Page 21 of Wolf Bound

“Time to head back in and get some rest, lover boy. By the time Talia wakes up, you better be ready to stay or to reject the mate bond properly. You slip away while everyone is sleeping, I’ll hunt you down and put your head on a spike as a gift to her.”

“Fucker,” I mutter under my breath. The fact that he won that altercation is sending shudders of rage through my body.

Instead of heading up to my room, I drop my bag on the porch and strip down to shift. Letting my wolf have the driver’s seat right now will probably lead to me waking up in front of Talia’s door like a bitch. Not ideal, but a fuck ton better than attacking Alaric while on packlands. My wolf is happy Alaric won, which means he needs to take control while I calm down.

Alaric gets to keep smirking at me like the prick he is. For now, at least. If I have to spend even more time in this fucking nightmare, it’s only a matter of time before I punch the smirk off. Stupid fucking wolves in this stupid fucking pack.

Stepping into the goddess light that surrounds the valley, I close my eyes and soak it all in. The sound of haunted sobs fills my mind again, bright jade eyes so broken and lost. It seems I would do anything to avoid seeing so much pain on her beautiful face, including the one thing I swore I would never do.

“Forgive me, Father,” I whisper with a sigh. “Even my promise to you can’t beat the pull of the mate bond.”

Chapter Twelve

Wes

My watch says six when I finally pull myself out of bed. The house is still mostly silent, not much movement for it being dinner time at the pack leader’s house. Drayton probably put out an order that we were not to be disturbed today after the rescue of Penn last night.

I think the clock said five when I finally got to bed this morning. My eyes are dry and irritated from the messed up sleep schedule. It doesn’t help that the sleep I did get was filled with nightmares from the impressions that assaulted me at that castle. The impressions left on Talia were only a handful of the evil impressions that linger in my psyche.

When we approached the castle, the aura of energy around it almost made me vomit on sight. The impressions of so much torture, pain, and death were enough to make me have to shut off my brain, letting my wolf work with only instinct. The Croisés are cruel, vile humans who would stop at nothing to get something they can never have.

The annihilation of the past when they were known as the crusaders, was far preferable to the heinousness of the organisation now. At least when all they wanted was to kill us, they were swift about it.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I run to the bathroom connected to my room to try to wash away the tainted memories their impressions left behind. If only there was a shower for your brain. Taking down these disgusting humans will be the only way I get a good night’s sleep again.

At least with Talia’s impressions, I have a purpose for seeing and feeling them. They connect me to her past and give me insight into who she is. I can live with hers, if only because she has to as well. Mixed in with her impressions is the aura of a woman, who despite everything that happened to her, is kind, compassionate, empathetic, and smart. Her impressions and colours are some of the brightest I have ever seen, despite the darkness that tried to dim it.

That reminds me, I should pop over to my desk and grab the books about mythical shifters I pulled out before falling asleep. Talia's aura reminds me of the goddess light from the sacred valley and I wonder if it connects to her being a mythical. I'd be curious to find out if she also has access to the valley since not all shifters do. It seems to be those with connections to the original sentinels that have the connection in our pack. That's only the five of us, including Alaric, although his history is more shadowed and confusing. He came to our pack as a pup, sent from his previous pack to ours because he bore a gift unique tothe Forntida lineage. No one quite knows where it came from, though that doesn't stop me from researching it when I have free time.

The shower is hot and refreshing after the chaos of last night. My mind was far too weary to do much when we got home this morning, so a shower was the last thing on my mind. Thankfully, it does the trick in pushing back the nightmares and the lingering feelings of the impressions. Now that our mate is here, and one of the mythical shifters we thought had gone extinct, my research into the history of shifters and their origins can continue with new life. Finding out what is different about the original lines and how they came to be will also aid in my quest to eliminate the Croisés. They want to be shifters and think the mythical lines are the key. I want to know why they think that and how we can use that to our advantage. I want their lust for power and their egos to be what brings them down.

Throwing on some comfortable clothes and brushing my hair, I make my way out of my room, stopping next door before going to find food. I’m in the basement of the house, connected to my work room for easy access when I get lost in a project. It keeps me from disturbing others with my odd hours and keeps interruptions lower during the voice recordings I do while researching.

The guys like to joke that I'm a know-it-all, but the amount of information I don't know seems vast and unending to me. I like to have all the knowledge on a subject before encountering it, so I can easily assess and move forward on the situations. The only way to do that is to dedicate my time to learning. The fact that the others don’t take any time to learn anything until the situation arises quite honestly bothers me.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I need to eat. It’s been over twenty-four hours since I last ate anything of substance. The protein bar I ate when we got back only curbed my hungerenough to let me sleep. Heading up the stairs with the books under my arm, I take a turn at the top of the stairs and move towards the kitchen.

Penn is standing in the kitchen, his hair a mess and his eyes still red and bleary from sleep. He turns to look at me as I walk in, nodding his head in greeting. Penn isn’t a morning person on a good day, after being kidnapped less than a week prior and rescued last night, he looks downright comatose tonight.

“Do we eat breakfast or dinner?” he asks in a muffled, slow tone. “I’ve been standing here for over ten minutes trying to figure it the fuck out.”

I laugh, shaking my head at the image that pops into it. When Penn says he’s been standing here for ten minutes, he’s not kidding. He probably hasn’t moved from the spot he’s in, just stood here staring into the distance trying to figure out something as mundane as what food he should be eating.

“I don’t think it matters much,” I answer him after a moment, moving around the oak island to set my books down and open the fridge. “Food is food. It doesn’t need to be eaten at arbitrary times. It’s all up to personal preference.”

“Shit,” Penn groans, running his hands through his already messy hair. “You’re telling me I stood here in confusion for nothing? I can eat whatever?”

“Uh, yeah.” I laugh again, looking at him with a touch of confusion. “Were you honestly worried you would make yourself the wrong type of food? What did you think would happen if you ate dinner style foods instead of breakfast and the correct rule would have been breakfast?”

“That’s too much thinking, my dude. I didn’t think much past dinner or breakfast,” he murmurs with a shrug.

Pouring both of us a glass of orange juice, I push one to the far side of the island for Penn and pull out everything for sandwiches. This is easy enough to toss together and everyoneelse can easily make their own when they stumble into the kitchen. Already I can hear more stirring in the house, the rooms upstairs filled with footsteps, running water, and the bang of opening and closing drawers.

Penn sits down, sipping the orange juice as I finish pulling out everything. There’s three different styles of bread, five different meats, and all the veggies, cheese, and condiments that complement sandwiches well. Once I’m finished, Penn moves around the island to grab some plates. He stands beside me, neither of us talking as we make multiple sandwiches for ourselves.

Alaric comes into the kitchen next, his long blonde hair out of the normal braids and hanging loose around his shoulders. The sides of his head are shaved and he often wears his hair intricately braided and pulled back so I often forget it’s even longer than mine.

“Sandwiches, perfect!” He grins, bumping Penn out of the way. Penn grumbles, taking his plate and moving to the adjacent dining room with his food and drink.

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