Page 50 of The Delta's Rogue
My lycan demands control, forcing his way to the forefront of my mind. My jaw snaps as I grapple with his presence, bones cracking as he pushes and fights against my restraint.
I drop to all fours on the ground. Holes appear beneath me where my claws pierce the soil as I catch myself. My spine arches and contracts. Roars, snarls, and growls echo andboom in quick succession. They overlap as they bounce around the forest while I continue to wrestle my lycan for control.
But it’s pointless. My pain is his pain. We share the heartache of Sarina’s departure and the burden of the endless time we will endure while apart.
He breaks through my mental chains, through the damper I keep in place on him to hide his true nature and power, and in seconds, I’m fully shifted—a passenger in the body of a beast.
As soon as the last piece of his fur is in place, he rises onto his hind legs and lets out a soul-piercing, melancholy howl, and I do nothing to hold him back or rein in the volume. We’re far enough away, and it’s early enough that the odds of anyone hearing him are slim.
He howls again, neck arching and muzzle straight in the air, pointing towards the moon even though we can’t see it, as if he’s calling to Selene and begging her to reverse this chain of events.
Then he races away from the clearing, claws out and slashing at the tree trunks, letting the pain take hold of our body and our soul as we sprint through the forest.
I don’t know howlong we ran through the forest. I tried several times to turn us around, to send us back to the clearing, but my lycan refused. When that didn’t work, I attempted to disappear into the recesses of my mind, giving full control to him, but he didn’t let me do that either. He made me stay present through it all, forcing me to feel the full extent of the anguish and despair pulsing through us.
I witnessed every second of his rage-filled tantrum.
He tore through the forest, leaving a trail of destruction in our wake. Uprooted trees, boulders smashed into rocks, pebbles, and dust, and completely demolished clearings of wildflowers dot the forest between our pack, Amber Forest, and Silver Ridge.
At least he had the wherewithal to stay outside the borders of our neighboring packs.
I trudge back into the clearing the rogues stayed in, once more in my human form, my lycan finally too exhausted to maintain control. The tent comes into view, and I cross to it, grab my jeans out of it, and slip them on. I examine the tent as I dress, assessing whether any of it is salvageable.
It’s not. Even with a patch job, there is no mending the damage. And I wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway. It has to be destroyed, along with any other traces of her that can’t be washed away.
I gather everything inside it into my arms and drag it through the forest, heading towards one of the clearings I created when I ran through in lycan form. Everything in me aches and strains with the effort of carrying out my plan, but I grit my teeth and power through.
Destroying the traces of her is my singular focus. I can’t explain it, but I know I need to eliminate the evidence of her—them—being here.
I toss everything in the center of the clearing, piling it with dried, dead underbrush that I know will catch fire quickly, and large logs and branches that I know will hold the heat and burn slow enough to turn everything to ash.
The only items I keep are the navy blanket and a small piece of the red fabric I stole all those months ago, that first night we helped each other after Lennox attacked Haven. I can wash those easier than I can the materials of her tent. I can sanitize them and hide them away in my apartment or my office at the club, keeping them for only myself and no one else.
My nostrils flare as I strike two stones together, waiting for a spark to catch the kindling I’ve placed around my bonfire. It doesn’t take long. My dad taught us well, ensuring we all had the skills needed to survive if we were ever stranded somewhere. The flames burst to life, and I back away, circling the fire as it spreads to the fabric of the tent and the remainder of our clothes within.
With a sigh, I plop onto a broken stump once the fire is blazing and drop my head into my hands. My eyes itch from the pain in my heart that begs to be let loose again, but I press the heels of my palms firmly against my eyelids, forcing it to stop.
Even with his weakened state from our long hours of terrorizing the mountainside, my lycan whimpers in my mind at the absence Sarina leaves behind, at the missing piece of my soul she took with her when she disappeared.
I huff out a sardonic laugh and tilt my chin towards the sky. Only one other time in my life have I witnessed a lycan react in the way mine did this morning. And that was twelve years ago, when my brother’s lycan forced him into a dangerous early shift after we learned another family had adopted Haven—the female who ended up being his fated mate.
Somehow, even then, without ever meeting her in the flesh, a part of him knew she was his, knew they were two halves of the same whole.
Just like some part of me, deep down, no matter how much I ignore it or try to deny it, knows Sarina is my mate.
I don’t need to wait until she’s twenty-one. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s mine.
I roar again, jump to my feet, and kick a hole into the stump before whirling to a tree on my right and slamming my fist into it. Over and over I hit it, growling and snarling, releasing the last of my anguish onto the unsuspecting, innocent tree. I punch and punch, tearing the skin of my knuckles to shreds, sweat pouring down my forehead and streaming down my neck. My arms ache with the effort, tension rippling through them with each swing and jab, but I don’t let up. Ineedthe physical torment to distract from the emotional one.
“Goddess fucking damn it!”
My hand slips on the trunk, and my entire arm scrapes against the rough bark. I grasp at the tree and hold myself up, gritting my teeth and kicking it as I hiss in pain.
I shut my eyes and breathe—in and out, in and out—releasing the tension with each exhale, my forehead pressed against the tree.
“Sebastian.”
I whirl around, my despair painted on my face. Through swollen, red-rimmed eyes, I spy my dad strolling across the destroyed clearing, hands in his pockets.
