Page 165 of The Delta's Rogue
“You two go,” King Malachi says. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
Sarina hops off my lap. “Thank you, Dad.”
She stands next to the chair, waiting for me to get up. She stays in one place, but she bounces on the balls of her feet, her excitement barely containable.
I smile at her enthusiasm, at her delight with something as simple as a run through the woods.
As I take Sarina’s hand and lead her outside, joy leaks into me, both through the bond and from seeing her so carefree and unencumbered by the weight of her recent trauma. All thoughts of the unknown amount of time she spent locked in shackles while she waited for us to find her leave her mind, and her focus is only on our little field trip.
Taking advantage of her good mood and her playfulness, I back her up against the deck railing and cage her in with my hands on the wood. Her heart flutters in her chest, but there are no nerves or hesitation in her eyes or in the bond. A flirtatious smile lights up her eyes, awakening that primal, dominant side in me—the side that wants to tease and claim.
“Do you know how to get to Crescent Lake from here?” I trace one finger along her jaw.
She frowns slightly. “Yes. But my body is in no shape to—”
“I’m not asking you to run the entire way there.” My lips dip down to that soft spot just below her ear, and I place a small kiss there. “I’m just giving you a head start.”
Her breath hitches. “You want to chase me?”
“I want to chase you.”
She arches into me as I kiss her again. And again. The fourth time my mouth touches her neck, I nip at the skin with my teeth. Her eyes close, and a small moan escapes her as I scrape my teeth up to her ear again.
“Run, my queen.”
Sarina spins and scrambles over the deck railing. She hops down to the forest floor and peels my hoodie over her head, which leaves her in only her leggings and my T-shirt.
The hoodie plops to the ground. Her feet carry her towards the tree line, and she glances back at me every few steps she takes, that smug, teasing half-smile on her lips.
The carefree flirtatiousness she displays lights a fire in me. I want to capture the essence of this moment, of the weightlessness I feel as I witness her playful side emerging from the shadows of her trauma. She can’t feel our bond, but she unknowingly sends all of her excitement and love down it to me, filling me with the same joy.
I watch her until she’s a dot in the distance, then I vault over the railing and take off after her. As soon as I hit the treeline, I shift into my lycan, ripping my clothing to shreds with the change.
I don’t mind. I know there is clothing stashed near where I’m taking us.
My lycan lets out a roaring howl to let Sarina know we’ve shifted and we’re on her trail. Echoing laughter bounces off the red tree trunks and rustles through the green pine needles. My snout twitches in the air every few steps to check for her scent, which lingers on every tree as if she brushed her fingertips across the trunks, and my lycan picks up the pace with each turn we make.
The animalistic part of me awakens more the further we venture into the forest, into the areas where the trees grow closer together and the sun doesn’t reach the forest floor. The chase we’ve initiated thrills me and pleases my beast.
Chases like this are an integral part of most mate bonds. Not only sexually—although many times a chase ends with mating—but also as a way to bond and to convey trust and respect.
Our chase today is not at all sexual. Both my lycan and I are in sync with this. We just want to catch Sarina and keep her. Mating and marking will come later, when she’s ready. When she’s healed. For now, our focus is bringing her back to life and filling her heart with light and joy.
And accepting any kisses she deigns to bestow upon me.
I pick up my pace. Her scent draws nearer, and her feet slip and rustle the underbrush of the forest. Sarina’s pace slows, but her laughter and her even breathing tell me it’s intentional.
She’s not tiring. She just wants me to catch her.
That’s fine by me. If she’s in my arms, she’s close to my chest. If she’s in my arms, I know she’s safe.
I reach her in ten seconds and scoop her up, careful to keep my claws pointed away from her. She squeals in fake protestation, kicking her feet as she laughs, before she wraps her arms around my lycan’s neck and tucks her face against his fur-covered chest.
I swear the giant, violent beast purrs. Fucking purrs like a cat being scratched under its chin.
Sarina’s eyes close, and she breathes through her nose. I send love through the bond to her as she absorbs the power from my lycan, and the warmth and peace from the forest. She soaks it all in, focusing it all on the part of her soul that connects her to her lycan.
I pick up the pace again, using every ounce of strength within me—strength made more potent by being Sarina’s mate—to run faster than I ever have. My aura rollsfrom me in waves so Sarina can pull it into herself and try to draw her lycan out of hibernation. My strength, my power, and my aura—all of it is hers too.
