Punished

by Samantha Stone

  Chapter 11

  I won’t talk about it, Leila continued. Her blue gaze seemed determined, her mouth set.

  Wish wasn’t surprised. If she hadn’t revealed her lack of mortality to Mary, there was no way she’d want to confide in him. He hoped she would, someday. He knew what it was to die only to continue in the same life, despite being irrevocably changed.

  “I don’t expect you to,” Wish said.

  How did you know? she asked, her gaze penetrating.

  Wish sighed. He’d studied supernatural beings for twelve years; he knew when someone wasn’t human or mortal, especially when they were trying to pass as both. “You don’t breathe as often as a human,” he began. Leila’s hands pressed protectively against her throat. “But that wasn’t what gave you away. Before you died, you were—”

  “Leila!”

  Alexandre bellowed her name from Wish’s neatly groomed front yard. Molly can sleep though anything, it seems.

  Seeing the weres tromping through his yard, Wish decided he might invent a paint that prevented their entrance if they ruined one of his flowerbeds. Molly liked his “ragin’ Cajun red” ruellias and pastel dahlias.

  His and Leila’s conversation effectively put on hold, Wish floated to meet them at the door with Leila just behind him. Alexandre’s face broke into a smile when he caught sight of Leila.

  Appearing bored, Cael brushed past his packmate to face Wish. “Where’s Molly?” he asked.

  “Sleeping, but I doubt that’ll last for much longer.”

  Cael nodded and made a beeline for the refrigerator.

  For a moment Wish watched a jovial Alexandre speak with Leila animatedly. She responded with just as much enthusiasm, smiling as she signed.

  There were tomes of information Wish could give her to shed light on her condition, but seeing her flirt with Alexandre, her eyes twinkling as Natasha’s had the night she’d seduced Wish, he understood that she just wasn’t ready.

  Someone had tried to cut her life short, and Leila simply wasn’t letting them. For someone touched by death, she lived. She didn’t even seem to mind being moved around like a ball in a pinball machine the last few days. Wish respected her, hoped she would be able to keep her outlook on life.

  Soon Leila would have to face what she’d become, or the consequences would be deadly.

  * * * *

  “Sit still!”

  Mary pointed her pencil at Raphael threateningly. He was unerringly brave, so strong it should scare her, and he absolutely could not sit for more than a moment.

  She’d been trying to sketch him for the past ten minutes, and the poor man had squirmed and twitched for nine of them. He shot her an adorably apologetic look, and it was her undoing. She walked over to him, grabbed his hand and led him to her loft. It was so perfect; she still couldn’t believe the place was hers. But then, it never would be hers.

  It was theirs, both hers and Raphael’s.

  She pushed Raphael onto the couch and sat on his lap, straddling him so her knees pressed against his thighs. His hair was silky under her touch, his jawline shadowed with black stubble. His full lips were still frowning. Mary kissed him, sinking closer.

  “I shouldn’t have asked you to pose.” She kissed his jaw. “It was unnecessary; I could never forget any detail of your face.” She nipped his regally straight nose, the corner of his mouth. “Or your body, for that matter.”

  Mary could paint him right now with only a blank canvas and a few dark shades of paint; she wouldn’t miss a single stroke.

  She’d tried to alter the air around her as she had the night before, using paintbrushes as test subjects, but found the ability had left along with her frustration at being separated from Raphael. She didn’t mind, so long as it came back should she ever need it.

  Raphael took her face in his hands, joy lighting up his boundlessly opaque eyes. He kissed her eagerly, as if starving for her touch. He gently bit her lip, resting his forehead against hers.

  “You broke your promise,” he said, his words hoarse, reproachful.

  Mary pursed her lips, but didn’t break contact. “I don’t regret it,” she said. “I’ll do it again if you stay in the garage tonight.”

  Raphael growled, pulling away. His frown was severe, his eyebrows black slashes over glinting onyx. “You could have died,” he exclaimed, bringing her back to him. He rested his cheek against the top of her head; one of his hands drifted over her bandaged side, her bruised ribs. “You won’t be able to get in tonight. Sebastian knows someone who can spell the doors to open only for werewolves.”

  Mary pushed against his chest angrily, but Raphael gripped her tightly. “You were hurting!” she cried. “I couldn’t leave you that way. You wouldn’t have left me like that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have.” Raphael smiled. “That’s why I won’t be chained tonight.”

  Elated, Mary grinned, pressing kisses all over his face. She made a face at him. “Why didn’t you start with that?” she asked.

  Placing a hand against the back of her neck, he said, “Because you are everything to me, my ülikena. Your safety comes before anything else.”

  Tears pricked Mary’s eyes. “What does ülikena mean?”

  “Beauty,” he said, wiping away one of her stray tears with his thumb. “Now that I’ve met you, the world is beautiful to me again.”

  She was crying now, touched by his love for her, horrified they would be forced to part. “I wish I were that poetic.” She sniffled. There was no reason to mention her concerns, he’d do whatever he could to stay with her, just as she would.

  Raphael’s dimples made an appearance, making her heart lighten despite her sadness. “So we don’t have to be separated tonight?” she asked.

  Raphael shook his head, grinning. “We should stay at the firehouse, in case someone attacks again.”

  Mary cocked her head at him. “Does that mean I was protecting you when you all were chained?”

  He nodded; her pride bloomed. “You were, but others would have stepped in as well, had you needed it,” he said. Mary shivered. She hadn’t known there was anyone else around last night.

  They left the loft, stopping at a food truck on the way back to the firehouse. Mary learned her wolf didn’t like hot sauce, his eyes almost popping out of his head when he took a bite of her po-boy. She bought him a carton milk to cut the spices and mercilessly teased him while he drank it.

  Back in their room, Raphael’s gaze became heated. Mary felt a blush creeping up her chest to reach her cheeks. Their clothes scattered the floor seconds later, and Raphael’s hands were on her, her own hands reaching to touch every part of him.

  They made love quickly, passionately. Mary couldn’t hold back her screams as she fell apart again and again, Raphael learning what made her arch closer to him, what caused her to claw into the curves of his ass, pushing him deeper inside her.

  After he joined her in ecstasy, panting and smiling, kissing every part of her he could reach, Mary put on a lacy camisole and linen shorts. She rested on Raphael’s chest, delighting in the feel of his hot breath against her face

  Almost an hour later he groaned in pain, twisting and rocking in her arms as his body shaped into something unnatural, yet wholly beautiful. Mary kissed the top of her white wolf’s head, brushing a hand over his long back.

  She fetched her book from her drawer and stretched her legs in front of her, Raphael resting his head in her lap. She read to him until they both fell asleep, a beast that could kill her in a millisecond tamed by something she could feel stretching between them, but couldn’t understand.

  * * * *

  “The Elders have made their decision,” Jeremiah said, his voice grave. It was a farce, delivered for the benefit of the man who’d joined him in order to witness the news being passed from lupux dux to the exiled.

  The witness had Heath’s green eyes and light brown hair, with a more pronounced jaw and a wider set of shoulders. Raphael’s questions about their possible
relation were answered a moment later, when Heath entered the room.

  “Jeremiah.” Heath nodded before he turned to the witness. “Brother.” He spat the last word as if it were disgusting to him.

  The witness only inclined his head, his gaze on neither Raphael nor Heath, but somewhere above their shoulders.

  “As I was telling Raphael,” Jeremiah continued, spreading his hands. “I’ve come here to tell you of the Elders’ decision, with Vale as my witness.” He didn’t pause for more than a breath. “You will both be executed this coming Sunday at first light. You have two full days to say your goodbyes and make any arrangements you might need. As always, you are not permitted to leave the city. If there is anything you may need from me, I will do everything in my power to help you.”

  “As will I,” Vale said, reaching for his brother’s shoulder. Sincerity burned in his green gaze, hurt flashing across his features when Heath stepped back, away from Vale’s touch.

  Raphael nodded to the two men, hoping he wouldn’t have to kill Heath’s brother. Raphael wouldn’t allow the execution to come to pass, and he was sure Vale would be there for it. He only hoped the man loved his brother enough to listen to them before attacking. If not, Raphael would be forced to add another good man to his conscience. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, though—Mary’s life, and the possibility of having a life with her were worth another stain on his record, no matter how much he dreaded it.

  He’d been spreading peanut butter onto toast for Mary when he received a text from Heath, telling him Jeremiah was waiting for them out front. For some reason Jeremiah had never contacted him directly, instead communicating though other members of the pack, usually Heath or Alex. Raphael had always wondered why, but never cared enough to ask. The truth was, he preferred Jeremiah leaving him alone.

  Now he turned and left Jeremiah and Vale without a word. He had nothing to say to a man who hurt innocent, helpless humans, not without giving away the cards he kept carefully guarded. Revealing his new powers today would be a mistake. He still had time to further hone his skills, optimizing his chances to survive his fight with Jeremiah.

  Heath walked beside him; he was almost silent, with only a murmured “bastard,” to give away the depth of his anger.

  Inside the house, Raphael scanned the halls and living room for Mary as Heath shouted insults regarding Jeremiah and his brother. “He’s an asshole!”

  “He doesn’t even do his job; how can Vale not see that? And my parents said he was the smart one!

  “If not for you, they would really kill us. Un. Friggin’. Believeable,” Heath continued, using his teeth to open a bottle of Full Moon Cael’s Pale Ale.

  The toast was gone from the counter. Raphael wondered if Mary had found it, or Alexandre or Sebastian had stolen it in his absence. Just in case, halfway listening to Heath continue to describe what he would do to Jeremiah if he could, and where he should shove the wisdom his brother lacked, Raphael slapped together more of his mate’s favorite treat, intending to bring it to her.

  He’d just received a death sentence, but he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t even angry, as Heath was. The news was no surprise—he’d known it would come, just as the full moon would come for one more night this month. Raphael had been given a way to find justice for both Jeremiah and his clan. Soon, the lupus dux would be exposed for the man he was: a predator even the cruelest of werewolves would reject.

  His friends and he would have a fighting chance to regain their lives, to earn their freedom.

  * * * *

  Mary held up her finger, silently asking the man who looked strikingly like Heath to wait. He moved his head slightly, enough of a confirmation for her to fly down the stairs, grinding to a halt until she knew Raphael had passed through the front hall.

  He wouldn’t want her making demands of Jeremiah, the other man standing in front of the firehouse. She recognized him instantly from Aiyanna’s description. Jeremiah was handsome, in the same way politicians were—his hair fell in tamed ringlets, his smooth blue button-down complementary to his bronzed skin.

  According to Aiyanna, this man was Raphael’s warden and jury.

  Mary didn’t have an option of whether or not to trust the werewolf. His was the only name she’d been given, the only person her limited knowledge indicated could help her keep Raphael for more than mere days. She would take her chances with Jeremiah. It was all she could do.

  She burst from the doors into the bright afternoon sun, Jeremiah and the other man watching her expectantly, the former with a raised eyebrow.

  He did have cold eyes. Like slivers of ice, they reflected no emotion, no trace of humanity. They were simply cold, puzzling Mary, making her wary of him.

  A concerned expression drew the unfamiliar man’s eyebrows together, making him appear softer despite his intimidating build. Jeremiah strode toward her with an air of confidence, his hand outstretched. “Jeremiah, lupus dux for this clan prohibitum, and this is Vale, one of our three head soldiers.”

  “Mary Newman,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. She shook his hand; it was as frigid as she’d expected it to be.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Raphael,” she began, purposefully meeting their inquiring gazes. “I’m…attached to him. If there is anything I can do so we can be together once he’s been freed, I’d like to know.”

  Confusion had Vale angling his head, turning his lips down in a severe frown.

  Jeremiah’s expression didn’t change. A breeze blew through them, whipping Mary’s ponytail to the side, making her shiver despite the heat. “Would you do anything for him, even sacrifice your own life for his?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Yes,” Mary said instantly. There was no question—each day Raphael stood taller, laughed more. He’d even played this morning, chasing her around his room until she’d admitted his wolf was more handsome than the CGI wolves she’d seen in campy movies. She wouldn’t allow his newfound happiness to be cut short, not after he’d spent so long punishing himself.

  Jeremiah’s gaze became penetrating, his mouth almost imperceptibly tilting up. “I will give you one chance to help Raphael,” he said, his eyes glinting, “because I, too, am attached to the man—he was one of my first exiles. It would be nice to see him happy after all these years.”

  Hope soared within Mary. She had a chance to keep Raphael, to have a future with her werewolf. Maybe she’d been wrong in her judgments of Jeremiah. If he were so cold, he wouldn’t be helping Mary and Raphael with nothing to gain for himself. Raphael has another ally, she thought happily.

  “What do I have to do?” Mary asked. Anything. Anything to stay with him.

  “Raphael is taking part in one of our most sacred ceremonies on Sunday,” Jeremiah said with a benevolent smile. “If you take his place, you will never lose him.”

  Vale stared at him, his gaze questioning.

  Mary didn’t consider what the ceremony was, only the outcome. She didn’t hesitate. “Of course I’ll take his place,” she rushed to say, aglow with the knowledge she’d so hoped to find.

  Raphael would be free, pardoned of the crimes that had forced him here, for the actions he allowed to weigh him down for centuries. She didn’t doubt his exile as sufficient punishment, but she knew Raphael punished himself far more than anyone else ever thought to.

  He deserved happiness, and Mary was sure she could give that to him. She could help him build a new life untainted by his past, a life where his fellow weres viewed him as she did: as a compassionate, honorable man who would bleed without hesitation for the good of others. Never again would anyone, including Raphael himself, treat him like a criminal.

  She thought she saw Vale shake his head.

  Jeremiah summoned gritty, dirty water up from the street, using what Mary assumed was his elemental power. Again, she wondered what Raphael’s was. Could he bring water up from the ground like Raphael?

  The brown street water froze into an ugly, uneven blade that twisted toward Mary
threateningly without touching her. She flinched; she didn’t want it to come near her.

  “Do you agree to be thysía for Raphael?” Jeremiah asked, his weapon quivering in the air.

  Mary hesitated. She didn’t know what thysía meant, but before she could mentally scroll through what little Greek and Latin roots she knew Jeremiah interrupted her thoughts, the point of his water dagger level with her nose.

  “You said you would do anything for him,” he accused, his eyes glinting.

  She shook off her indecision; Jeremiah was right. “I agree to be thysía, so long as Raphael and I can be together as a result. And,” she added, a silent voice in the back of her mind making itself heard. This is a blood pact. They’re unbreakable. “I will be thysía only if from that ceremony on out, Raphael and the rest of the clan prohibitum are treated in an objectively fair manner according to the laws your kind live by.”

  Ever since Raphael told her he’d been in exile for five hundred years, she’d had niggling doubts about the justification behind the decision. She would bet her left foot that less than half of that of time would have sufficed, no matter what his crime had been. The rest of the werewolves she’d met didn’t seem to be a danger to anyone, either. Alexandre looked out for Leila, and Cael volunteered to protect both Leila and Molly. He also put up with Aiyanna almost every day. Heath and Sebastian displayed no more of a threat. They’d never shown signs of violence, although, Sebastian and Alex showed signs of alcoholism.

  Whatever she was agreeing to, she wanted to get the most out of it.

  Jeremiah barked out a laugh, ducking his head. He shook his head, his long curls obscuring his face.

  Vale’s eyebrows drew together, creating a line down his forehead. The man glanced from Mary to Jeremiah and back, his jaw pulled tight. He looked as if there was somewhere he wanted to put her, but he couldn’t decide where.

  “So it shall be.” Jeremiah said the words as the blade turned to him, cutting deeply into his palm.