Chapter 13: The Reckoning
He didn’t speak. He just stared at their joined hands, his thumb pressing into her wrist where her pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his skin. His silence was worse than any accusation.
Then, in one swift movement, he bent and slid an arm behind her knees, lifting her against his chest. She gasped, her good hand flying to his shoulder, feeling the coiled tension in the muscle there. He carried her away from the clearing, away from Kai’s pained groans and Karina’s shocked stare, his footsteps crushing fallen leaves with a dry, final sound.
He took her to their tent, the one he hadn’t slept in for weeks. He pushed the flap aside with his shoulder and lowered her onto the piled furs, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical. The space still smelled of him, of spiced cologne and clean linen, but it felt like a museum of a former life.
“Give me your hand,” he said, his voice gravelly from the recent snarls. He knelt before her, rummaging in a wooden chest for a clean cloth and a small ceramic bowl of water. She obeyed, watching the way his black curls fell over his forehead as he focused. He dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and began to clean the cut. The water was cold, making her hiss, but his touch was meticulous.He wiped away every trace of blood, the pink water staining the cloth a rusty brown. He worked with a hunter’s precision, exposing the clean, angry line she’d drawn across her own fate.“You used yourself as bait,” he said, not looking up. His finger traced the edge of the wound, a feather-light touch that sent a shock through her system. “You used our pup.” When he finally raised his eyes, the hurt in them was a physical blow.
“I had to make you come back,” she whispered, the defiance bleeding out of her, leaving only raw need.“You were sleeping in Minho’s tent. You wouldn’t even look at me.”
“You said you’d find another alpha.” The words hung in the air, ugly and bare.He said it flatly, but the wound underneath was fresh. He released her hand, placing the cloth aside. He sat back on his heels, the lantern light carving shadows into the planes of his face.His ethereal beauty was marred by violence and a profound fatigue. “You thought that, after everything, the way to bring me back was to spill your own blood and frame a rival?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” The words were out before she could stop them, a sharp, brittle fragment of her psychosis.She saw him flinch. “Leonid, I didn’t mean it.About another alpha.I was just… desperate.” Her voice broke. “I can feel her, you know?The pup. And all I feel from you is this cold wall.”
He was silent for a long time, studying her face as if seeing it for the first time.The possessive fire in his eyes had banked to a simmering, complicated heat. He reached out again, but this time he cupped her cheek.His palm was warm, slightly rough. “You scare me,” he admitted, his voice low.“You always have. The things you’re capable of.”
“I’m only capable of anything for you.” She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing.A single tear escaped, tracing a path through the dust on her skin.
He let out a slow breath, his thumb catching the tear. Then his other hand moved, sliding down to rest low on her abdomen, a protective, claiming weight through the thin fabric of her shift. The gesture was infinitely more intimate than any kiss. He was connecting with the life inside her, his life, and acknowledging the terrifying woman who carried it.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, his voice a low rumble.“No more games. No more blades.” He leaned forward, until his forehead rested against hers.His scent enveloped her—pine and smoke and him. “You win, Jennie. You always do.”
“Does that mean you’re staying?” Her question was barely audible, charged with a vulnerability that stripped her bare.
He didn’t answer with words. He shifted, stretching out beside her on the furs, his body a solid line of heat against her side. He pulled her gently back against his chest, his arm a heavy weight around her waist, his hand splayed over her stomach.His breath warmed the nape of her neck. It was an answer, but it wasn’t forgiveness. It was a temporary truce, brokered by blood and bound by the silent promise of the pup between them. Outside, the pack would be whispering, but inside the tent, there was only the sound of their breathing slowly synchronizing, and the unresolved tension humming softly in the dark.