Page 31 of Ruthless Moon

Fuck.

Stepping out from the bedroom into the main living area, I keep my voice steady. “Yes, sir.” My heart pounds an erratic rhythm against my rib cage I force to slow. I calm my breathing too. I can’t let him sense anything is wrong.

“I need to talk to you.” The words come out in a low rumble. There’s an undercurrent of urgency in his tone that makes my wolf prickle. Something’s wrong. Does he know I’m trying to leave? Did something happen to Gen?

Stay calm. Breathe.

“Sure,” I reply, trying to infuse casual indifference into my tone.

“I’m concerned for Imogen’s safety.” Aiden hesitates before continuing. “Oliver hit her the night of the engagement party to prove a point to me.” His voice tightens, fists clenching at his sides in a silent promise of retribution.

I’ll fucking kill her dad.

I’m right there with him, aligning me with Aiden’s sentiment. My wolf is ready to fly out the door, hunt down Oliver, and make him pay for touching my mate—no, Aiden’s mate.

She’s my mate. Mine.Not mine.

I keep repeating the mantra, even though it pisses off my wolf more.

“That’s unacceptable,” I say, growling through gritted teeth, struggling to keep my fury leashed. At least now, I don’t have to hide my heartbeat or my erratic breathing.

Aiden nods, his eyes dark with the same fury I carry in my soul. “Her father is a monster, but if this marriage doesn’t happen, Oliver will call in the loan and the pack loses the ranch. If we lose the land we lose the ability to protect Meredith and the court.”

I swallow hard, struggling to keep my emotions from escalating to a level that would make him suspicious that I care more about Gen than I should.

Tipping him off to Gen being my fated mate would make Aiden doubt his actions. He’d look for a way to free Gen of the marriage and that’s an outcome I can’t allow. She and I promised each other to see this through for the good of everyone.

“Whatever you need, just say it.” I inwardly cringe.Please don’t ask me to stay. Please don’t.

Aiden studies me.

A cold shiver of unease slithers down my spine.Does he suspect something?

“I sent Bast and Jackson to Ash Hollow to oversee the construction of the wedding pavilion. I need you to keep an eye on Gen from here on out. I don’t trust the Gallaghers. Until we’re bonded, I want your eyes on her at all times, but I don’t want her to know you’re there.”

My heart freezes, stumbles, and crashes to the floor, while my mind stutters in a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions.

Bonded.

The word slices through me, each syllable a searing reminder of the painful truth. I knew what would happen when Gen and Aiden married. But facing the reality of Gen magickally binding herself to another man creates a storm in my gut.

How am I supposed to watch Gen prepare for a wedding with Aiden? See her walk up the aisle to a man that isn’t me? It’s not possible. I won’t survive it, but I can’t deny Aiden’s request. He’s my alpha—his command is law. The torment of witnessing her marriage will be hell on earth, but it’s a hell I’d gladly endure if it means Gen’s safety.

“Of course. Done.” I say it like it’s nothing. I don’t know how I manage it, but I do.

Tension drops from Aiden’s shoulders immediately. “Thank you, Liam. I knew I could count on you.” He gives me a quick nod and then leaves.

I stand frozen, watching the door close behind him. After a second, I shift my gaze to the window and watch his truck kick up a cloud of dust and disappear from view. Only then, in the enveloping return of silence, do I allow my composure to shatter.

I fall to my knees, a guttural roar clawing its way from the depths of my being, echoing the anguish ripping through me.

Living hell—the phrase is laughable in its inadequacy to describe the torment this next week promises. But walking away isn’t an option, not when my mate’s safety hangs in the balance.

I’ll protect her, no matter the cost, no matter the pain.

A couple hours later, the faint, throbbing sensation of the unfulfilled mate bond pulses like a homing beacon, leading me toward Ash Hollow, then up the mountain, and unerringly to Oliver Gallagher’s fortress-like mansion.

My fingers clench the steering wheel, the worn leather beneath my grip grating against my skin, matching the friction within my soul. Gallagher’s sentries, ever predictable, hold their usual positions. I guide the vehicle onto the old logging road below the house. The pea-sized gravel under the tires assaults the undercarriage like a hailstorm.

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