Page 18 of Traded to the Alpha Wolf

Would it have made a difference if I’d refused to give blood, or spat out the pills, or run the first time I caught them watching me with that clinical, speculative look? Probably not. I couldn’t have left, not until I got what I wanted. I needed to know who killed my family, and that meant staying in the game, even if it meant letting them run their experiments on me. The memory makes me sick, not just because I let it happen, but because I wanted it to work. I wanted the hunters to trust me. I wanted to be useful. I played the victim so well that I almost forgot I was one.

But now I’m not even sure who the real enemy is. The hunters who killed my parents, or the ones who kept me alive? The shifters who want to use me for their own ends, or myself, for letting it all happen? I look at Cade when he comes back into the room, steaming mugs in hand, and I realize I don’t even know my own mind anymore.

He sets the coffee on the nightstand and sits at the edge of the bed, taking a sip of his. For all my muddled thoughts, I immediately shift to thinking about last night again, the one thing that feels real right now. Cade’s hands on my body. As if hecan read my mind, his eyes flicker to mine, and I let the covers drop slightly, revealing my breasts. He hesitates for a moment before leaning over, placing his coffee next to mine, his large frame dwarfing mine as he looks down on me.

“Are you trying to tempt me?” he asks, amusement lacing his words. “Even though the heat is over?”

I should say no, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t be tempting this alpha who could crush me with one hand.

Instead, I let the rest of the covers fall away and relish the way his eyes turn golden. “Maybe I am,” I whisper, but my words are swallowed by his kiss, and I let myself drown in the moment and push thoughts of the hunters, escaping Cade, and revenge away. At least for now.

Chapter 11 - Cade

There are two kinds of silence in a house. The first is the easy quiet of belonging; the soft, warm hush of a home when its people move through it with ease and connection. The second kind is the silence that tends to have teeth. The kind made up of everything unsaid, every impulse bitten back out of pride and fear. Mara and I have been living in a strange mix of the two ever since we slept together when she was in heat.

I wouldn’t call it awkward, not exactly. After that night, the one I spent with her writhing against me, her heat in the air so thick I could taste it, after I claimed her, I expected things to be simpler. At least physically. Instead, it’s like we’ve both signed an armistice that neither of us really trusts. She moves through the house in a way that’s almost feline. She’s careful, silent, and always on the lookout. She doesn’t flinch away from me anymore, but she doesn’t engage, either. I think what happened when she came into heat shocked her, and she’s still feeling the effects. I can’t believe she’d never been with a man before, but I’d be lying if I said my wolf wasn’t happy about it.

Most days, she’s camped out in the library or the kitchen, draining my coffee supply and reading her way through every book in the house.

She’s sitting at the island when I close my laptop and go looking for her. The morning sun catches the red in her hair, making it look almost unreal. Her face is a mask of concentration, eyes locked on her tablet, fingers curled around a mug. She doesn’t look up until I’m close enough to see the ghost of a bite mark on her neck, which I know is my doing, and the sight of it slices me open just a little. She sees me looking and gives a tiny, defiant smile, as if daring me to mention it.

I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’m a bastard to have taken her innocence when I’m so much older and so far from innocent myself. My wolf doesn’t give a damn, though. If anything, he just wants more.

I pour myself a mug and lean against the counter, arms crossed. “You planning to finish all the coffee in the county before noon?”

She shrugs, but the corner of her mouth pulls up. “I like the ritual. Reminds me of being a kid.”

There’s a story there, but she’s always careful to give me just enough to keep me wanting the rest. I wait, but she doesn’t add anything, just taps the mug and lets the silence fill in the gaps. I almost admire her discipline, her refusal to spill anything she doesn’t want to. There’s nothing childish about her silence. It’s calculated, and I realize she’s not the lost stray I brought back with me at all; she’s capable and intriguing. And distractingly beautiful.

I want to ask if she’s still planning her escape, or if she’s waiting for me to do something worse than keep her here. But I don’t. I know if I press her, she’ll just shut down again. Instead, I say, “We’re leaving in an hour. Get dressed.”

She looks up, startled. “Leaving? Like, outside?”

“Alliance meeting out at a diner we use. I’m not leaving you here alone, and I doubt you’d want my betas watching you, so you’re coming with.” I try to sound casual, but it’s not a request. I need her with me. Not just for her safety, but because I don’t trust anyone else with her. Her heat has broken, but I can still scent the aftershocks, and I wouldn’t leave her alone with another male right now, even the ones I trust. My wolf won’t allow it.

She holds my gaze for a second, and something flickers across her face. Fear, maybe. Despite everything that’s happened between us, I still can’t get a read on how she feels about shifters. She says herself that she’s not a hunter, despite living with them, and she doesn’t appear to share the same zealot-level hatred that I’d expect from the Order, but there’s so much she’s not saying that I have no idea of her feelings toward us—unless you count her reactions in bed when I’m buried deep inside her.

The visual that follows takes me by surprise, and I feel my wolf surging, reaching for her. Her heat is over, but my wolf still feels the same, almost overwhelming urge to take her again and again. I realize I’m staring and force my wolf back down. When I focus, I notice that her eyes look slightly glazed again, too, and I’ve no doubt she’s thinking similar thoughts. It’s a heady feeling, but also disconcerting, because I’ve never experienced anything like this before.

I’m not sure it’s supposed to be like this.

“Go get ready,” I say, my voice sounding rougher than I intended, but I need to break this spell and get a grip on myself. She nods and walks down the hallway to her room, leaving me standing there, wondering how I’m going to explain any of this to the alliance without them thinking I’ve gone soft or lost my mind.

I drive us in silence, taking the switchbacks fast enough to make the tires complain, but Mara doesn’t flinch. She sits with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the world blurring past the window, the way you do when you’re trying not to betray how your stomach is tying itself in knots. She’s dressed in black jeans and a clean white T-shirt with her old jacket over the top. She looks like she could pass for any pretty city girl hitching a ride to the mountains, but the set of her jaw and the pale tension at her temples says she’s steeling herself for a fight.

I watch her from the corner of my eye as the pines thicken, the road narrowing to a single lane of cracked asphalt. She hasn’t spoken once since we left the house, and I know I should say something, but I can feel the tension coiling between us, and I get the feeling I’ll make it worse if I try.

When we crest the last rise, I finally break. “You always just lived in cities?”

She shrugs, but I notice her hands are clenched. “On the outskirts. Nothing like this; the whole area feels like a movie set.” She doesn’t look at me, but her voice is steadier than I expected. “You could bury a dozen bodies out here, and nobody would ever find them.”

I bark a laugh. “That’s half the appeal.”

She lets the joke settle, then asks, so quietly I almost miss it, “Who’s going to be there?”

I think about it for a moment. “The alliance, just the alphas, and maybe their mates. Willow, because she understands the stuff in that report better than anyone.”

That snags her attention. “Willow’s a scientist?”