The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #3)(64)

“D-Darragh?”

He growls again. His fangs flash. From one instant to the next, something has changed. Something is different.

Oh, shit. Is this rut?

Fear shoots down my veins at the same time a gush of wetness soaks my pussy, dribbling down my splayed thighs. I freeze. I hardly breathe.

He rises to his feet. I fall to my butt, barely managing to cushion my wrist to my chest, and scuttle back. He reaches for me, but the chain catches him short, and he roars. As if newly aware of his bonds, he tears at them, fighting forward, wild-eyed, his bared fangs glistening.

With a groan, the container walls dent inward, but the metal plates don’t give.

Darragh raises his head to the roof and howls, a primal outcry of rage and the promise of retribution. My wolf whimpers and goes to her belly, caught between the impulse to run, hide, and present.

In a split second, the illusion of free choice is gone. I either do this and save him from himself, or I don’t. I leave him like this.

He left me, and my heart is still bitter, so bitter. But what if he didn’t want to?

I don’t think he wanted to.

I don’t think he’s just the male who hurt me. I think he lived a whole life before we recognized each other, and maybe I don’t understand everything, and maybe I haven’t tried.

Maybe he needs me.

Maybe I have to be the strong and brave one.

Oh, shit.

I don’t want to go down on all fours. I don’t want it to be anything like last time.

I’m so scared, and there’s no time. If they open the door and shoot us full of tranqs now, it’ll all happen like they want. We won’t have a chance.

Darragh’s howl of rage subsides into a prolonged growl, punctuated by snarls and the snap of his teeth, and his blanked-out eyes roll toward me. He tries to lunge forward, but he’s come as far as the chains will let him.

His throat rattles with a series of guttural snarls, and I don’t need my wolf to translate—it’s a demand to present.

For a moment, a sense of profound loneliness grips me. My gaze skitters around the empty box, dimming as the sun sets.

I don’t want to be alone in this. I want Darragh back.

And I’m so fucking terrified. My knees knock.

“D-Darragh?” I say, softly.

He snarls and fights against his chains, his skin flushing, his cock even harder and thicker, his balls heavy where they hang.

Inside my trembling body, a gush of heat clashes with a wave of cold fear.

“P-Please don’t hurt me.” I take a small step toward him. I can’t tear my eyes away. I’ve seen the man and the wolf, but I’ve never seen or imagined this terrifying amalgamation—Darragh’s innate dominance and strength coupled with his wolf’s wildness, his ferocity.

I’m not going to walk into his arms, am I? That’s insane.

But I’m not leaving him like this. I’m strong and brave and this is not ending with us disappearing—it ends with Darragh laying their bodies at my feet, like he said.

Again, I flash back to him racing for me in the clearing, throwing his arms wide, a different wildness in his eyes.

I take another small step forward.

“I-I’m scared,” I whisper to him.

His face doesn’t change. There’s no flicker of awareness in his blazing eyes, but as he strains toward me, he throws his shoulder back and sort of rotates his arm. It’s a jerky maneuver, like he’s a marionette on a string. He does it again with the other shoulder while he snarls, demanding I present, and my body instinctively responds, my nipples aching, my belly contracting.

It takes me longer than it should to realize what he’s doing. He’s winding the chains around his arms, pinning them behind his back. Obviously, he could free himself as easily as he’s strung himself up, but I understand.

Warmth infuses my chest. He’s in there, or if he isn’t, whatever he is now doesn’t want to hurt me.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. Sunshine fills my lungs. “I’m doing this.” I step closer.

He drops to his knees. His arms are pulled taut behind him, and he’s gripping the chains in his fists, like a sacrifice. He growls at me, and I don’t need my wolf to know what he’s saying. Come here. Now.

Every inch of my skin is alive. I want to touch him. Crush my aching, full breasts against his hard chest. Lick and bite his tensed, exposed neck.

I give in.

This is mine.

I drive my fingers into his hair, fist the strands, yank his head back. Snarl into his face.

He snarls back.

I nip his lower lip. His growls quiet, although they still vibrate his chest.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know what I want, and he has it.

I lower myself to his lap. He widens his thighs so I can kneel on the tops of them and open myself. I glance down. I’m hovering above his flushed, erect, greedy cock. If he bucked his hips, he’d have a good shot at impaling me, especially since I’ve wound my arms around his neck, and I’m rubbing my aching nipples over the crisp hairs on his pecs.

But he doesn’t. He growls for me, deep, approving, and he tracks the drag of my swollen breasts with pure gold eyes.

I rock, slipping his hot length through my wet lips, grinding my clit against the ridged head of his cock. It feels so good, climbing him, riding him, digging my nails into his shoulders, listening to him purr his satisfaction, his praise.