Page 28 of The Alpha's Mail Order Bride

He’d done this before, of course, especially when the demon activity on the island had been higher. A kind of extreme camping trip, a few days spent in the wilder parts of Kurivon, hunting demons and sleeping in his wolf form. It had always been his favorite way of clearing his head, getting back in touch with the wild side of him. His wolf didn’t get tangled up in spirals of guilt and shame and worry. His wolf didn’t dwell on things. When he was wolf-shaped, there was only the immediacy of the hunt, the giddy thrill of adrenaline, the rush of kill or be killed. A few days, that was all he needed. A few days to get his head straight—and to give Claire a chance to gather her things and head back home. Reeve would take care of it all, he’d promised that much. She’d recover, he told himself, not liking how much the thought of her leaving made his chest ache. She’d be sad for a little while, and then she’d get over him. That was what humans did, after all. They fell in love over and over again, then they bounced back.

And yes, it killed him to think of some other man holding her the way he’d held her. But that was exactly why he was heading into the forest for a few days. To take a break from thinking. To take a break from himself. And maybe, by the time he dragged himself back out of the woods, Claire would be gone—and he could at least take comfort in the knowledge that she was safe from him at last.

His paws thudded against the sandy, compacted soil of the patrol paths, but Darion knew he’d need to move further into the more remote reaches of the island if he didn’t want to risk being found by a patrol. He slipped off the beaten path and into the trees, taking deep breaths of the humid air through his nose in the hopes of picking up the scent of a demon. That was his main concern, heading out here to hunt—demon activity had been so dormant on Kurivon lately that he was worried he wouldn’t be able to find any. But he was patient and methodical as he moved deeper into the trees, and by the time the sky was beginning to lighten with the gray light that preceded dawn, he’d found the familiar trace of demonic taint on the wind.

The first fight reminded him of Claire, to his dismay. He’d shifted back into his human form to take on the creature, which was tall and slender, its oozing body wrapped around a tree that was already scorched and blackened with the marks of its passage. The demon barely stood a chance. As soon as it opened a dozen of its red, misshapen eyes to peer groggily at him from its vantage point, his blade was in motion, slashing its exposed belly open and sending gouts of thick, black demon blood splashing onto the thick vegetation that obscured the soil at the foot of the tree. Breathing hard, he wiped his sword on a tangle of rushes, unwillingly remembering the way Claire had looked at him after he’d put an end to the monster that had attacked her. Did she have any idea how close he’d been to kissing her, in that moment? The way his terror for her safety had given way to bleak fury at the beast that had dared to threaten her. The grim satisfaction of dispatching it, the relief and joy to find her unhurt… he’d had to force his anger back up into his throat to hide how badly he wanted to wrap her in his arms…

The demon was dead. Darion turned sharply away from the tree and headed blindly into the undergrowth, leaving its body to rot and melt into the soil. His mistake had been shifting back into his two-legged form, he told himself, sliding his sword back into its scabbard before letting his wolf take control again. That was why the adrenaline hadn’t put Claire’s memory out of his head. He needed to stay wolf-shaped if he was going to forget about her.

By midmorning, he was tired enough to sleep. He’d had little success putting Claire out of his head, and when he lay down beside a pool of water, the stillness of his body seemed to encourage his mind to start racing again. He drifted in and out of an uneasy, restless sleep for the rest of the day, waiting for sunset, when demonic activity would be at its highest and he could really throw himself into the hunt in earnest. And so what if he dreamed about her? It was natural, he told himself the third time he jolted himself out of a half-waking reverie in which the two of them played like pups in the front yard. It was like a fever; he just had to wait it out. Eventually, he’d get the worst of it out of his system.

That night was more successful, at least on the demon front. He focused every bit of his energy on hunting, and soon found more formidable foes than the scraggly beast that had been clinging half-asleep to the tree. One beast he found dormant in a small clearing, seemingly no larger than a child—that was, until it pulled the rest of its body out from beneath the sandy soil. Once he’d torn that one to pieces, he spotted another lurking in the canopies, all wings and flashing teeth, and spent the rest of the night pursuing it, listening for the flutter of its wings. After that, they came more readily. It was almost as though they sensed his need for distraction, as if the malevolent force beneath this island had risen up to help him in his hour of need. Darion did his best not to follow that line of reasoning too closely. Being grateful to demons was far too sad a thought to entertain for long.

He lost track of the days, which had been his intention, but at least a few sunrises and sunsets came and went before he began to suspect he needed to go back. Not that he was especially keen to face his pack, of course. He knew Reeve was going to be fiercely disappointed in him, and he didn’t doubt Lyrie would have some choice words for him about the way he’d treated Claire. Ideally, he’d stay out here for another week, but the truth was, he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t last that long. After the slow start to his hunting trip, the demons had surprised him with how quickly they’d grown in strength and numbers. He was amassing injuries faster than even a shifter’s rapid healing could keep up with—gashes to his shoulders and neck where cunning demons had lashed out in the hopes of dealing a fatal blow, a limp in his hind legs where he’d been caught unawares by a monster hidden in the sand. And as much as it felt good to be putting down the beasts as quickly as he found them, he was beginning to realize that this was more than just residual demonic presence. This was something he needed to report to the lorekeepers. It could mark an end to the period of low demonic activity they’d been enjoying. He knew that should have been the worst news imaginable to a wolf, the resurgence of the ancient enemy, and he hated himself for the relief that the idea brought out in him. He didn’t want his pack or his community to have to go to war again, but he knew that it would keep his mind off Claire.

Claire was why he kept putting off his return, of course. There was no way of knowing if she’d left Kurivon yet, and his reluctance to see her again had turned into an active, crippling fear. One more day, he kept telling himself. A few more hours, at least. Then he’d head back into town, stop by the old library to check in with Syrra about the uptick in demonic presence. He’d been avoiding the island’s senior lorekeeper lately, worried she might ask him questions about his human houseguest. That was the problem with lorekeepers. The magic they wielded made them too insightful for their own good.

It was a few hours after sunset when the ambush came that nearly cost his life. Darion had hunkered down in a shallow cave he’d found, concealed by the trunk of a huge tree and sheltered from the winds. An earlier battle with a demon had left jagged splinters of wood in a fresh wound on his shoulder, and he’d been forced to shift back into his vulnerable human form to do some first aid. He was on the verge of giving up and heading for the library—Syrra would scold him for his carelessness, but at least she’d be able to see well enough to dig all the splinters out of his wound—when the darkness around him had intensified, and he’d realized his mistake.

Demons—at least three of them from what he could see, maybe more—crowded into the mouth of the cave, cutting off his escape. He froze, time slowing as he raced through his limited list of options. If he stayed here, he’d be dead in minutes. His only hope was to try to take them by surprise, to burst through the crowd and hope he was quick enough to avoid the worst of their blows. Darion shifted, tensed his muscles…and then, before he could second-guess his plan, he lunged with all the speed he could muster.

It was almost enough. He knocked back two of the demons, but the third caught him with a spray of venom that splattered against his fur and sent an icy numbness creeping into his flesh even as his nose caught the horrible stench of burning hair. He howled with rage and fear as he landed—the shoulder that the venom had caught gave way beneath him as though it had no strength at all, and he was forced to roll awkwardly before dragging himself up onto his remaining good legs. The other two demons were closing in, red eyes glinting in the moonlight that shone in patches through the canopy of branches above.

Darion braced himself to die fighting. This was no surprise. Every warrior knew that this was the most likely way their life would end. What did surprise him, however, was the way his mind went straight to Claire, to the days they’d spent together, to every moment he’d spent basking in the sunshine of her presence. Darion had never feared death. But as he faced down the demons that were creeping closer to him, he realized with a shock that he didn’t want to die. He couldn’t. Not when the last thing he’d said to the love of his life had been that he didn’t want her by his side.

Every wolf knew that the safest way to fight was in their four-legged form. Thick fur, powerful muscle, the deadly gnashing jaws—in that shape, they were living weapons. By contrast, the two-legged form was frail and precarious, easily punctured, easily knocked down and torn apart. But right now, with his left leg immobilized by the demon’s venom, Darion knew he was no use in this form. His only hope was the sword at his hip. He shifted, and as he did his howl of pain turned to a roar of anger from his human throat. His left arm hung useless at his side, but his sword was already in his right hand, and he’d caught the demons off guard. His first blow beheaded one with a spray of thick blood and a dull, sickly thump. He wounded the second, sending it skittering warily back. But where was the third?

He heard a scream. For a moment, he thought it was part of the waking hallucination that had hit him when he’d realized he was going to die at the hands of these demons, an extension of the wistful dream of Claire. But then it came again, and he knew he wasn’t dreaming this. Claire was right there, barely a dozen paces away, wooden sword held aloft and a look of grim determination in her eyes as she held the third demon warily at bay.

Every thought left his head. His blade whirled again, faster than he’d thought possible, tearing another deep wound in the belly of the demon in front of him, but he barely noticed it. All he cared about was getting to her side. He stumbled, scrambled back to his feet, clutching his useless arm against his side as he bellowed his fury at the demon that was circling the woman he loved. His cry distracted the demon—he saw it turn, and in the same heartbeat saw Claire’s eyes gleam with triumph. He couldn’t stop her. She lunged, swinging the sword around with an impressive amount of force, but what damage could she hope to do with the dull wooden blade of a training sword?

The demon shrieked when the sword made contact, and Darion’s eyes widened as he saw it stagger as though struck by a force ten times greater. Its side was crumpled, jagged bone jutting out through the torn flesh. Not pausing to wonder how it was possible, Darion added his blade to the effort, slicing a gash in the beast that ran the entire length of its body. More of the venom it had sprayed at him came bubbling out of the wound, and it collapsed with another wheezing hiss. Claire stepped adroitly around it and moved toward him, and he almost lifted his arm to draw her close to his side, but her eyes weren’t on him. He turned, just as the second demon was about to strike, and barely raised his sword in time to block the blow. Claire sprang, driving her training sword straight into the beast’s exposed belly, and he recoiled in shock as the force of the impact shattered its midsection and sent it flying back toward the mouth of the cave where he’d almost met his end.

“Is that all of them?” Claire panted. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “Good.”

“How—” Darion cleared his throat, surprised by how raspy his voice was. “How did—”

“Oh, this?” Claire lifted the sword casually, and he was shocked to see that she was grinning a cocksure grin, even though her face was spattered with demon blood. “I’ve been hanging out with lorekeepers. Check it out.”

Sure enough, he could see it from this close—the faint glow of runes, carved into the wooden blade. One mystery down, about a hundred to go. “How did you find me?”

“No idea.” Oh, how he’d missed that smile of hers. “I was training with Lyrie and I just had this—this feeling. A hunch, I guess, but a hundred times stronger. It brought me here, and then I heard the demons, and…” Claire’s smile faded as she got a proper look at him in the moonlight. “Darion, you look like hell,” she said softly. “We’ve all been so worried about you. What have you been doing out here?”

Trying and failing to forget you, he thought hopelessly. Waiting for you to leave, like a coward. Wishing every night that I was strong enough to go back to you and beg your forgiveness. Dozens of answers rose and fell in his mind, but his lips stayed stubbornly closed, his tongue frozen in his mouth.

“Come home?” she asked now, tilting her head to the side. He could see how much his silence was hurting her, see the fragility of the hope she was hanging onto. “We should—talk.”

She was offering him one last chance, he could see that clear as day. He wished, so badly, that he knew how to take it. But instead, he stood there like a statue, as if the demon’s venom had immobilized his whole body and not just his arm. Claire waited for longer than he’d thought she would, her eyes not leaving his face, but he knew that if he looked at her, he wouldn’t be able to let her go.

And finally, for the last time, he saw the woman he loved turn and walk away from him.

Chapter 17 - Claire

Enough, Claire thought remotely as she wiped the sticky, foul-smelling demon blood from her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. Enough hanging around, enough hoping for a miracle, enough waiting for a sign that everything was going to magically come good in the end. She’d given it everything she could, and then she’d given a little more for good measure. It had been a whole week since Darion had told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted her gone, and yet she’d still hung around, telling herself she was just making sure she was ready for the trip—and then, when it became clear that Darion was missing, she’d told herself she’d wait until he was back home before she left. She just wanted to make sure he was okay.

Well, he was just fine. He’d been gallivanting around in the woods, hunting demons and worrying his friends and family sick. She’d saved his life out there, she realized as she stormed down the familiar paths of Kurivon, ignoring the worried glances of the wolves she passed. She’d saved his stupid, ungrateful life and he couldn’t even bring himself to have a real conversation with her? She shouldn’t have bothered. She should have left the morning after their fight—

No, she corrected herself furiously. She should have left the minute he’d told her to go. Left all her things upstairs and just walked right out.

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