Chapter 9 - Aris

I relieve Ado of his watch and tell him to go get some rest, taking up the job of covering the perimeter. I stalk around the cabins, breathing in the fresh night air and checking for the scent of any nearby rogues.

Right after I'd left home for college, I used to lie awake at night, or when I did finally fall asleep, I'd dream about this land. I went to college in the inner-city, which made it difficult to get out and shift to stretch my muscles. But here, at home, I always had plenty of space to roam and hunt, pushing myself in my wolf form, always striving to get better.

My father trained me to understand both bodies better than most humans understand the one—when you change from standing on two feet to running on four, there's some getting used to the feeling. I first shifted when I was fourteen, but it's tradition to present yourself at sixteen. My dad emphasized the importance of showing off the wolf, honing it to be just as strong and capable as your human body. So every night, I had shifted and come out here, presenting my wolf to the pack at sixteen like I was naturally that strong and fast.

Since moving to D.C., Bigby and I purchased a parcel of land away from the city where we go to train and roam in our wolf forms, but it's not the same. Nothing is the same as being on the land where you grew up—land that's belonged to my family for millennia.

A cloud moves over the moon and shrouds the woods in darkness, and I find my thoughts returning to the darkness of the cabin, lying there on the sofa, hands on my face, willing my body to find some peace so I could finally fall asleep.

But it was practically impossible with Linnea so damn close to me.

No matter what I try to think about, the image of Linnea standing in the cabin, taking off her leggings, her nipples perked through that thin jacket, keeps coming back to my mind. I growl low in my throat and keep moving, trying to keep myself from lingering on the thought.

I could have said something the second I realized what she was doing, but it was like I was paralyzed, watching her. At first, I was baffled that she was choosing to undress when I was right there, face turned toward her, eyes wide.

When she kept going, despite my open look, I realized that because she couldn't see me in the dark, she assumed I also couldn't see her. My father would have been horrified that I didn't say something—it was proper to maintain a woman's modesty. But that woman was also my wife, and I couldn't look away if I tried, my entire body urging me to go to her. The best I could do was stay completely still as I watched her peel her pants off, kicking them away.

I shudder, thinking about how she had reached up to unclasp her bra and the way her breasts had pushed heavy against the thin material of her shirt, her nipples perked and visible in the moonlight. Was she as turned on as me? Was she thinking about me on the couch, fantasizing about coming over, lowering herself onto my lap—

My dick responded, and I knew I had to get out of there, or I was going to do something I regretted. I needed Linnea to feel safe with me in the cabin with her, and coming to her bed would only prove to her that I didn't truly have her safety in mind. My brain was constantly at war with my body.

I swallow through the lump in my throat, pacing further and further out into the woods, needing space from her. No matter how far I go, I can still feel her—awake, lying in bed in the cabin, and it's like she's waiting for me.

My mind races through possibilities, showing me the ways I could have her. Pictures materialize of her bent over the bed, me behind her, hands on her hips. I picture her knees buried in the mattress, her on all fours, my fist closed around her hair. I see her arching beneath me, her tits bouncing, and my arms braced on either side of her head. I pull her to the edge of the bed, spread her legs, tasting her like I'd dreamed about all those years ago, back when we were teenagers. I dreamed about Linnea back then more than I would ever admit.

After standing up, back in the cabin, I could smell her arousal, and I knew that if I went to her, she wouldn't say no. But was it her, or was it the mating bond? And did it matter if she was spreading her legs for me—

I cut the thought off again. Thoughts of Linnea are spiraling in my head nonstop, and I know I won't be at peace until I have her. It's my fault. I felt the connection on prom night, and I still went through with the blood-bond. There's no escaping how our bodies are drawn toward one another, and sooner or later, one of us is going to cave.

I slow to a stop and put my hand against a tree, panting. I didn't realize how hard I'd been pushing myself to run. After a moment, I sense a faint pounding and realize I can feel Linnea's heart skipping along like a bass in a faraway room.

Putting my hands in my hair and tipping my head to the sky, I force myself to breathe.

I can still feel her lips against mine on prom night, saying, "You're my mate."

At that moment, I'd thought of my father's disapproving stare and the pressure to stay in Rosecreek, to take over his spot, constantly facing his appraisal.

Of course, I felt it, too. But there was no way I was letting anything get in the way of my escape plan. So I'd lied to and belittled her, leaving her crying there in the hallway, though I still wanted to beat whoever had put her there in the first place.

My body aches, begs for me to go back, climb into bed with her, take her lips in mine, and finally, finally, run my hands down her sides, cup her breasts—

"Fuck," I swear out loud, realizing that not only am I fully hard now, but I'm also walking back in the direction of the cabin.

It's a textbook mating bond development. A brief period of total infatuation that many believe is specifically designed to help with breeding. Yearning for physical closeness, intense protectiveness, emotional bonding, and then, finally, an ultra-personal private line between you and your mate.

When it develops, it'll be stronger and clearer than anything I share with my team. Linnea could be on the other side of the world and still reach me clearly as if she were standing right next to me. Though the brief period of infatuation is physically painful and all-consuming if you ignore it, it's typical for mates to require a certain level of intimacy for the rest of their lives to avoid discomfort, which means, if you can help it, you try not to have your mate too far away.

But Linnea clearly isn't interested in me after everything I put her through. I wonder if there's any way to stop the mating bond from developing, and a ripping pain shoots through my head, my body punishing me for the traitorous thought.

So what? Our only option is to let this thing take hold, becoming mates and pairing for life? Do I settle down and start a family with a woman who hates me? My mind supplies me with a picture of Linnea standing in a kitchen, wearing an apron. It adjusts the picture so she's in nothing but the apron.

Silence falls thickly around me, the forest quieting until the only thing I can hear is my concentrated breath, the sound of my feet against the leaves and pine needles carpeting the ground. The air around me is crisp and cool, bordering on too cold, chilled by the river below. I remember walking through these woods as a kid, shifting with my dad and racing around through the trees. I try to focus on the shapes of the trees and the faint trickling of the river below. I try to ignore the ever-present beat, beat, beat of Linnea's heart, like it's situated right next to mine.

I right my course, staying along the perimeter, checking again for the scent of any rogues. I need to focus. I need to distract myself.

I need Linnea. Fuck it.

Turning, I head straight for the cabin, thinking about her body draped in the blanket, waiting for me. I think about the way her hair is going to feel between my fingers, her body beneath mine, her arching her back so her tits press into my chest—

"What are you doing?"

Bigby is standing just on the edge of the clearing, his hulking form cutting a line in the horizon. His eyes are narrowed on me, and thankfully, my arousal abates for a moment, looking at him instead of thinking of Linnea.

"Nothing," I say, clearing my throat, then, refocusing on him, I continue, "Watching the perimeter. Don't worry about covering your watch. I got it."

"So you're going to stay up all night instead of getting any rest? Because you don't want to sleep with your mate for some reason."

A jolt of need shoots south. It's painful, and I curse, wincing and bending at the waist.

"Fuck, Man, don't talk about her."

"Jesus Christ, Cadell, get yourself together. Just go back and—"

"No. This isn't happening right now. I'm just going to—"

"You're going to what? Ignore hundreds of years of biology and a deeply ingrained function you can't separate from your own body? You have to go to her—"

"I said no," I growl, setting my face and meeting his eyes, still slightly bent over in pain. "I can't. You don't understand."

"You're right," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head at me. "I don't understand. But I have seen this before. Had a cousin who got paired with a guy she loathed. Or, that's what she said, anyway. We all watched her try to resist the mating bond. Dude, listen to me; she ignored it for two years. She hated the idea of settling down and traveled instead. Managed to stay away from him, ignore the desire, I don't know. It wasn't as bad for her, she coped. But that guy? He was fucking frothing at the mouth. His family literally had to tie him down to keep him from going after her. She only came back because the guy's mother begged her and said he was going to do something drastic. Hurt himself, maybe.

"So cousin comes back to town after years of being gone, and the second she sees him, her heart breaks. She was in love with him the whole time, just hated the idea of being tethered to another person. They've gotten over it since, and they travel around together since she doesn't want to settle. No kids, which is hard for him because he wants them—you know how it is, that's nature trying to take its course—but they worked it out."

I struggle to maintain eye contact, and he sighs when I don't respond to his story.

"Are you hearing what I'm telling you? You feel like this now? Imagine two years from now. You're not going to be able to muscle your way through this one, Man. And that was just some guy. Not an alpha. Your genetics are out to get you with this one, Aris."

"I told you—"

"Having you out here, keyed up and out of your mind, stalking around, isn't helping anyone. So don't go back to Linnea if you really think that's something you can manage—"

"—Don't say her name—"

"—But get out of here. Go down to the water or something, damn."

After a moment, I nod once and turn on my heel, heading down to the river. Bigby, as much as I hate to admit it, is right. I'm not much of a use when I can't think straight. Maybe the water will help me shake the vice around my head.

When I strip my clothes off and submerge myself in the freezing water, it's the first relief I've felt since my body touched Linnea's back in the bar. The shock to my system momentarily sends thoughts of her and the maddening drive to return to her out of my head.

Despite the looming threat to my team and the huge problem of what to do about Linnea, I can still admire the scenery. I watch the way the water laps against the shore and note how the moonlight slants off the soft waves. I lean against the rocks, letting my eyes droop, and finally relax.