The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #3)(60)

Was it because I’m not worth the trouble?

I know it’s a garbage thought, that it’s my past and my baggage talking, but still, the old question hovers in the back of my mind—am I just fundamentally not enough?

For a long moment, I think he’s not going to answer. Hot tears well in my eyes. I scrub them away with my itchy, pink forearm.

I’m so stupid. What does it matter now?

“My wolf is crazy,” he finally says, slowly, deliberately. “I’d say he’s feral, except he can reason. Strategize. He’s smart, but he wants to destroy everything. Most of the time, I can keep him inside, but once he’s out, I can’t control him, not until he’s exhausted himself. I’ve fucking tried—”

He searches for words, and I force my fingers to unfurl. I try not to care so much about what he’s saying. I knew this about his wolf. This isn’t new. I try to put that distance back between us, but I tore it down myself.

“Mari, you were so fucking young. I mean, you’re still young now, but then—you had little fucking bows on your little pink shoes.” He grimaces up at the ceiling. “I was really gonna take you out to some shack in the woods to live with this” —he gestures angrily at himself— “and an insane killer wolf? That can’t be what’s supposed to happen.”

He shakes his head, and for a second, I think he’s done. He’s said everything that should make me feel better but doesn’t. It’s not me, it’s him. It’s my age. His wolf. Fate made a mistake. It is what it is.

But he’s not done.

“I was wrong. I fucked up. But I didn’t realize it for a long time. I thought I was doing the right thing.” He meets my eyes like he desperately wants to make sure that I understand, but I don’t.

“You were wrong?” My emotion-addled, woolly brain is trying to catch up, but the swirling gold of his irises and the creases in his worried brow and the sudden burst of sunshine scent in this rusty metallic box distracts me.

“It took me longer than it should have to realize what I should have done,” he says.

“It did?” What should he have done?

“I don’t have excuses, but Mari, when we get out of this, I’m going to fix everything. I’ve been working on it. I’ve almost got it all set up. Okay, Mari?”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but another wave of heat crashes over me, and I can barely hold on to the thread of the conversation.

What he’s saying doesn’t sound like “I rejected you to save you from my damaged self, which makes me noble, sucks for you.” I want to get it straight in my mind, but my lower belly cramps and warm liquid trickles down my thighs. I glance down, face blazing.

“Oh, crap.” I lock my legs together.

“Mari, we have to talk about what’s happening now,” Darragh says with a voice that’s both carefully gentle and intensely awkward.

I swallow. “I’m in heat.”

“Yeah. And eventually, that’s, uh, going to put me in rut.”

“What do we do?”

For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then, sweeping his chains to the side, he crouches, so when he speaks again, he’s below me, looking up. I think he’s making himself smaller, to reassure me, but a male with his presence cannot make himself submissive.

“If I’m in rut, and those men are between us, I’ll attack them. No strategy, no discipline. I’ll do damage, no doubt, but our chances are going to be a lot worse. I don’t like the odds.”

“What do you mean?”

“My wolf—he’s a killer. He does what he does, you know? He goes for the throat. But when he has the skin, if I’m awake, I’m still in there. It’s like riding a bucking bull, but I have some influence. Not much, granted. But some.”

He draws in a steadying breath. “If I was in rut—it wouldn’t be like that. The wolf would go straight for you, and I wouldn’t have a chance at stopping him. Even without guns, he’d be easy to take down. He wouldn’t care about saving his own skin. Only getting to you.”

“To, uh, what? Um, mount me?” My cheeks burn. “Or kill me?”

His brows draw together, and he drops his head. He doesn’t answer.

I go on for him. “And once you were dead, then they’d hurt me. Then they’d kill me.” The horror is creeping up my throat.

His face tightens. He can’t seem to bring himself to respond.

We fall silent.

“What do we do?” I finally ask, softly.

“They’re going to have to unchain us to get us out. The second they set you free, you shift and run.” He swallows. “If they don’t kill me first, if my wolf catches you, don’t fight. Present. When he mounts you, go for his eyes. Then go for his throat. Clamp down. Don’t let go.”

My mouth goes dry. “Would he try to mount me?”

“I don’t know.” He glances up. His eyes make my chest ache. Despite the creases in the corners, they’re freezing cold. And sad.

I don’t want to kill him.

I sure as hell don’t want his wolf to kill me.

Without thinking, I tug at my restraints. The leather has stretched a little. Not nearly enough to slip my wrist free, but it doesn’t bite into my skin anymore. I gaze down at my fist as I rotate it, my brain dull but spinning.