by L Ann
“She’s in your room,” Cormac told him. “Where else would I put her?”
Deacon nodded and started toward the door. With one hand on the handle, he glanced back over his shoulder.
“Would I be right in thinking you forced a shift on everyone with your supernatural shit?” He waited for Cormac’s nod, and a devilish smile spread across his face. “Might want to check on Cassie, Shaun. If Gemma has a wolf, sure as shit Cassie will have one. I mightn’t be the only guy in this room having a new she-wolf to deal with.”
“What?” Shaun stiffened. “Oh fuck! Cassie!”
“Not so smug now, are you?” Deacon snickered as Shaun shoved past him.
“I’d have thought a near death experience might have made you a little more humble,” Cormac muttered behind him, and Deacon’s grin widened.
“Humble isn’t in my wheelhouse,” he said, and followed Shaun out of the door.
“Deacon?” Cormac’s voice stopped him, and he looked over his shoulder at his older brother. “No matter how invincible you think you are, you almost died. Take a few minutes.”
Deacon shrugged. “I feel great.” He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind him. He could see Shaun disappearing into his own bedroom, calling Cassie’s name as he went.
Opening the door to his room, he stepped inside and came face to face with the she-wolf. Even expecting it, seeing her still surprised him. Deacon leaned back against the door, folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. The she-wolf, standing stiff-legged on the bed, stared back at him.
“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” he commented to himself, then raised his voice. “Gemma? No, that’s not right, is it?” he corrected himself, immediately.
~ My human is resting. ~
“You can’t keep her hidden forever.”
~ I’m aware of that. ~
Deacon smiled at her tart tone. It reminded him of the Gemma he’d been getting to know before Damien came along. “You’re the part that was missing. She’s been different since she came back. I put it down to what happened. Her spark was gone, but that wasn’t the reason, was it? It was you. How did you do it?”
~ She needed the separation to survive the mongrel. ~
“So, you detached yourself? I’ve heard of that. But neither of you will survive long without the other. You need to blend back in.”
~ When she is ready. ~
“That’s not your decision to make.” He pushed away from the door and moved toward the bed. “You need to give her back control.”
~ She cannot cope with the trauma of what happened. ~
“She is stronger that that. Even with you detached from her, she still managed. With your strength returned to her, she will be whole again.”
~ My human needs me to do this. ~
“No, you need to return to your rightful place. I would prefer you agree to do so willingly.”
~ You would try to force me? ~
Deacon’s lip curled upward. “I wouldn’t need to try. Give her back to me.”
~ She is not ready. ~
“Give. Her. Back. To. Me.” Another step brought him within reach of the wolf on his bed. He bared his teeth. “You are strong, but you are no Alpha. Return to your rightful place.”
The she-wolf snarled back at him and he crouched, bringing his face closer to her.
“Mac may not be your Alpha, but you will acknowledge me.” His hand flashed out, gripped her muzzle and forced her to look at him. “Acknowledge me.”
She growled defiantly and Deacon laughed. “Deny it all you like.”
~ I saved you! ~
“You say that like you had a choice in the matter.” His grip loosened, and he ran his fingers through her soft fur. “If Gemma knew what we are capable of, she would never have allowed you to stand back and let me die.” He stroked her ear. “Say it.” When she stayed silent, he tapped her nose with one finger. “We can do this all day. You won’t win.”
~ What do you want? ~ she asked sullenly.
“I want you to acknowledge my claim, blend back into place and give Gemma back to me. I also want your word that you will not take control again. That is not your role, and you know it.”
~ I will not take control if you do not hurt my human and I have your word that you will keep her safe. ~
“You do understand we’re not actually bargaining here?”
~ But I will have your word, anyway. ~
“You have it.”
The she-wolf sighed and lifted her head, baring her throat. ~ I acknowledge you as my Alpha, as a ranking leader in this Pack and potential mate. ~
“Potential?” Deacon quirked an eyebrow up.
The she-wolf’s eyes glinted with what looked suspiciously like amusement. ~ You have yet to prove yourself worthy of my human. ~
Deacon let the comment slide without response. “Give Gemma back to me.”
~ My human will be returned when you come back. ~
“Where am I going?”
~ Do you wish her to see you covered in your lifeblood? Has the trauma she already suffered not been enough? You would have her relive your final moments and her fear she had lost you once again? ~
Deacon glanced down at his abdomen where dried blood still clung to him. “She won’t ever lose me.” He straightened. “Blend back in. I expect Gemma – the whole Gemma – to be here when I come back.” He spun around and strode out of his bedroom, ensuring the door was closed tightly behind him and made his way to the bathroom.
Once inside, with the door securely locked, Deacon took a deep breath and sagged against the wall, letting his eyes close. He’d told Mac he felt great. The reality was far different. He was exhausted – physically and mentally drained. He’d made light of the whole near-death experience, but he was painfully aware how close he’d come. He needed to sleep, to heal like Mac and Chase had told him. If they had not mentioned Gemma shifting, reminded him of the bite burning his shoulder, he’d have rested, waited until he was stronger before seeking her out. As it was, he had to find her, was driven to see for himself what his body and his wolf was telling him.
Tiredly, he straightened and stripped out of his jeans, then reached out to fiddle with the shower settings before stepping under the heated spray.
Facing off with Gemma’s wolf had been a battle of wills and he’d struggled to keep his exhaustion from her. Deacon knew it had been sheer luck that kept him from keeling over where he stood and losing his position of power with the she-wolf. Any other time and it wouldn’t have mattered. He could have trusted her not to rip his throat out upon discovering his weakness. But with Gemma’s wolf in charge and the knowledge that if he didn’t push for the wolf to return to her place, they … he could have lost Gemma forever. He knew he had to ignore his exhaustion and demand her submission, force her acceptance of him as her Alpha.
Lifting his head, he let the water soothe tired muscles, and his mind replayed the conversation he’d had with the she-wolf. She was strong, that much was obvious, strong enough to disconnect from her human half and still have sentience. There had been talk here and there of wolves taking over their human halves and reverting to animal instinct, forgetting they had ever been human. He’d never heard of a wolf-half being as aware of her surroundings the way Gemma’s she-wolf had been.
Was it due to being a half-breed? If Gemma was in danger, would her wolf try to take over again?
Deacon sighed, running a hand over his face.
All questions for when he was less tired and more focused.
Summoning the last reserves of his energy, he washed away the blood, examined the faint scars that remained of the bullet wounds in his abdomen and thigh and made a mental note to talk to Cormac and Shaun about the amount of power involved to have been able to heal him so quickly.
He stepped out of the shower, cut off the water and reached for a towel. Securing it around his waist, he exited the bathroom and headed back to his bedroom.
Time to find out if the she-wolf had fulfilled her promise.
There were twenty-five steps from the bedroom door to the wall near the headboard of the bed. There were forty steps from the window to the wall opposite. Gemma knew that because she had been pacing from end to end and side to side for fifteen minutes.
She had come to lying naked on the bed, disoriented and scared with memories in her head of things she didn’t remember being a part of. Of pain and violence, of blood and fear. And a noise in her head that sounded suspiciously like a growl.
She’d lain shivering and whimpering as images flashed through her mind, of Damien and the things he’d done to her, but not her. An image of her reflection in the mirror. Only it wasn’t her, but a white-furred wolf with cold blue eyes.
And then the image of golden eyes, of warm skin and soft laughter. Of teasing words and heated kisses.
Lying there, naked on the bed, Gemma realised that since her rescue from Damien, there had been a fog coating her mind, almost like she had been underwater, her head breaking the surface for air here and there. She had struggled to focus, to think. She had shied away from her experiences with Damien, refused to confront them, lived in constant fear. She had become a shadow of herself, flinching at every noise.
A rumble sounded and she turned her head, seeking out the origin of the sound. A soft huff followed it and Gemma sat up, eyes widening.
She’d become a wolf!
The memory snapped to the front of her mind.
“Such a pretty kitty,” Damien had whispered, thrusting a hand through the bars of the cage and stroking a hand through her hair. “No … not a kitty, a bitch. A she-wolf half-breed stuck in a weak human shell. Do you want to be strong, pretty kitty?”
“Damien, you know me. Please let me out,” she’d begged. “I don’t know what’s happened to you. But please, we were friends once.”
“Friends?” Damien had laughed. “We were never friends, kitty-cat. You shouldn’t even exist. Half-breed, weak, polluting our race. A product of an experiment, a test to see if Shifters could be modified.” His fingers tangled in her hair, dragged her closer to the bars. “But you are a pretty kitty and I bet you purr real good. Will you purr for me?”
Gemma had jerked back, wincing as the move tore strands of hair from her head and left them in his fingers. “You’re crazy!”
“Crazy? No, not crazy. Broken … like you will be.” He’d lifted his hand, looked at the strands of blonde hair and smiled sadly. “Weak half-breed bitch. Shall we make the fight more even, pretty kitty? Would you like a fighting chance? Do you want to meet your wolf?”
Gemma sucked in a breath, forcing the memory away. What had followed was a blur of pain, of screaming, begging, pleading and then the bliss of silence. Soothing, warm, a cocoon of shelter with a soft female voice whispering of comfort and safety if only she would agree.
She rose to her feet, searched through the dresser until she found something to wear and dragged the black button-down shirt over her head, wrapping herself in Deacon’s scent.
What had happened after? She couldn’t hide from it. She needed to remember.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears as the memory of Shaun hanging limply in front of her floated before her eyes.
Damien had poured a strange purple drug down his throat. The defeat in Shaun’s eyes when he’d met her gaze had almost broken her. When Damien had pushed her to her knees and pulled Shaun’s clothing away, taunting Shaun with the promise of having his mate’s sister put her mouth around him, she had begged incoherently for Damien to stop, promised to do anything if he didn’t force her to do that.
Damien had ignored her, patted her head like she was a beloved pet and slid his hand down to prise her jaws apart.
“Open up, kitty-cat,” he’d demanded, shoving his other hand down into Shaun’s dirty, ripped jeans at the same time.
~ Let me do this for us. ~ The female voice whispered to her as she struggled against Damien’s grip. ~ Let me be your strength. ~
Gemma pressed a hand to her lips. Had she actually …? No, wait. The memory was there.
Shaun had passed out, his wrists torn and bleeding from bearing his weight in the chains, and Damien had growled in disgust.
“My cousin was always the weak one.” He’d shoved Gemma backwards. “Next time, kitty-cat, I’ll let you taste him before I kill him. His last memory will be of your mouth sucking every last drop he has to give before I slit his throat.”
He’d left Shaun hanging and dragged her out of the room and back to the one that seemed to work as her prison as well as his bedroom.
“Is your wolf ready to come out and play, pretty kitty?” He’d asked. “Or do I need to give her some more incentive?”
Damien had turned toward his dresser and picked up a blade. Holding it up to the light, he smiled at her.
“This might hurt. Feel free to scream as loud as you want.”
Gemma gasped, the memory of how the knife had sliced into her skin washing over her. She remembered how the female voice had begged her to say yes, to agree. To what, she didn’t know. But as the pain grew and her throat grew hoarse from the screams, she had clawed toward the voice, whispered her acceptance.
She spun, paced toward the opposite end of the room.
What had happened then?
It was almost as if she viewed the rest of the time with Damien through the eyes of a bystander. She knew he’d raped her, more than once. It had been the source of constant nightmares. But since waking up on Deacon’s bed, it was like it hadn’t happened to her, at all. In fact …
Gemma stopped, her breath stalling in her throat.
The voice had been her wolf. The wolf he’d been so focused on forcing out. And she’d let it, given it permission to take over. It hadn’t been her human body he’d pinned down and taken – as both wolf and man – it had been her wolf.
Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed past it, hearing a growl inside her head.
The wolf took the punishment, took the abuse, protected you from him as best she could.
She reached the door, changed direction, and continued to pace, letting the memories flash before her eyes, one after the other. She made no move to stop or control them, allowed them to settle into her mind, accepted they were a part of her.
Her wolf had waited patiently, through abuse after abuse, watching for a moment of weakness. Waiting for something to distract Damien’s attention. When it arrived, in the form of a phone call, which had driven him to his knees and caused him to raise his face to the ceiling with a cry of anguish, she’d struck. Her teeth had snapped together millimetres from his throat, too weak to be fast enough. He had avoided her attack. In retaliation, face flushed with rage, he’d shifted and tore into her, until she was limp and bloody on the floor.
Her wolf had shifted, forced her back into human form, but in a last act of compassion had withheld much of her memory, leaving behind a fog of emotion and fear with no memory of becoming a wolf, or all the things he’d done to her.
The soft click of the door closing spun her around, bracing herself against attack and her gaze met guarded golden eyes.
“Deacon …” She breathed his name and another, more recent, memory surfaced of his body, bleeding out and lifeless, while she screamed and shook him.
“Gemma?” He said her name hesitantly, and his head canted slightly, eyes sweeping over her.
A wave of emotion washed over her, startling her with its intensity and she swayed. Deacon darted forward, a hand reaching out to steady her and she jerked away from his touch.
“Don’t touch me!” she snarled.
His hand dropped and she saw him flinch at the harshness of her voice. Anger surged through her.
He’d died! She had watched him die, felt him die! She had been covered in his blood. And now he was walking through the door like nothing had happened?
“Gemma,” he began again, and she threw up a hand to silence him.
“You die
d.” Gemma could hear the accusation in her voice, knew on some level it wasn’t rational to be so angry with him.
“I didn’t die.” He took another step forward.
“Stay there!” She took a step backwards. “I was there. I saw you die.”
“I didn’t die, Starshine.”
“Don’t lie to me. I was there. I … was … there! There was blood, so much blood.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I saw you die.”
“Gemma.” Warm hands curved over her cheeks.
How did he get so close?
“Baby, look at me.” He tipped her head back, searched her face.
“No!” Her palms made contact with his chest, shoving at him, and pushing him away. “I watched you die, Deacon.” Her gaze jerked to his shoulder and away again, the taste of blood washing over her tongue. “What did she do?”
Deacon moved close again, and she slid backwards, feeling the wall against her spine.
“I’m not dead,” he repeated. “And she is a part of you. What you did kept me alive long enough for my brothers to arrive.” He caught her wrists when she made to push him again. “Gemma, please. Don’t block me out. Look at me.”
Gemma swallowed, refused to lift her gaze, not when all she could think about was how still he’d been, how pale, how much of his blood had spilled over the forest floor. He released her wrists, crowded closer and his breath feathered along her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Can you forgive me?”
“No!” she cried. “No, I can’t forgive you. You died. You promised me safety. You promised, Deacon!” Gemma couldn’t stop herself, knew her anger was illogical.
There was nothing to forgive.
There was everything to forgive.
“You’ll forgive me.” A hint of arrogance threaded through his voice. “What will it take?” His lips brushed across her forehead. “How long will it take?”
His scent weaved around her, warmed her. “I’ll never forgive you.”
“Never is a long time.” he murmured. “You’ll forgive me.” He lifted a hand to stroke a finger along her jaw and tilted her head back. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t forgive me.” When she didn’t reply, he sighed. “Never took you for a coward, Starshine.”
