Page 28 of Omission

I begged to end it all. To be put out of my misery.

Is he my second chance mate? Or just another man coming to use me?

How could this tall man with reddish hair and a sharp jawline be mine?

How could this warlock accept me after everything my family has done?

“My mate is dead. You can’t be him.” The words leave me in a whisper but I know he heard it, and the deep rumble that comes from within his chest tugs at mine. It pulls my attention back to him, and it’s instinctual how I raise my hand and rub at the spot, almost willing the throbbing organ to give me a reprieve while focusing on his azure eyes. How I raise a hand to touch him before catching myself at the very last minute. “This is a lie. Please stop.”

“My princess. My mate.” So much conviction in his roughen tone as it sweeps across my every nerve ending, lighting me up from within. The simple declaration fills every empty, bruised part of my soul with warmth. With peace. Something I’ve longed for—to no longer feel alone—but this can’t be right.

Hope is a traitorous bitch, and I refuse to be hurt again. Can’t afford to lose myself when freedom is within my grasp.

“Please don’t lie to me. My mate is dead.”

“I’m right here, little one.” He takes another step closer and this time brings two large hands toward my face, cupping a cheek in each warm palm. His touch slams me right back to the memory of my dream, to the moment the shadowed figure touched my face and those piercing, blue eyes connected with my soul. I whimper. Can’t bite back the sound because this is the real meaning of pleasure. Pure and raw, even if I don’t want to believe it. “I’m alive and breathing and irrecoverably tied to you until my last dying breath, and even then, I’ll still be yours.”

“It’s a lie.” I’m at a loss. Confused and hurt when Ruben tries to spew his demands once again. Don’t be naïve, Anaya. You’re just easy pussy for him. The perfect revenge. Those words, his nastiness pull an angry growl from me. It’s nowhere near as menacing as the one a wolf or vampire would unleash, but Ruben and Brice are taken aback by it. It’s there in their expressions and the way they lean back, more so when the man claiming to be my mate unleashes one of his own, and it’s loud. Angry.

“What upset you, mate? I’ll deal with it.”

“My apologies, I—”

“I never want to hear those words come from your lips again.” He seems even angrier, truly upset by two words that to me are as natural as breathing—an instinct. But crazier than that is the way I touch his arm without conscious thought, placing my much smaller hand right over his bicep and watch the instantaneous change in his demeanor.

His chest ceases to rise and fall rapidly. His stance relaxes.

The snarl curling at the corner of his lips stops, turning instead into a cheeky grin, exposing the dimple on his right cheek. Highlighting the sharpness of his jaw and how handsome the small reddish beard there is.

I’m in trouble.

Get away from him, ma princesse. Don’t make me hurt you!

You cheap slut. How can you touch the enemy? They killed our father.

The attacks come from both sides in unison, Brice and my brother forcing themselves into my head. They lash at my senses, the connection causing me to stagger and grab my head, whimpering as pain radiates across my skull. “Get out of my head!”

“Repay their kindness,” I hear the warlock snarl seconds before his hands grip my hip so I don’t fall. His touch sears me through the layers of clothing separating us, but I feel him, and it’s complete bliss when I’m tucked against his chest. He’s so much taller than I am, so much stronger, but it’s home. There’s no denying that. How he soothes me and his touch forces out their voices until there’s nothing.

Not so much as a whisper.

Then, there’s the electrical pulses that pass between us wherever we touch.

Different yet so delightful. Just what I need after the horrors of today.

One hand travels from my hip to the back of my head where he strokes his thumb up and down the length of my neck. He’s much taller than me, and it shows when we’re this close, his lips pressing against the crown of my head and even then, he has to bend a little to do so.

His breath sweeps across my hair, causing a few to move near my forehead. The warlock kisses that area, too. “Are you okay? Who hurt you?”

“My brother—”

“Knock him out, and ready both men for transport home.” The gentle tone he’d used on me is gone, and who speaks is the king of Wiccans. Commanding—tinged with a bit of anger—and the guards who accompanied the three kingdoms present move into action. The ones already standing over Brice and Ruben are first to grab each man, hauling them up onto their feet.

They’re forced to face us, and I feel their hateful stares. How they try to mentally attack me again, but at the first flinch, I’m released and pushed behind the king.

It happens so quickly.

I don’t think and react.

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