My what?
Nothing. He’s nothing to me.
The man who bit me and the man whose corridor fed her into the Syndicate are the same man. And my wolf chose him. Now I am standing in this doorway with his mark on my neck and a ward outside that knows his signature. And this child is playing with a rubber ball and learning to believe that the world keeps its promises.
I broke mine when I didn’t make him pay.
I smile at her, feeling like a fraud. She lowers the ball. Watches me go.
I make it to the tree line before my knees give out. I drop into a crouch behind a hickory, my back against the bark. I press both hands against the bite on my neck, and I breathe through my teeth, and I let the wolf have ten seconds.
Ten seconds of feeling him.
Ten seconds of the pull, unresisted, the full force of it reaching for the male she chose.
That’s enough.
I stand up. Brush the dirt off my knees. I feel the pull in reply, him reaching back.
I push him away.
Get out of my head, you fucking bastard.
Chapter 10
Briar
Merric finds me before I reach my cabin.
He’s coming out of the barn, a hay hook hanging from his belt. His stride changes direction the second he sees me. Not rushing. Merric doesn’t rush. But the purpose in his walk says he’s been waiting for this. The look he gives me when he’s close enough to read my face is the look of an alpha counting damage.
“You’re back.”
“I’m back.”
“Almost a week. No contact.”
“I know.”
He waits. Merric is good at waiting. He taught me how to do it when I was just a kid. He showed me it was a tool, and then I showed him I was better at it than he’d ever be.
I don’t give him anything. Not because I’m being difficult. Because I don’t have anything to give that he’d want to hear.
I went to Texas. I took the Forrester alpha. I tied him naked to a chair and cut him. He escaped, I chased him, we fought, and then I fucked him on the ground and his wolf mate-claimed me. And now I can feel him in my head.
“It’s handled,” I say.
His eyes move to my collar. The shirt is buttoned high, and the gauze is hidden, but Merric has been reading wolves since before I was born. I watch him assess the collar, the stiffness in my left shoulder, the way I’m holding my neck. He doesn’t ask.
“Brenna wants to see you.”
“I know.”
“Today.”
“I said I know.”
He holds my eyes for another beat. Then he nods and walks back toward the barn. I can feel him not asking the questions he wants to ask, and I’m grateful. The gratitude sits badly, because I don’t want to be grateful. I want to be alone.