Page 26 of Of Wolves and Wives

Giving me a smile, she lays her head back against my chest. Silence stretches between us. That wasn’t what I meant to tell her, but I’m suddenly reluctant to force my confession from myself.

“What else did you want to tell me?” she says after a moment.

In my chest, I feel my heart stop for a beat. My entire body tenses as I search for the words to explain what I need to. I have to push aside the longing to shift into my wolf form, to escape what I must tell her. Ignoring the urge, I force out a rough exhale. Then, I force myself to tell her.

“I may be the one responsible for you being an orphan.”

My words are met with silence. I feel her slowly stiffen in my arms before she shifts once more to glance up at me. Her brows are knit together as she stares up at me, waiting for more. But I can’t bring myself to offer her any more words. Not when I see the pain already forming in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” she finally asks.

Sucking in a breath, I tell her, “Many years ago, I was sent to assassinate a man. A human. It was believed that he was heading a plot to have the wolf king assassinated. My orders were to kill his entire household to serve as a warning. It wasn’t until I’d done just that when I found a babe in a cradle.”

The words are suddenly impossible to get out. I’m pulled back to that moment. To the screaming of the baby that had drawn me to her. She’d been such a small thing, wrapped in a blanket in her tiny cradle. Her red hair had been unruly as it sprouted from her. I’d never seen such a delicate yet angry creature before. I couldn’t bring myself to kill the baby.

“The babe could’ve grown to be anyone,” Rose says.

I can hear the desperation in her voice. Part of me wants to agree and ignore the pressing need to explain this to her. I know that she’ll hate me. But I need her to know this. I can’t allow her to give me her heart when she doesn’t know this about me. It would kill her if she were to ever discover I’d kept this from her. I shift so I can run my fingers over the birthmark on her thigh.

“I took the baby,” I tell her. “Wrapped her in a blanket and brought her to the nearest city where I found an orphanage. I left her there, wrapped in the blanket with a single rose to show she was innocent. Along the way, she kicked off her blankets, and I noted the birthmark on her thigh. Your hair was the same color then as it is now, but I couldn’t be sure. Until that night in the courtyard when I saw your birthmark.”

My thumb moves over the mark. I wait for her anger, her rage at what I stole from her. She doesn’t move for a moment, going completely still in my arms. I hate that I want to take back the words. I deserve her tears and her anger. I deserve her hatred.

“No,” she finally says. “Impossible. You’d have to be so much older than you are. At least fifty, if not older.”

“In human years, perhaps. But in shifter years, I’m thirty-two.”

“Impossible.”

“Shifters age differently. So, it is possible.”

With a gasp, she pulls away from me. Tears run down her cheeks, shattering my heart with the knowledge that I put them there. I caused the hurt and pain in her eyes. It seems that all I’m truly capable of is hurting this woman. Without meaning to, I reach for her. But she stumbles away from me, shaking her head as she stares at me. She doesn’t stop her retreat until she hits the bed. Then, she reaches for a quilt to wrap around herself, shielding her naked body from me.

“I’m sorry. Sorrier than you will ever know.”

Her eyes narrow as she glares at me. Every part of her radiates her anger, her hatred of me and what I did. I know I deserve it, but it still kills me to see her glaring at me. Gone is the tenderness of just a few moments ago. With a shaky breath, I remind myself that this is what I deserve. This is the fate that I’ve brought upon myself with my actions.

“I hate you,” she seethes. “I hate everything about you. I pray to the stars and the moon that this baby isn’t yours. Or it too will learn what it’s like to grow without a father.”

Agony at her words, at the passion behind them, cut me deeper than any knife or claw I’ve experienced. I’m left gasping for breath, useless apologies tumbling from me as I stare at her. But she cuts me off, a scream building from deep within her.

The maid jumps from the cot, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she glances between Rose and me. My heart twists as I hear a key enter the lock to the door. This is it, I realize. The end of my happiness. I never should’ve experienced the joy that Rose gave me. The tenderness and love that she offered me. Those are not things for a man such as myself. Still, as much as I’m relieved that now she knows the truth. Part of me wishes I’d kept the past in the dark.

Reaching for my mask, I just manage to cover my face as the door opens. Helena rushes in, followed by several guards with their weapons drawn. Rose sinks to the bed, bringing a shaking hand up to point in my direction.

“Him,” she says. “Get him away from me. The bond has shattered between us, and I no longer feel safe in his presence.”

12

Rose

Through my tears, I watch as Rykker is dragged from the room. He puts up no fight as the guards approach, his eyes never leaving me until the door closes. Helena frowns as she approaches me, her face softening as she takes in my ragged emotions and tears. I wish I could stop their flow. But I can’t seem to get myself under control.

Before Helena gets too close, my stomach twists. I gasp as I clutch at it. Thankfully my tears seem to stall as the rest of my body revolts. It seems that I lied. Despite how desperately I want to sever the bond with Rykker, he was still the one thing that kept me from being ill. Gritting my teeth, I refuse to allow this to be true. Has he not taken enough from me that now I must rely upon him? Surely the universe isn’t that cruel.

“Rose,” Helena says, her voice worried as she places a hand on my back. “Tell me who to summon. Who will help you through this? Give me a name, and they’ll be here, I promise it.”

More than anything, I want to tell her no one. There isn’t a soul in the world that I want to seek comfort from right then. But as my dinner begins to burn its way up my throat, I know that I won’t survive the night on my own. My body, the traitor, needs one of the men nearby. I need either Peirce or Heath.

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