Punished

by Samantha Stone

  “I’ll be safely locked in our room.” She reached out and rubbed the back of Raphael’s neck. At her words he relaxed into her touch, a small smile forming. “I think I prefer sleeping with you.” She walked to the door before pausing to add, “I guess tonight will tell, right?”

  Raphael stalked after Mary, his predatory gaze never leaving her. He gripped her waist possessively and kissed her deeply until she moaned, softening against him. He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “You’d rather me sleep with you,” he growled.

  “Can’t a girl play hard to get without you messing it up?” she grumbled, but she felt the corners of her mouth twitching. Raphael laughed, closing her out of the forbidden room. He seemed relieved, his grin never leaving his face until the rest of the clan, one at a time, found them where they’d camped out in the living room.

  “It’s about that time, bro,” Alex said, taking a bite out of Mary’s half-eaten peanut butter sandwich.

  “Time to get locked up,” a man who had to be Sebastian said. He looked slightly crazed, his dark red hair sticking up as if he’d been electrocuted. Out of all the men, Sebastian seemed to dread the night the most.

  Four weres filed out, dragging their feet, but Raphael stayed behind. He looked at Mary, love filling his gaze, pouring from his touch as he tucked her hair behind her ear. He gave her a chaste, lingering kiss. “I love you,” he said seriously, a hardness straining his expression.

  “I—”

  “Tell me in the morning. Show me by staying away from harm.”

  With those words, Raphael left her plagued with curiosity and encircled by sandwich crumbs. Mary made herself some hot chocolate and fetched her book. It would be a long night.

  * * * *

  The sun went down, and with the appearance of the full moon came chaos in the house. The men had definitely changed forms; howls tore through the night, agonized and feral. From Raphael’s warnings, Mary expected as much. Hell, she’d expected worse from the werewolves as a collective.

  Except one of them was in serious pain. Above the howls, one of the men was screaming as if he was being tortured. Mary set down her drink, marked her place in her book, and then slowly walked to the room she’d promised Raphael she would avoid at all costs.

  She was compelled to the room—she knew that voice. Despite his transition, she knew it was Raphael who was hurt, who yelled so loud he had to be damaging something.

  The air vibrated around Mary. It pulsed with her rapid heartbeat, reflecting her fear. What’s happening to Raphael? Mary desperately hoped it was just another part of his transition, but since the others didn’t seem to suffer the same way, she suspected it wasn’t normal. The air around her buzzed, rubbing frantically against her skin.

  She could have sworn she felt a slight push toward the steel door, hands pressing against her shoulder blades. Turning, she saw nothing.

  What is going on with the air?

  Raphael’s howls became impossibly louder. Mary heard bones cracking, limbs tearing. She wasn’t sure if it was sympathetic pain, or if Raphael and she were connected by more than she knew, but for a few short moments she felt what caused his screams. The agony took her breath away; she was being ripped apart piece by piece, and then thrown back together.

  Raphael was going through some sort of second transition, one the others seemed to be safe from, and it hurt. Any last pieces of her promise to stay away faded into dust.

  She couldn’t leave Raphael to suffer. She would find a way to ease his pain, even if all she could do was hold him. She knew she could help him, needed to be with him.

  Before her, the great steel doors shielding her from the werewolves shook as if they were made from thin aluminum. She remembered Raphael’s warnings from earlier. They were stronger than her, and they would do their best to hurt her.

  That meant nothing to Mary; she couldn’t leave him like this until the sun rose.

  She put a shaking hand on the lever and pulled it down. With irritation, Mary discovered the doors were dead-bolted shut. No!

  Raphael’s howls fueled her fury, erasing her fear. I have to get to Raphael.

  Mary pressed her hands flat across the thin crack between the doors. She heard a pounding against the steel and was surprised to look up and find marks from fists repeatedly hitting against the doors. Only, she hadn’t been hitting them, and the fists were on her side of the construct.

  That’s not helping anything. Stop. The phantom fists stopped as if honoring her unspoken command, and a strain she hadn’t realized she was feeling eased. Was she the origin of the fists? Had she been affecting the air?

  In case she was, she imagined the dead bolts turning. Sweat dripped from her brow; she controlled something, for sure. The earlier mental strain returned to her tenfold. Humans were not meant to unlock these doors—the weight involved for releasing the bolts was far too much.

  Finally, the doors released one last tremor with a click, and Mary was freed of the weights and locks. This time, the doors swung open easily. Her breath came in jagged pants as she faced a room full of feral wolves. Almost the size of small horses, each had a different coat, ranging from what looked to be blond to an inky black. Four sets of teeth were bared at her; the gray and white wolf on her left licked his chops.

  At the other end of the room was the wolf that put all the others to shame. She never would have imagined Raphael looked this way, but she knew it was him. He had a coat of pure white. He simply stood silently, stock-still, watching her with piercing blue eyes. She almost thought he shook his head at her, as if to warn her away.

  Warning or not, she moved forward, determined to make it to him.

  Immediately, the weres on either side of her lunged. The sand-colored wolf to her right missed her by a few feet, his chain jerking him mid-leap. He fell to the floor with a pained canine whine, the heavy chain landing painfully across his haunches.

  She was closer to the gray and white wolf, but she didn’t move to the right, afraid it would put her in the blond’s range. The gray wolf slashed at her with his claws, grazing her side. She stumbled forward, ignoring the blood flowing over her hand. Across the room, Raphael roared.

  Now she faced a wolf with the same auburn hair as Sebastian and the bigger, solid black wolf. Both snarled at her, but Sebastian was violently fighting his restraints to gain access to her, drool flying as he jerked his head from side to side. She heard the floor crack, saw blood flinging from where the collar cut into his neck.

  Mary took her chances with the black wolf, running as fast as she could past his territory. She tried not to look at him, but couldn’t help a backward glance. He was right behind her. She screamed, trying to pick up her pace, but his paws slammed into her back, sending her flying toward Raphael. Ribs cracked, and Mary tasted blood in her mouth, but she knew the wolf had meant to help from the way his claws had been consciously lifted away from her, unlike the others’. He wasn’t as feral as the rest were, his movements more calculated rather than instinctually driven. What makes him different?

  She landed hard on her knees, now in Raphael’s space. One hand stemming the blood at her side, she held the other out in front of her. “It’s me, love,” she said slowly, rising to her feet. The great white wolf backed away from her, toward the wall.

  “It’s Mary,” she said, hoping his lack of violence was a good sign. She walked around him to her right, keeping her distance. He would never forgive himself if he hurt her; she didn’t want to cause him any more self-loathing than he’d already endured.

  Without warning, a snarling Raphael leapt clear over her head, chains and all, coming nose to nose with Sebastian. She quickly moved out of the way of the falling chains.

  Mary hadn’t realized the other wolf crept so close. Raphael violently snapped his teeth at him before herding Mary toward the back wall with his furry body.

  Raphael placed himself between her and all the other werewolves, allowing Mary to sit. She released a pained brea
th. Raphael whined low, nudging her side gently with his nose.

  “S’okay,” Mary mumbled, running her fingers through his thick white fur. It really was okay—now that she was here, he was no longer in pain. He merely looked up at her with expressive blue eyes, pushing his head under her hand.

  When Sebastian ran for them again, catching himself painfully on his chains yet another time, Raphael gently moved his head away from her hand, lifted it, and roared at his friend.

  With his hackles raised and his sharp teeth bared, Raphael was terrifying, even in comparison to the other wolves.

  Sebastian bowed his head and shrank back into his own corner. Mary swore she saw shame in his expression.

  Raphael settled back against her, wrapping his body around her protectively. Her blood created red blotches in his pristine fur, the macabre sight wrong on a creature who only touched her carefully, who used himself as a shield for her.

  Mary laid her head on his neck, his fur prickling her cheek and ear. She had so many questions—how did she unlock the door? Why was Raphael the only truly controlled beast in the room? None of the other prisoners recognized her.

  She lazily stroked the fur by his ears; Raphael grunted approvingly, leaning into her touch. Why did my presence take away his pain? Just as she’d known it would.

  Soon, Mary felt herself drifting into sleep. She noticed a gray spot the size of a dime on Raphael’s right hip, stark against the pure white of his fur. He’s perfect as he is, spot and all, was her last thought before unconsciousness took her.

  Chapter 10

  For the first time in five hundred years, Raphael was in control of his wolf form. He was still wolf, still had the same violent instincts, but his very human mind was able to reason through the violence. He knew fighting the chains was no use; there would be no getting out of them until the sun rose and he could simply lift the collar from his neck. The collar’s width was almost too snug for the neck of a wolf his size, but it was large enough for him to raise it right over his head in human form. There was no latch to maneuver—he just had to wait.

  Raphael considered the work that would have to be done to fix damage to the room; clawing the walls just wasn’t worth it. He knew the other wolves were his friends, with Cael and Sebastian nearest him, and he noted which of his friends were more controlled, as well as who fought their bonds the most. Sebastian gave in the most to his wolf, while Cael had the closest to Raphael’s temperament. Cael fought for control and lost, again and again.

  What confused Raphael the most wasn’t his retained humanity, but the pain that accompanied it. Something was very wrong with him—he’d already changed into his usual snow wolf form, but his body was still transitioning, only not outwardly, but internally. Something was shoving itself inside him, and there wasn’t room for it. It burned him, drowned him, buried him alive, and wrenched him into a spinning tornado within his chains. He could hear himself screaming, even whimpering, and failed to muster any shame for his reaction.

  He couldn’t stop the brand from entering his blood, stabbing through his arteries, burning away his insides. How am I still alive? He wanted to pray for death, but a sound at the door stopped him. Mary. He could endure this for her.

  In the back of his mind, he wondered how his delicate woman was turning the heavy locks, but his receding pain claimed his main focus.

  When Mary entered the room, wonder and love bloomed within him, the burning disappearing as if afraid of her presence. His relief was closely followed by worry; there was no part of him that wanted to cause harm to the beautiful woman, but the others couldn’t help themselves. To them, she was simply prey.

  The moment Alexandre sliced into her side, he went to war with his canine nature. He wanted to fight his way free—impossible—and kill the man he knew was a friend. Not his fault, he repeated to himself, he can’t help it. Still, he had to fight himself every time he saw red dripping over her shaking hand. Her whole body trembled from terror and blood loss, but she moved relatively quickly, choosing to go near Cael rather than Sebastian.

  His Mary was smart. She could survive this, would survive it.

  When she finally reached him, Cael having accidentally hurt her—he’d caught the were’s apologetic whine—Raphael communicated no one was to make any further moves toward her. They were a pack, and while they might not recognize Mary, they knew when another pack member made a claim he was willing to defend.

  He was the only one who could touch Mary. He made that clear when he curved his body, even his tail, around her. Rather than try to escape him in her fear, his brave female only petted him, rested against him.

  When she fell asleep, Raphael took care not to move so he wouldn’t wake her. With her this close, her lilac scent caressing him as much as her hand had, Raphael was utterly relaxed. He wasn’t in his human body, but he had no complaints. Mary was with him, and she was safe. He would have this night with her after all, even if the circumstances were far from perfect.

  Throughout the night, her bleeding slowed and finally stopped. A nudge of his muzzle revealed Mary was healing at a much faster rate than a typical mortal. She also shouldn’t have been able to enter the garage in the first place. What happened to her? The sun was about to rise; he felt it on the horizon. What happened to me?

  Blessedly, when the sun came up he shed his wolf form in a burst of light. The transformation’s reversal was never as painful as the initial change. Naked, he took off his collar and gently lifted Mary from him.

  His friends pulled on their clothes gingerly, each moving as if sore. Sebastian groaned nearby, clutching his head in his hands.

  Cael, Heath and Alexandre were all staring at Mary, shock and concern on each of their faces.

  “How did she—” Alexandre began.

  “Is she hurt?” Cael interrupted, his voice tight.

  Raphael yanked on a pair of shorts stashed in a latched compartment under the floor.

  Using his back to protect Mary’s privacy, he lifted her shirt to see deep, partially scabbed-over slashes in her side. In a few days, they would be healed completely. Her back sustained two dark purple bruises, her small bones still in the process of knitting themselves together.

  He wanted to leap across the garage and rip Alexandre’s throat from his body, but he knew the man wasn’t at fault. Any other full moon, and Raphael would’ve reacted the same way toward a human female in his domain.

  “Yes,” Raphael said darkly, “but she’s healing at a remarkably fast rate.”

  Cael released a held breath, his shoulders slumping. He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair; Raphael swore he saw him shudder.

  “Uh, Raphael, how’d Mary get in here?” Alexandre asked uncertainly.

  Heath moved around the doorway, stopping at the lever. “She broke the damn thing.” He held up the titanium rope. “Something you want to tell us about her?”

  Sebastian whistled. “That bitch isn’t just an artist, bro,” he said, shaking his head.

  Rage filled Raphael. No one spoke of Mary in that way.

  Sebastian flew to the ceiling until he was pressed against it, his limbs spread. Sparks flew from the light fixture, growing until they formed flames that crept closer, closer…

  “Raphael,” Heath exclaimed. He was right next to Raphael, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let that idiot down.”

  Just before flames singed the tips of Sebastian’s hair, Raphael willed him to the floor, unharmed. As if invisible hands carried him, it was done.

  The fire quickly died without Raphael’s attention, having nothing to catch on the steel ceiling. It was a precaution the previous tenants had installed, one Heath and Raphael had expanded to layers inside the walls and the floor in order to prevent a fire from reaching them while they were chained.

  “How the hell did you do that?” Sebastian cried, patting himself. He looked impressed.

  “I don’t know,” Raphael said truthfully. How did he do that?

  Heath gestured to M
ary. She looked so fragile in her slumber, her hands curled up against her chest, her hair shining around her. Her full lips were relaxed, her dark eyelashes unmoving against her cheeks.

  “She’s your mate,” Heath said. “She’s freed your elemental powers; to a certain extent, your abilities will be shared.”

  My mate. Raphael was stunned. He’d never paid much attention to the other weres when they spoke of mates. None of them were mated, so he hadn’t thought to concern himself with the knowledge. How could someone like him, someone who had hurt so many, who’d torn entire families apart, deserve a woman who would be bonded to him for life, a woman who would become his family?

  Of course she’s my mate, he realized, looking down at her flawless visage. On some level, he’d always known. She truly was his, in every sense. She’d freed him, not only from having bound powers, but also from the pain and guilt that followed each night of every full moon. He’d never liked losing himself to the beast and much preferred keeping his rational thoughts, as well as the ability to keep her safely by his side.

  Reality crashed down, smothering the joyous revelation. He would be executed soon, too soon after discovering his reason for breathing. What would that mean for Mary?

  “Aren’t mates’ lives connected?” he asked brokenly, remembering snippets of overheard conversations that were over a hundred years old, but not enough to tell him the details he needed.

  Cael nodded solemnly. Raphael’s roar of anguish shook the room, causing the remaining lights to flicker.

  “Hey!” Heath shouted, his own yell almost as loud as Raphael’s. “I’ll mess you up if you don’t stop it,” he growled severely, fury glinting in his green eyes. The lights grew brighter, unwavering. “We don’t have to die now.” Heath enunciated every word. He looked as if he were refraining himself from shaking Raphael.

  “What do you mean?” Hoped flared, dangerous and seductive.

  “He means you’ve got elementals,” Sebastian said, spreading his arms. “More than one, judging from your display of fire and air.”