Page 15 of The Alpha's Arranged Bride

She’d entered the room she was going to share with her mate, her heart hammering violently. Even if it was only for a night, she was sweating and tense by the time she got between the sheets.

Agnar’s sheets.

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but they were just a soft white cotton, probably a high thread count, with a matching white lightweight coverlet and fluffy pillows on either side. The room was so clean and spartan, devoid of all furniture except for a sleek black dresser with a square mirror and two matching nightstands, the headboard of the bed the same dark espresso wood in the same square pattern, that it looked like a hotel room.

She’d been awake when Agnar came in later, though it was probably only nine or ten. She’d pretended she was sleeping. He didn’t call her out on that bullshit, but peeled back the blankets and climbed in.

Prairie Rose twisted around and stared at the figure in the bed. There was a small night light plugged into the wall on the far side of the room. It seemed like something one put in a child’s bedroom, but the dark was so absolute, she recognized it would have been hazardous without it.

In sleep, Agnar had shoved the coverlet and sheets down around his waist. She didn’t know what he was wearing under there, if anything. Fuck, it would be nice if she could think of something else. It would be nice if she could tear her eyes away from that sleeping figure. He was truly asleep. He wasn’t faking it like she had. He’d been asleep within seconds and rightfully so. How had the man even lasted as long as he had without keeling over?

The tension from the past few days was wound so tight in her that it felt like her slamming pulse and knocking heart was keeping time to some mechanical rhythm that had gone off. Her hands curled at her sides. Her palms were soaking wet. The rest of her skin was clammy as well. How could she not be a mess? Agnar had supreme self-control. He hadn’t let the slightest strain slip. She watched him even now. His strange and feral beauty, changed by the soft glow of the nightlight, stole her breath.

Would she ever be able to fathom this man? His past, his present, the future they were supposed to share? What did he have inside himself that she didn’t yet know? What hurts and what joys? Was she ever going to get a chance?

Her feet took her to the edge of the bed before her heart and brain had a chance to catch up. Her arm extended, her palm hovering in the air so close to Agnar’s face that she could feel the air stir as he exhaled. It tickled her palm, precious in a way she couldn’t reason with or against.

Mates were supposed to share a connection. Something private between them that only they knew, an unspoken conversation of two communing souls that the whole of the universe with all its listening ears would never hear. Mates were destined to know each other. When one life became two, it transformed the both of them. That bond made the ordinary into something special.

She finally looked full on at Agnar’s face. She knew he was beautiful, but something else twisted in her chest. She wanted to put her lips to every cut and every scrape, to caress the bandages wound around his throat, shoulder, and chest.

You’re hurting. I wish I could make it all better.

She wanted to know the entirety of those who had hurt him and how many of those wounds had left scars, how many hadn’t healed right on the inside. He’d tell her there were no wounds left. That pain was a choice, and he chose not to feel it, like everything else.

Her thumb brushed along his lower lip, right where she’d bitten. The sweet, smoky taste of him along with the salt of his blood flooded her mouth at the memory. The pad of her thumb brushed the surprisingly soft skin. She thought about bringing her finger to her mouth and licking the taste of him off of herself.

Agnar exploded out of bed, eyes wild and burning. She didn’t have time to utter a sound before he had her pressed up against the wall by the bed, one hand around her throat. His fingers were unmerciful, pressing down hard against her windpipe. She was going to die. He was going to kill her. He wasn’t there, in attack mode, still mostly asleep. He didn’t know it was her. His eyes were unfocused and glazed.

Black spots burst over her vision. She clawed at his hand, but it made no difference.

Like he’d burst from the bed, her wolf split out of her skin. She was pinned by her neck, but she was a ferocious animal once the change fully took over. Normally, it was longer, but in extreme threat, the wolf took over. The silver wolf tried to break the hold, but Agnar’s hand was unrelenting, his fingers steel bands digging into her fur and flesh. She tossed her head, snarling, spittle spraying. The hold broke just a little, enough for her to draw in a breath through her nose. The frantic will to live rushed through her and all she knew was an animal adrenaline, a need to save her own life. She was still in a prone position, on her hind legs, but that left her forelegs free. She struck out like a horse rearing up and pawing the air.

It wasn’t air that her claws connected with. They hit a solid target, raking down the side of Agnar’s face. She struck out again, hitting his forehead, his cheek.

Agnar stumbled back, the light finally coming back to his eyes. The pain brought him fully awake, out of that dreamlike state where he was so deep under, his body too attuned not to fight. He was a warrior even in sleep, a warrior to his last breath.

He turned on the light, and she could see that the pale walls were flecked with blood.

“Fuck!” He didn’t touch his own injuries. Just stared in horror at her. Her white was tinged crimson with his blood. Her stomach roiled. “Christ…Prairie Rose. Fuck. Are you hurt?”

She’d dropped back down to all fours. She let out a slow, low whine.

She saw the horror, the bitter hatred for his own self, the agony at knowing he’d laid hands on her and the steel bright resolution glowing in unnatural gray eyes that he would send her away so he could never do it again. He’d broken his vow himself. He took another step back and brought his hands up. He focused on them. As they shook, he did too.

He looked like he wanted to destroy himself, punish himself, and she couldn’t let him do that.

The wolf melted away, leaving her naked and small, but she scrambled up and surged towards him. She was the one shaking now, almost uncontrollably, when she took his face in her hands. She stared at the bloody wounds she’d made. Deep scratches raked down the left side of his face. His blood dribbled steadily down his neck, and she traced it down, smearing it over striated, hard muscle. He was glorious, an ancient warrior brought back. She thought about the golden Atlas, holding up the world for all eternity.

Her fingers left bloody smears over his golden skin.

His hands finally grasped her right back, bracketing her shoulders roughly. They stared at each other, at the damage they’d done. She couldn’t stop the hot tears from leaking down her cheeks. Agnar’s cold gray eyes ate up those silver streaks. His hands slowly moved down her arms and then his fingers brushed her throat with aching gentleness.

“I…fuck. Fuck.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were somewhere else, and I startled you. It was your natural reaction, sure as it was my wolf’s to burst out and protect me. I hurt you too.”

“I could have killed you.” He tore away from her and paced across the room. He dropped his head and then savagely punchedthe wall. She heard the crack of his knuckles and gasped.

---