other to see who can assert dominance over the other—and restore their wolf’s position of power,” he says, husky now. “Or we play a different game of dominance in the bedroom. I know which one I prefer. It’s your choice, Tessa.”

  I can’t breathe. Last night, he’d nudged the corner of my lips, made my toes curl and fierce heat grow between my legs, and told me that he would give me everything I wanted and nothing that I didn’t.

  But that’s not how it will be today. Today will be about control and submission.

  “I want another option.” My eyes are leaking, tears dripping all the way down my cheek, falling from my jaw onto his bare arm. They leave shiny rivers across his muscles. “Give me a third option.”

  “Those are the only two options I’m prepared to accept,” he says. “Make your choice.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The only two options he’s prepared to accept? That means there must be a third or even fourth option he isn’t telling me…

  “You’re lying to me!” I scream at Tristan as the pain billows inside me. “There has to be another way. Please.”

  He jolts, the fire in his eyes increasing, and it makes me wonder what his wolf is going through right now.

  “There is,” he whispers, his teeth gritted as he answers my question with reluctance. “It’s called melding. It’s an ancient way to resolve the issue of dominance. My pack knows about it because knowledge was passed down through my father, but not so many wolves know about it anymore.” He levels his gaze with mine, a hitch in his voice giving the hint of pain he’s keeping hidden. “It’s dangerous, Tessa. The chances of surviving are extremely low.”

  My teary eyes meet his. “Why?”

  “Because it involves experiencing each other’s darkness.” The shadows in his eyes grow. “If we can’t control the darkness and emerge from it, our minds will be lost forever. Our bodies will succumb to the pain and die.”

  “I’m dying anyway.” I moan. “What do we have to do? Tell me.”

  “You have to
trust me.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Then we’re back to the first two options.”

  “No! One of us will die if we fight and the other option is…” I shake my head, groaning. “I won’t do that.”

  His voice lowers, but it’s not soft, all sharp edges. “Why are you so afraid of fucking?” He pauses and considers me with more caution than I was expecting. “Did someone hurt you?”

  He’s assuming the worst. I meet the dangerous glint in his eyes, the sharp contradictions. He resents me. But if someone hurt me, he would end them.

  “I’m not worried about sex,” I say, hating the whimper in my voice. “I can’t let anyone mark me.”

  “Why not?”

  It’s impossible to find a lie when the pain inside me is as relentless as his questions. “Because I can’t bond. I will never have a true mate.”

  “Why would that determine whether or not you choose to be marked?” Tristan’s forehead creases. “A mark is a sign of belonging. It means standing side-by-side. The bond between true mates rarely happens anyway. I know only a few wolves who have found their true mate.”

  “But it will never happen for me. I don’t want a constant reminder of what I can never have.”

  Tristan draws back a little but doesn’t let me go. He is grim as his gaze rakes my face. I imagine he’s searching for any sign that I’ll choose a different path.

  “Then we have no choice.” Lowering his gaze, he stares at the shiny rivers of tears trailing across his arm. His jaw clenches. “The first step is trust. Real trust. You have to do what I say and have faith that I won’t hurt you.”

  “And how is this dangerous for you?” I’m scathing. “Since I’m the one who has to blindly trust you.”

  His jaw tightens. “Because I have to accept your trust and not break it. Believe me, Tessa, that will be difficult for me.”

  He waits while I grit my teeth. I’m not going to survive this pain much longer. I’m already reduced to whines and whimpers. It’s only going to get worse.

  “Fine,” I say, squeezing my eyes closed.

  This time, he approaches me slowly, sliding his left hand around my upper right ribs, anchoring me. “From this moment, we have to stay in contact at all times,” he whispers. “Breaking apart will break our trust.”

  Slipping his right hand beneath my shirt, he wraps his fingers around my shoulder before pushing the material off it, sliding my left sleeve as far as possible down my arm before drawing me up against his chest so he can remove my shirt completely.

  He works one-handed, keeping firm control of me with his left hand around my ribcage.

  I don’t fight the contact this time, turning my head into the crook of his neck and allowing my chest to rest against his as I extend my arms to allow him to slip my shirt over my wrists, finding moments of relief in the connection.

  He told me I needed skin-on-skin contact and—damn him to hell and back—he was right.

  He draws me to my feet and undoes the top button of my jeans—still without removing his left hand from my ribs. The soothing warmth from his stationary hand spreads across my stomach, filtering lower to my pelvis, and higher across my breasts. I press forward, needing the brief brushes of his chest against mine, swaying when he pushes my jeans across my backside and tugs them down to my ankles, one leg at a time, kneeling so he can reach my calves and feet.

  All of this, he does without removing his left hand. If I could curl my entire body into that part of my ribs where his palm and fingers press, I would.

  He leaves my underwear in place before he rises slowly from kneeling, his right hand trailing a tantalizing line up my bare calf and thighs.

  He stops rising when his head is in line with my pelvis.

  His hand curls around my thigh, his thumb nudging the top of the gap between my legs, making me gasp when he lightly brushes my center. A single stroke before he draws his thumb back, gripping my thigh in the crease at the top of my leg.

  Pursing his lips, an inch from my body, he blows softly across the space between my legs, a light caress.

  I nearly scream.

  Pleasure and power rampage all the way through me from my center to my heart at that light touch of air.

  “That’s what you’re missing out on,” he says with a smile, the relentless glint returning to his eyes as he rises to his feet, undoes his jeans, and removes them one-handed.

  Before I can register that he’s completely naked, he steps up to me, shifts his left hand to flatten against my back, and bends at the knee, drawing my legs around him as he rises again.

  I tense and nearly jump out of his arms, which clench around me.

  “Trust,” he reminds me.

  It’s so much harder to trust him than I ever thought possible.

  He carries me toward his bedroom, but my arms fly out on either side when we reach the door, gripping the doorframe. “No,” I say. “You’re not taking me in there.”

  He exhales, but he doesn’t push. If he did, he could break my arms. “Why not?”

  “Your bedroom smells like you,” I snarl.

  He studies my face. Since I’m gripping him around his waist with my legs and balancing against the doorframe, pressing hard against it and keeping myself in position, he is able to let go of my backside—but only with his right hand. His left remains against my back, a constant anchor.

  He brushes the hair away from my eyes.

  I’m not sure what he sees that makes him suddenly smile, but it mingles with a snarl. He said his wolf was burning up. I haven’t seen much evidence of that up to this point other than the glint in his eyes, but now I perceive the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the tension around his mouth despite the rising corners, as if he’s welcoming the pain, finally letting it in.

  He dips his lips to my neck, nudging the curve across my shoulder. “You know my scent as well as I know yours. You’re more wolf than you think, Tessa.”

  His lips trail back up across the soft skin beneath my ear, along my jawline, his hand cupping the back of my head and tangling in my hair. Soft growls slip from his lips, but they’re low, ragged, a startling mix of pain and desire.

  He said this would be hard for him.

  He draws back a few inches before he suddenly dips his mouth to mine, but he pauses without making contact.

  My grip on the doorframe falters as I inhale his exhales.

  Every breath he takes is filled with the power I sensed in him at the moment we met. The kind that could make me forget that I can’t bond.

  He rasps, “Trust.”

  I release the doorframe and adjust my balance so I don’t fall backward, my stomach muscles clenching. The anchor of his left hand doesn’t let me fall in the time it takes me to lean forward into his chest again.

  Carrying me to his bed, he slowly lowers me onto it, descending with me so that our torsos are never far from each other. My pain levels have eased since we started, but it feels like a reprieve that won’t last.

  Staying in contact with me, he eases me across and up the bed until my head rests on one of the pillows before his left hand slips around my body to my front and he turns me so that I’m facing away from him.

  He lines up his chest with my back, his hips with mine, the front of his thighs against the backs of mine, even the bend of our knees as best as possible given our different heights.

  His left arm slides up my chest between my breasts while he presses in behind me, spooning me.

  “Where is your heart?” he asks, his mouth pressed to the back of my neck.

  The fingers of his left hand splay as he speaks, curving across my breast. I pull his hand over the top of my breast to the location of my heart, fighting the fierce pleasure that ripples through me at his touch, while embracing the same easing of pain that washes through me.

  “Now we need to breathe together,” he says. “Our bodies and our wolves need to fall into the same rhythm. Breathing and heartbe
ats. We need to be in sync.”

  I shiver. His voice catches on nearly every word. His inhalations are more rapid than mine, harsh growls that tell me he’s in pain.

  I grip his hand tightly over my heart, press my back against his chest and match my breathing to his. Rapid. Ragged. But just a little bit slower.

  His fingers claw a little, fingernails pressing into my skin, and I’m suddenly terrified. I thought that trusting him meant letting him undress me and lie nearly naked with him in his bed.

  I was so wrong.

  If he shifts—partially or fully—his claws will impale my heart and kill me.

  This is worse than fighting him. At least then, I’d have a chance. Lying like this, I’m just waiting for him to kill me if he loses control.

  My breathing is suddenly as rapid as his.

  “Yellow forest…” I whisper. “Blue treasure… pink ocean… violet sunrise…”

  I remind myself of what Helen said to me when I left Hidden House. Remember to guard your heart and protect yourself, Tessa. Be calm. Stay in control.

  “Silver flowers… silver vines… silver trees…”

  My breathing begins to slow as I breathe out the lists, aware of Tristan’s focus, his quiet behind me, the way his head rests against my shoulder, a heavy weight that tells me my lists are relaxing him too.

  I dare to slide my fingers between Tristan’s where he rests his palm against my heart so that our hands are splayed together, my palm over his, pressing his hand even closer to my chest where his claws will drive right through.

  If I’m going to die, I’m going to make sure it’s quick.

  White wolf… Dark wolf… Cobalt wolf… Tristan.

  My breathing is deep now. Calm. I listen carefully, sensing Tristan’s breathing, discovering that it matches up with mine.

  He exhales against the back of my neck, a slow release of air that sends shivers down my spine, the tension finally easing out of his arms, torso, and legs.

  Concentrating on my breathing has taken my focus away from the clawing pain inside me. Now that we’re breathing in time with each other, the pain eases fully, a release like a tide racing out of my body.