Page 16 of The Alpha's Betrayed Mate

“How dare you,” he said as he descended the steps and began to walk towards her. His tone, he felt, was conversational—but he still saw her shy away as though he’d shouted. Maybe he had. There was an odd ache in his throat that didn’t usually accompany softly-spoken phrases. “Howdareyou conspire with my son to undermine my authority.”

“Belmont, you’re being unreasonable,” Venna said. He could see her eyes pleading with him, but he could also see the wooden knife in her hand. “I was showing him some self defense, nothing more—”

“We discussed his obsession with demons. I told you he was to be discouraged at all costs. Your duty was to distract him. Instead, you’ve taught him to defy his father.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous.” Venna’s temper, never far from the surface, flared as predictably as it ever had. “He’s grieving, Belmont. He lost his mother and half his family in that attack, and you won’t eventalkto him about it.”

“You defied my orders. Both of you.”

“He’s your son, not your subordinate,” Venna snarled.

“You, however, decidedly are,” Belmont growled. She’d been keeping her distance as he approached her, taking small, wary sideways steps to circle him, but he saw her slow now, her center of gravity dropping as her eyes narrowed. “Why did I ever believe you capable of obeying a simple instruction?”

“Myinstructionwas to take care of Rylan,” she hissed, squaring up to him. He was aware that the dagger in her hand was carved from blunt wood, but he also knew Venna well enough to doubt that it was the only weapon on her person. “And you can humiliate me in front of the pack all you like, Belmont, but I’ll always be more than just his nanny. I’m his aunt, Belmont, in case you’d forgotten. We’re family. And I won’t stand idly by and watch you neglect him—”

Belmont felt his blood run cold. “I’d thought such a low blow was beneath you, Venna,” he spat, and he could hear his voice cracking now, hear that he’d been shouting for quite some time. “To accuse me of being any less his father, just because we don’t share blood—”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” He could feel the heat emanating from her body as she took another step closer, bristling with rage as she glared up at him. They’d been the same height as children, before his adolescent growth spurt had given him the advantage. But somehow, even though he dwarfed her now and had done so for years, she still held herself as though barely an inch separated them. “You absolute fool, I’m not telling you that you’re not his father, I’m telling you thatashis father, you are letting him down. He needs you. Where have you been?”

“I have been ensuring the survival of the pack,” Belmont spat. “Or more accurately, the survival of what remains of the pack. Or had you forgotten the day you led a horde of demons to their camp?”

That was beneath him—he knew it the minute the words had left his lips, even in the heat of the rage he was burning in. Venna didn’t even hesitate. No sooner had he finished his sentence, her arm was a blur of motion, the wooden blade in her hand aimed directly at his throat. Belmont barely blocked in time. He held her wrist in the tightest grip he was capable of, buried muscle memory of their countless sparring matches exploding back into his body and his mind. His wolf was in every fiber of his body, the magic snapping and sparking like electricity. Like a dancer, she twisted, bare feet digging into the soil as he felt the leverage shift. She always had had an almost supernatural ability to turn his own strength against him.

But she’d also had eight lean, hungry years in the wilds that had reduced her strength, and he was stronger than she remembered him. His grip tightened on her wrist and he bore down harder, seeing the flicker of frustration and surprise on her face before she could hide it. Belmont pressed the momentary advantage and yanked the wooden knife from her grip, hurling it away as hard as he could without dropping her gaze for a moment. Since she was barely out of childhood, Venna had been their pack’s fiercest warrior, with Belmont the only wolf who could best her in combat. There were plenty of wolves who’d tried their luck against her, many who were stronger and faster than Belmont himself. But he had a weapon nobody else had, which was the ability to read her. To everyone else, Venna’s scowl was an impenetrable mask. But Belmont knew each and every one of her tells.

It was just unfortunate that the reverse was also true—and not just in battle.

“Yield,” he growled. He had a hold of both of her arms now, one wrist twisted behind her, the other held away from her side to stop her from yanking another blade out of its nearest hiding place. Her eyes sparked and burned with a fury so familiar that if the situation hadn’t been so dire he might have laughed. How many matches had ended like this, when they were young? How many times had he pinned her, breathless and writhing and howling with rage at his smugly silent triumph? Sure, she won against him more often than she lost, but she took each loss so hard the wins might as well have never happened. But there was a new depth to the loathing in her eyes now. There was more anger between them now than could ever be healed.

It was genius, really. How could he ever have seen it coming? One moment, she was looking at him with a hatred so powerful it had transcended even violence.

And the next, she was kissing him.

Belmont’s body responded before he could. His racing mind was wondering how exactly he’d gotten all the way from the backyard to his bed without remembering it—because while this kind of thing happened often enough in the dreams he did his best not to remember, it was obviously madness to entertain the notion of it actually happening. His arms didn’t seem to care, though. His arms were tightening around Venna’s too-thin frame, crushing her against him as he deepened a kiss he’d been desperate for since his adolescence, since those vivid, impossibly beautiful days in the forest with his best friends and the love of his life at his side. Venna’s hands were flat against his chest and he felt her grip tighten hard enough to tear the fabric of his shirt. Somehow, she was channeling all her anger into kissing him… and somehow, that only made it better. He held her close, possessive, one arm focused on pinning her against him while the other roamed her body with long-denied curiosity, tracing the shape of her wiry frame beneath the layer upon layer of clothing she hid herself in.

Herself, and her other weapons. Belmont deepened the kiss until he felt her moan a little against his lips, and in that moment of distraction he plucked a knife free from her waistband. Realizing what he was doing, she growled a protest and broke away—but all it took was his lips against her throat and she was melting into his arms again, her head dropping back as she uttered an infuriated little sound of defeat. Another knife, this one lashed to her ribcage by a long piece of fabric that she’d tucked away beneath her tunic. He tossed it into the grass behind him and heard it clatter against the first.

It was clear he was going to have to strip her completely to disarm her. A quick glance at their surroundings reminded him that they were out in the open, that just about anyone could wander past. And as eager as he was to take every last one of her knives as proof of his victory, the warrior in him rebelled at the idea of shaming her so publicly. And so he lifted her into his arms, growling a warning against her throat when she twisted and thrashed her body in protest. She had always hated being reminded that he was taller than her.

With all her thrashing, they barely made it inside. Belmont half-stumbled, thrown off balance as he turned to slam the door shut behind them. He was expecting Venna to press her advantage, to wiggle out of his grip and press a cold steel blade against his throat. Instead, she wrapped both legs tightly around his waist and seized his lips in a kiss so hard and bruising he wondered for a moment whether she was genuinely trying to draw blood. Well, two could play at that game. He pushed her hard against the closed door and buried his face against the side of her neck again, not sure whether he was kissing or biting a possessive, bruising trail down her throat, knowing only that she was urging him on with gasping, barely coherent demands. Her clothing ripped away beneath his impatient hands as though it was made of paper, the distant clatter of yet more knives against the floor making him grin.

But his focus had shifted from the knives. Another trophy had his attention right now, and he took one of her hard nipples between his teeth, some hunch telling him that with just the right amount of pressure… Venna’s whole body shuddered and he felt her legs tighten around him, grinding her hips against him in a helpless display of need. He didn’t need to look at her face to know how annoyed she must be by that, and so he did it again, nipping harder this time, savoring the way she was clearly trying and failing to suppress her moans. Distracted as she was by the work his teeth and tongue were doing, she didn’t notice that he was steadily ripping through the rest of the twisting, elaborate network of fabric strips that lay beneath her clothing. He made a quiet note to make fun of her later—how long did it take her to dress in the morning, strapping so many knives to her body beneath her clothes?

He wasn’t unaware of the scars his hands kept running over, either. Some part of him saw her huddled in whatever fragile shelter she’d been able to find in the woods, waiting for wound after wound to heal. Some part of him knew just how many demons must have lost their lives after giving her those scars. Some part of him was wondering, even now, just how big a dent she’d put in their numbers… just how much of the peace he and his pack had lived in for the last eight years had been paid for by the scars that littered Venna’s body.

She’d always had a talent for seizing any moment of distraction, however small. Before he could blink, he felt her body tense, and a tremendous ripping sound filled the air as she tore his shirt from the collar to the hem then pushed its remains from his shoulders with a triumphant whoop. Her hands were roaming across his chest with undisguised delight, and suddenly he was struggling to maintain his anger at the destruction of his shirt as those fingers slid downwards, lingering appreciatively over the muscles of his abdomen before sliding beneath his belt… now it was his turn to stifle a groan, the involuntary jerk of his hips slamming her back against the door again. He could feel her reaching for his belt with the other hand and wondered if she had the strength to rip his pants the way she’d ripped his shirt. What she lacked in muscle mass, he knew she could make up for in spite.

So he didn’t give her the chance. With a sudden motion that made her yelp with surprise, he hoisted her in his arms again and carried her across the living room towards the hallway. His bedroom door was still ajar, to his relief. Even a second of fumbling for the doorknob would have been intolerable right now. Because Venna still had one hand down the front of his pants with a self-assurance that absolutely shocked him, and the only thing he cared about was getting her to the bed before he lost what remained of his self control.

She uttered a soft huff of affronted surprise when he threw her down, and he rolled his eyes at her injured look, knowing exactly how soft the duvet was that had cushioned her fall. Her silver eyes roamed hungrily down his body as he unbuckled his belt and loosened his fly, easing a growing pressure that had been growing unbearable. The look on her face when his manhood sprang free of his trousers was utterly animalistic… it must have matched his own, he thought faintly as he kicked away his trousers and his shoes and crawled onto the bed on top of her. So much power contained within that rangy, wiry frame… hard-kept muscle clinging to bone, the occasional glimmer of softness beneath his roaming hands all the more sweet for its rarity.

She drummed her fists against his back as he caressed her, impatient, possessive, as exasperating and demanding as she had ever been, and Belmont didn’t pause to wonder at how natural it felt to seize her lips in a kiss to silence her belligerent orders to hurry up. He wasn’t going to be hurried. She wasn’t the one who gave the orders here, he reminded himself as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was setting the pace here, he thought, his whole body shivering with desire as he felt the heat of her sex slick against his cock. It was purely coincidental that she was demanding that he do exactly what he was about to do… it was his decision and his alone when he drove himself deep inside her, drawing a cry of pure ecstasy from them both.

If he hadn’t lost control already, that would have been more than enough to undo him. Belmont lost himself completely to the feeling of her body beneath him, every muscle coiling and tensing to draw him in, slamming herself harder against him with every thrust as if in competition with the increasingly frenetic pounding of his hips. The bedhead was slamming against the wall, but it was impossible to hear over the sounds they were both making, the wild, animalistic sounds of need, the joy of a desire finally fulfilled, the urgency to at least reach that summit they’d both been wanting for what felt like forever. Let the whole bed fall apart, he thought wildly as her nails raked down his back like the talons of some wild creature. Let them knock the wall of the cottage out. He’d spend the rest of his life repairing the damage and be happy doing it, if it meant he got to keep this moment, this memory of her, of the two of them so closely entwined they were like one being.

She reached the edge before he did but clung there stubbornly, twitching with the effort of holding herself back as he drew slowly but surely towards his own point of no return. Their bodies were both slick with sweat and he could feel his muscles trembling as he slowed his thrusts, hearing her half-choked scream of impatience as he pulled himself back from the edge long enough to look into her eyes. How long did they linger there, suspended on the impossible precipice? How could she be so unbelievably stubborn, even now, lying beneath him with every muscle trembling at his every move? Would she ever admit defeat?

No, he realized, holding that impossibly beautiful gaze. She would no sooner give in than he would. And as he thought it, he saw the slight widening of her eyes and knew without speech that the same realization was dawning on her. He could feel his lips twitching into a wondering smile, saw it mirrored in her face.

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