Page 49 of The Delta's Rogue
Iwish I could shield myself from it.
My cries tear through my body, bouncing off the rocks and diving into the bottom of the deep, dark pool the waterfall empties into, an echo of the howls ringing in my mind. The red fabric clutched in my hand ties me to the present while also linking me to him and to the moments we shared.
I cry and cry and cry—more tears than I thought possible. There is no end to my sorrow. It’s etched into the fibers of my being. It’s no less a part of me than my skin or my heart.
When my tears eventually slow—I doubt they’ll ever truly stop—I drag myself to my feet, body trembling from the effort. With weak and exhausted legs, I cross to the fire pit and strip the clothes from my body. My leggings and underwear go first, and I chuck them into the flames, watching as they ignite, wishing it was my body the flames lapped at instead.
I set my jaw and lift Sebastian’s shirt over my head, inhaling shakily as it, too, joins the rest of my clothing in the fire pit. I wait as the flames engulf it, breathing in and out as his scent mixes with the smoke briefly, swirling around me one last time before it vanishes completely.
I fidget with the red strip of fabric clutched in my hand. The fabric that doubled as my choker—mycollar—all those nights we spent together at The Black Door. He could have bought me something else, something fancier. Diamonds or pearls or jewels. He even offered to, but I refused. None of those would have measured up to or meant the same as that flimsy piece of red fabric he wrapped around my neck the first time he claimed me as his.
I bend down and wrap it around my ankle, knotting it several times before standing straight. It’s not protocol. It breaks every rule for me to keep it, but there’s no way I can part with it. It will be the only piece of him I carry with me until we meet again. I’ll keep it hidden, keep it beneath my socks and my boots and my pants, letting no one know I faltered.
I gaze into the fire, watching as the clothing turns to ashes, not caring that anyone could glimpse me standing here naked with tears streaming down my cheeks.
And when nothing remains of the clothes, not even a thread, I head to the waterfall to wash the last remnants of my night withSebastiánfrom my body forever.
I groan as earlymorning sunlight filters through my heavy eyelids, and I swallow, fighting against the unnatural dryness in my mouth and throat. I don’t think I’ve ever slept that heavily or deeply in my life.
My little rogue did that for me. Safe and snuggled in my arms, she brought me a peace and a clarity I never imagined existed. Her mere presence soothed everything in me: the restless, wandering spirit that never feels like it truly belongs here; the ache in my soul from hiding that restlessness from my friends and family; and the primal, dark beast growing wilder by the day.
I stretch, pushing away the claws of sleep clutching the edge of my consciousness, and I curl my arms in to bring Sarina further into my embrace.
Only, there is no Sarina in my arms.
My eyes fly open. Heart pounding, I whip my head around the tent, searching for her, already knowing what I will see.
It’s empty—save for me, a pile of rumpled clothes, the blanket we slept under, and the red fabric I tied her up with last night.
With a heaving chest and panicked breaths, I spring to my feet, exiting the tent without dressing. There is no time for that. I need to find her. I need to get to her.
Desperation claws at my throat as I stand in the empty clearing, back to her tent, and I freeze in my tracks as my eyes confirm what my soul already knows.
There’s nothing.
Nothing.
Not a trace of her. Of them.
No tents. No fire pit. Not even a breadcrumb of a clue.
As if they were never here to begin with. As if they only exist in my mind, in my memories.
The claws wrapping themselves around my throat grow sharper until they pierce my soul. My hands curl into fists at as I fight the burgeoning, bubbling volcano rising from the depths of my being. I roll my neck, cracking it, jaw and eyes clenched. My muscles ripple from the effort I’m exerting to restrain myself.
I clutch at the tent, gripping the poles, and press my forehead into my fists. I don’t know why. It’s not like the tent can support me. But my body can’t support the weight of the blood thickening in my veins, can’t withstand the burning in my soul at the realization that she’s gone.
She’s gone.
Gone.
I snap. A bellowing roar echoes around the clearing, bouncing off the tree trunks and sending birds fleeing from their nests. My claws slash through the tent like it is nonexistent, ripping giant tears into the fabric—tears too large to be mended, tears that are a mirror image of the gashes forming on my heart with each minute of her absence.
Another roar rips through me as I lift the tent, yanking the stakes out of the ground, and toss it across the clearing. Without pausing, I stalk around the space, inhaling through my nose with each step, searching for their trail. Forhertrail. For that sweet, sensual, perfect honeysuckle scent that lingers on her skin, telling me stories of summer and magnificent exotic landscapes.
But it’s gone. It ends several feet from where her tent sat, and then it disappears from existence.
The third roar that leaves me is more thunderous, tumultuous, and unsettling than the first two. It originates not from my chest but from my lycan, and it sends me into a frenzy.
