Page 80 of Sear
A howl of primal grief escaped her as she stumbled over to her sofa. Hot tears began to flow, burning her cheeks with salt as sobs racked her.
Lucas’s betrayal hurt worse than anything she had ever experienced. It felt like he had just torn her heart from her chest and stomped on it.
I’ve lost my mate. How am I going to get out of bed tomorrow and go to work? Function like a rational human being?
And what about the day after that?
As she pulled Kleenex from the box and mopped at her face, vainly trying to stem the flood of tears, she decided she never wanted to leave this cabin again.
Except for the part where she was going to have to go into her bedroom at some point, and sleep in the same bed they’d shared and made love in. The sheets would still smell of him.
Ugh. I think I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,she thought miserably.
How could she have been so wrong about Lucas? She’d told everyone that she believed he was a good person, but too trusting.
As it turned out,Lucashadn’t been the naive one, ignoring danger signs while only seeing the best in the people around him.
Dammit. Why couldn’t he have been the man I thought he was? We could have been so happy!
She dreaded facing her family, her friends, and her pack. It wouldn’t take long for everyone would hear about what had happened.
Time passed. The sun rose, sending bars of golden light through the gaps in her curtains. She hated how cheery it looked.
Her phone began to buzz with a stream of incoming text messages. She pulled it out of her pocket without looking at it, and thumped it face-down on the coffee table.
It began ringing. She ignored it. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Didn’t want to face their sympathy and pity.
A while later, she heard a vehicle pull up outside, and tensed.Is it Lucas?
Mingled hope and fear shot through her. She wanted to see him so badly…and at the same time, she never wanted to clap eyes on his lying face again.
But it didn’t sound like his pickup. In fact, she didn’t recognize the sound of this particular motor at all.
She blew her nose for the hundredth time, crumpled up the tissue, and tossed it on the rug, where it joined a dozen others.
Heavy footfalls sounded on her porch stairs, followed by a knock.
“Malia?” asked a deep and completely unexpected voice. “May I come in? I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Uncle Evan?” she asked hoarsely. She really didn’t want any visitors right now. But if Uncle Evan said it was important, then it probably was. “Come in.”
With an effort, she pushed herself to a sitting position on her couch as her front door swung inwards.
“I heard what happened.” The sympathy in his kind, handsome face was almost too much to bear.
He opened his arms, and she flew into them. She hid her face against his broad chest and shook with a fresh storm of tears.
“My wolf was so stupid,” she said when she could speak again. “And I thought Lucas was a good person, too. He probably thinks I was an easy mark.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Uncle Evan rumbled. “I think you love him.” He squeezed her shoulders, then went to snag the nearly-empty box of tissues from the coffee table.
He was a big man, like all of the Swanson bear shifters, and wore his thick, shoulder-length dark hair tied back into a neat ponytail. It was beginning to turn silver at his temples, and his short beard was salt-and-pepper.
Uncle Evan led her to the couch, then went and poured her a glass of water. Suddenly aware that she was parched from all the crying she’d done over the past two hours, she drank it all down.
He refilled her glass, then sat down next to her. “I came as soon as I heard about the arrest.” He hesitated, as if he was trying to find a way to tell her something. Then he continued, “Look, I’ve known Lucas a long time, and he’s no poacher. Your wolf wasn’t stupid. It’s just…well, I’m old enough to know that things aren’t always what they seem. Maybe he had a good reason for being with Travis Bickham and Arnie Silvers this morning.”
“Like what?” she asked bitterly. Then something he’d just said registered.
