Page 22 of The Alpha's Mail Order Bride

It had been another long afternoon down on Kurivon’s most popular beach. Claire was heading back up through the trees, feeling the pleasant hum of tiredness in her muscles that came from swimming in the sun all afternoon, and she was already looking forward to rinsing the sand and salt from her body before joining Darion for dinner—if he was there, that was. Some evenings he was there, others she had the house to herself, with no clear pattern she could discern. She knew that if she asked him, he’d probably tell her which nights he’d be home and which he’d be out, but that felt oddly like a violation of his privacy, an unnecessary risk to the strange, fragile accord of peace between them. She still couldn’t get a handle on how he actually felt about having her in his house. Neither of them had mentioned his outburst at the Council meeting, or the strained but oddly magical hours that had followed it.

Distracted as she was by these reflections, she didn’t hear the uneven, shambling footsteps of the monster that was slouching up the path behind her. The first she knew of the danger she was in was the sound of her name, shouted at top volume in a voice she only belatedly realized was Darion’s. He was barreling down the path toward her, his outline unmistakable even in the gathering gloom, and she flinched aside automatically, some instinct carrying her right off the path and into the trees.

It probably saved her life. Because right where she’d been standing only seconds before, Darion’s considerable momentum was arrested as he crashed into an enormous, twisted shape, all jutting limbs and impossible anatomy. Claire steadied herself against a tree, heedless of the undergrowth scraping at her exposed legs, a strangled scream dying on her lips as she watched Darion fight. She’d seen the sword he kept by the door, of course, but she’d never seen him wield it—it flashed in his hand, impossibly fast, an unearthly shrieking on the edge of her hearing telling her of the damage it was doing to the monster. A limb crashed down toward him, and then another, and another. Darion blocked the blows then twisted around to parry, his sword cutting chunks out of the monster as it writhed and howled in protest.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over. Darion was standing over a misshapen lump of hissing flesh, breathing hard as he jabbed at it with his sword. Claire crept closer, fascinated despite her horror at the way the monster’s body seemed almost to be melting into the ground. It wasn’t until Darion looked up at her that she realized she was shaking.

“Did it hurt you?” he asked, moving immediately to her side and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Claire?”

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head to clear it. Amazing, how even in the aftermath of a near-death experience, her body was still more interested in how close Darion had come to her. He was looking her up and down, scanning for injuries, his hand still gripping her shoulder, and for one dizzy, adrenaline-soaked moment she considered closing the narrow space between them and kissing him. It would be an absolute disaster, of course, but the look on his face just might be worth it …she bit her lip, forcing herself to focus on the situation at hand. “This is a demon, right?”

A stupid question, but at least it broke her out of the mild trance that Darion’s worried attention had put her into. He nodded tersely, turning back to jab at what remained of the creature with the tip of his sword.

“It’s melting.”

“They do that when they die,” he said, a grim satisfaction in his voice. “Though I’m not sure ‘die’ is the right word.” He looked up at her again, and now there was anger in his face, clouding out the concern. “I warned you not to go into the forest alone after dark. I warned you.”

“I know, I just—” she gestured in the direction of the beach. “The sun was only just setting, I thought I had time—”

“It could have killed you.” She hadn’t heard that much anger in his voice since the Council meeting. It made her feel about five years old again. “If I hadn’t been—”

A sudden suspicion seized her. “What?”

“We should get back,” Darion said, turning abruptly away from her.

“If you hadn’t beenwhat, Darion? Have you been following me?”

But he was already gone, swallowed by the gathering darkness as he stomped up the path ahead of her. Claire hesitated for a long moment, tempted to wait there until he came back to finish their conversation, but a breeze through the trees brought the putrid, scorched scent of the dissolving demon to her nostrils, and she shivered at the thought that there might be more on their way. She hastened after Darion, but by the time she’d caught up with him, he was his usual taciturn self, and she knew her fleeting glimpse behind his defenses had come and gone.

Still, she couldn’t help grinning to herself as they trudged quietly through the dark. Another piece of evidence to add to the growing pile… evidence that Darion was paying a lot more attention to his houseguest than he might like to let on.

Chapter 12 - Darion

This very well might be a mistake, Darion thought as he escorted Claire down one of Kurivon’s winding residential streets. There was every chance that this was going to be the most uncomfortable encounter of his life. But it was too late to turn back now, no matter how much he might want to. Besides, he had a feeling Claire wouldn’t let him. She’d been so thrilled when he’d raised the idea of going to visit Reeve and Lyrie, even insisting on baking them a batch of cookies. She had the basket in her arms now. She’d offered him one earlier, when they’d been fresh out of the oven, but he’d refused on principle. Now, with the faint scent of them still in his nostrils, he was regretting that choice. But there was no way he could take one now. Not without losing face, and that was an unacceptable cost.

“Again, this isn’t a social call,” he reminded her firmly. “We’re here because you need to learn to defend yourself if you’re going to insist on traipsing around in the forest at all hours.”

“Yes, sir,” she intoned solemnly, snapping her hand to her forehead in a motion that he’d come to understand as a sarcastic gesture of respect. “This is a strategic military lunch with your brother and his wife and baby, nothing more.”

“Lyrie is the best drillmaster on this island,” he snapped. “If anyone can teach you quickly enough to keep yourself safe, it’s her.”

“Sure. Absolutely. I’m very on board with this and I agree that you’re not just doing it because you want to see your brother.”

“It has nothing to do with seeing my brother. I would prefernotto see my brother.”

“You’ve made that very clear.” Her voice was serious, but it was the sparkling, dancing light in her eyes that made him grit his teeth. If she wasn’t so damned charming, he’d have kicked her out of his house by now. But somehow, every time he decided he was going to ask her to leave, something would stop him. She’d been here for three weeks now, and every day she got bolder, more curious, more full of questions. The quiet, cautious woman who’d moved in with him that first week was gone, replaced by the nosy, impudent woman who was humming to herself at his side. How dare she, he thought dourly, lengthening his stride so she’d have to hurry to keep up with him. She’d spent the whole morning insisting that he wanted to make friends with his brother again, and now, she was somehow managing to imply the same thing with her smile and her tone of voice, even though on a surface level she’d agreed that she was wrong.

It was Lyrie who opened the door with a smile almost as wide as Claire’s. The two women greeted each other easily, and Darion realized with a jolt that they’d met already. Of course, they had, he thought, annoyed that it hadn’t occurred to him earlier. Everyone on this blasted island seemed to be obsessed with Claire. She was the only thing anyone seemed to want to talk about on the rare occasions he actually socialized with other wolves—and he was getting very tired of the knowing glances they’d always exchange when they thought he wasn’t looking.

His fault, maybe. Early on, he’d forbidden every wolf on the island from discussing the possibility that Claire was his soulmate, or even mentioning the word in his presence. It hadn’t been nearly as effective as he’d hoped. His request had been honored, of course—it would have been unacceptably disrespectful to ignore a direct order from an Alpha—but unfortunately, there was a great deal of gray area when it came to not mentioning a subject. Not mentioning a subject, he was learning, could sometimes draw more attention to it than an explicit conversation about it. Equally aggravating was the suspicion that the other wolves were laughing at him…and the fear of what they might be saying to Claire about him.

He followed the women into the house, feeling as he usually did like an enormous, awkward stone statue. Reeve was in the living room with the baby in his arms, coaxing her into finishing the last of her lunch around the huge yawns that kept overtaking her. A clever strategic move, Darion thought darkly as he took a seat opposite his brother. It was a lot harder to maintain his utter fury with his brother when he was using his adorable daughter as a shield.

After a suitably awkward greeting, Lyrie came through to whisk the baby off for her afternoon nap, and the four of them settled in to eat lunch. Darion had expected more tension, if he was honest. He hadn’t spoken to Reeve or Lyrie since his humiliating outburst at the Council meeting two weeks ago, hadn’t discussed the matter with another living soul—part of him was beginning to wonder if it had even happened at all. When he’d sought out Lyrie to suggest they meet to discuss teaching Claire the basics of self-defense, she’d agreed readily, though he hadn’t missed the worried look in her eye when she quietly insisted that Reeve be a part of that conversation, too. Would she always have to play the peacemaker between them, he wondered?

What he hadn’t counted on was Claire. If he’d thought about it at all, he’d imagined her sitting quietly at the table, listening to the conversation. Instead, she was steering it. Cheerful and self-assured, she and Lyrie chatted and laughed, taking turns drawing Reeve and even Darion into their jokes. More than once, he caught himself smiling—and more than once, he was too late to hide the gesture from Reeve, who was looking back and forth between Claire and Darion with an all-too-familiar expression of glee.

“Swords,” Lyrie said matter-of-factly, once their plates were empty. “Time for swords. We can leave you gentlemen to tidy up, I hope?”

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