Chapter 4

Russt

I thought emptying my balls would clear my head, but goddamnit, she tested my control and shoved me closer to the ledge of insanity. My rage burns hotter than ever before, but the mental snapshot of her expressive, wide eyes the first time she tasted my cock softens my alpha heart.

Doubt sneaks through me.

When we were kids, she always had to have the last word. She always fought back and never once hid her natural reactions, which made sneaking gross things into her pocket extremely rewarding and hilarious to my immature self.

She hides now. With her head bowed and her hair a curtain around her face, I can't read her expression. Her body language doesn't give me an obvious message, either. She tucks her hands in her lap but doesn't fidget. Curls her shoulders inward but doesn't cower. Breathes raggedly but doesn't cry.

Her thoughts are a mystery to me.

Which only proves she's perfected her acting skills.

"Ready for round two, then, little mouse?" I sneer as I wrap my fist around her throat and push her onto her back.

She doesn't fight, but she also doesn't follow my lead willingly, providing just enough resistance to relay her reluctance without triggering my alpha instincts.

Underneath the blush staining her cheeks and the bruise marring her face, a sickly pallor steals the color from her flesh. Her lashes flutter, but she doesn't open her eyes.

My cock hardens as her wet shirt clings to her breasts.

I release her throat and rip the shirt off her shoulders, but even with the back sliced open, it proves difficult. The soaked fabric clings to her arms, so I work each long sleeve off and fling the ruined shirt into the corner of the room.

I reach for her bare breasts but freeze with my hands an inch above her. Disbelief holds me hostage as I stare at what the fabric hid.

In different stages of healing, bruises cover her arms and torso. Smaller, finger-shaped marks line her arms and shoulders while bigger, fist-sized bruises color her ribs. The line of swollen, angry flesh cutting across her midsection most likely came from the edge of her kitchen counter and probably hurt like hell when I had her flung over my shoulder, but she never complained.

A thick, jagged scar peeks over her right shoulder. I flip her over and fight a wave of nausea.

Having firsthand knowledge of how different wounds heal, I read the story of violence left on her flesh. A glass bottle broke over her right shoulder and left deep gashes. The imprint of a belt buckle under her left shoulder blade fills me with horror. Whoever swung that belt intended to break skin. In the center of her back, a mostly faded boot print lingers in ugly yellows and greens.

Hideous fear grips my heart. I roll her onto her back with too much force, but I can't apologize. A red haze creeps over my vision as I slip toward alpha rampage. I yank the front of her jean shorts open. Buttons ping over the floor. She swats at my forearms, but I grab her waistband and shuck her shorts off her legs.

A dark purple bruise covers her left hipbone, but as horrible as it looks, a sliver of relief sneaks into my chest as I part her knees and find no traces of sexual assault. She lashes out and shoves her heels into my thighs, scooting herself away and hitting me hard enough to leave bruises.

I snarl and reach for her. Our eyes meet. My stomach drops.

Her physical pain is nothing compared to the agony in her soul.

I can't breathe through the tornado of guilt and self-hatred rampaging through my chest. I stand and shove my cock back into my pants before stomping from the room. My cruel words echo louder in my mind than the slamming of the bathroom door.

I called her a liar, a whore, and a bitch. She's none of those things.

I head straight to my personal gym and attack the water-filled punching bag hanging from the rafters. Sweat drips down my body. I hit harder. Double my footwork. Kick higher.

The bag breaks and water gushes onto the floor.

She was telling the truth. Her father hurt her for years. I blamed her for everything, but she's innocent.

I roll my shoulders and move to the stack of tires. My knuckles split, but I start at the fourth from the top and work my way down, clearing a tire from the pile with each punch.

I push myself until every inch of my body screams for relief, then double down and attack the second water bag without a break. My thighs burn, but it's not enough. I can't go back to her until I've exhausted myself. Every muscle in my back spasms. I swing harder. Agony vibrates up my arms with every strike. My bones ache.

I roar and bust the second bag with a final burst of power.

With nothing left to take my rage out on, I fall to my knees and grab my head before my thoughts explode my brain.

What have I done?

Morwenna's scars and bruises join the memories of my mother's broken body. The hatred in her father's eyes as he fought with my sire takes on a new meaning. The words he snarled down at me wound me further.

He was right. I'm not fit to take care of his daughter. I couldn't see past his ruse to protect her from him.

For twelve years, she suffered at his hands while I foolishly hated her from afar. He's gone now, but I wasn't the one who saved her.

She did that herself.

Shame and guilt riddle my heart with gaping holes, joining the wounds left by my parents' murder.

Their deaths blinded me. Trapped in mourning and loneliness, I blamed her for everything. Even when I heard of her mother's death, my hardened heart refused to see how vulnerable she was with the male who massacred his neighbors without qualms.

I don't deserve to wallow in self-pity, so I pick myself up off the floor and stumble to the door. Halfway down the hall, warmth oozes down my front. I look down to find my hand clutched over my heart and blood pouring from my knuckles and staining my wet shirt.

With a snarl, I flick lines of crimson on the walls as I shake out my arms and finish stomping through my den to the washroom. I fling the door so hard it bounces off the wall and swings back at me, but I stop it with an impatient hand and step into the room.

My heart cracks at the sight of my omega curled up in the corner with the shower still raining down on her. With her back against the wall and her arms wrapped around her legs, she's tucked into a small, tight, defensive ball. Her hair curtains around her legs, hiding everything except her shoulders and toes. Her utter stillness terrifies me. I'd rather her scream and cry and take her frustrations out on me than shut herself off from the world.

I step into the shower and hiss at the frigid temperature. Concern squeezes my heart as I turn off the water and approach her. She doesn't look up. I squat in front of her, but she doesn't move.

Terror rips through me. I inch my fingers to her shoulder and release a relieved breath when she moves, even though she shifts away from me.

"Morwenna, I'm sorry," I say.

Water drips from our bodies. Blood oozes from my knuckles. She shivers from the cold.

I gather her to my chest and carry her across the room. She covers her face with her hands and ignores the world despite her nakedness.

I wrap her in a towel and grab two extras before stalking into the hall.

Her scent nearly sends me to my knees, but I push through my jellified muscles and make it to the kitchen before dropping into the only chair.

I wrap a second towel around her legs and tuck the end around her toes, covering her entire bottom half. When her wet hair sticks to my chest, I release a soothing rumble and carefully brush it away from her hand-covered face before tucking a third towel behind her shoulders and closing it over her head.

Knowing I should give her space, but unable to stand the thought of letting her go, I pull her tighter to my chest and release a gentle purr. She resists for several minutes before finally succumbing to the lure of my alpha rumble.

It's a dirty play, but I'm desperate enough to use it. I wait until the worst of the tension drains from her before reaching for the pitcher on the counter and moving it to the table. Without standing, I grab a cup from beside the sink and several food containers from the fridge before opening the cupboard and selecting my favorite dry goods from the shelf.

I wasn't planning to return to my den for several days, but I always overstock on necessities. I'll never suffer food scarcity again.

And neither will my omega. She may reject me until the end of time, but I'm never letting her out of my sight again.

I whisper her name and give her a gentle squeeze before peeking underneath her towel. She refuses to move her hands away from her face.

"I'm sorry, little mouse."

She presses her hands harder against her face and shakes her head. I sigh and open a few containers with my free hand while I hold her close with the other. She shudders as I pour water into the cup, but no matter how gently I coax her to take a drink, she will not reveal her face.

I bite back a frustrated sigh and deepen my purr instead. Deciding to give her a few minutes to settle, I put the towel back over her head and stroke my hands gently over her back and side, mindful of her bruises. Her shivering stops, and she shifts the tiniest bit toward me.

Since my knuckles won't fit in the jar, I pour a few pieces of dried seaweed onto the table, pop one into my mouth, and crunch as loud as I can with my mouth closed, hoping to pique her interest. It works. She moves under the towel but doesn't pull her hand away from her face. I pinch a chip between my finger and thumb and lift the hem to find her peeking one eye out through her digits. She watches as I wave the morsel in front of her and gives the cutest scowl when I pop it into my mouth.

I offer her a new piece. She lifts one hand to take it, shifting the other to block her features, but I tsk , dodge her hands, and slip the bite between her lips.

Her squeak of dismay turns to a moan of delight as she savors the burst of flavor, but despite her obvious enjoyment, she keeps her hands over her face.

I grab another bite, nudge her wrist out of the way, and sneak it into her mouth. She chews without hesitation.

I pour a second item onto the table. Several pieces skitter onto the floor, but I don't give a fuck. I show her they're safe to eat by sticking one in my mouth before offering her a bite. The wariness in her gaze hurts my heart, but I deserve it.

I systematically offer her a few pieces of everything I have, leaving a mess on the table while adamantly wiping the crumbs off her cocoon. As the tension slowly drains from her body, I lighten my purr and pick up the glass of water.

"Move your hands, little mouse. Let me see your face."

She shakes her head.

"At least drink some water," I plead.

She sighs and peeks through her fingers before clenching her eyes shut and locking me out.

Emotions well up within me as I study her bruised knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Morwenna. I didn't know," I say, weaving my words into my purr.

My heart nearly lurches out of my ribcage as she drops her hands to thump my chest. "I told you, but you wouldn't listen." Her glare pulses down my spine and gathers in my balls, but exhaustion weighs down my limbs as she shoves at my chest again. "You chose not to believe me." The grief in her tone shreds my soul. "You hurt me when you left me, and you hurt me when you came back. You're the worst." She hits me harder. "I hate you."

I let her pull the towel over her head and retreat behind her hands.

"You have every right to hate me, little mouse. I should have never believed a word out of your father's mouth."

She curls into herself and sobs. I tuck her against my chest and listen to her cry, knowing the pain will forever linger in my heart. Water drips off my wet clothes, adding to the puddles on the kitchen floor, but I rub her back and drop my cheek to the top of her covered head and suck down a lungful of her scent to center myself. My discomfort doesn't matter as long as she's safe and warm.

Even through the towels, the floral hint of estrous emanating from her pores grows stronger. With her heat a ticking time bomb and my opportunity to clear the air before she explodes diminishing, I hold her closer and swallow my emotions before speaking.

"We found your father standing over my mother's body, covered in her blood. My father—"

She yanks the towel off her head and slaps her hand over my mouth.

"I don't want to hear your lies!" The fire in her eyes steals my breath and hardens my cock. I clamp my hands over my thighs and go statue still, letting her launch into her tirade. She's long overdue to purge the pain festering in her soul. "Our mothers died in an ambush by a neighboring clan, and when your father went berserk and disappeared, my father offered to take care of you until you were old enough to provide for yourself."

She curls her fingernails into my cheek and chin and slams her tiny fist into my shoulder. Her towel falls away, but I can't look away from her expressive eyes to enjoy her naked breasts. "But you refused his help and said you never wanted to see me ever again." She swings again and hits hard enough to make me wince. "You said I was too much trouble. Too spoiled and selfish. That I wasn't worth it without your parents around." A single tear spills from her lashes as she thumps my shoulder again.

I clench my jaw and work through the fury and anguish pounding through me, desperately clinging to my control. Her budding scent clouds my mind and the fury in her glare turns my cock to steel, but the pain lurking in her depths helps me focus on her words.

"You left me, Russt." She aims lower this time, striking right over my heart. "You promised to always protect me," She punches me again with surprising force, "and then you left me behind." I grit my teeth. Her sharp knuckles dig deeper into my sore chest. "My mom died, and my father became a monster, and You. Left. Me." She punctuates those damning words with jabs of her fist. "You hurt me worse than my father ever could." Angry tears trail down her cheeks. I tighten my grip on my thighs and fight the urge to wipe away her tears. "Every time he hit me and you weren't there to save me, I died a little more inside." She thumps her own chest before filleting me alive with her tortured eyes and sharp knuckles as she punches directly over my heart again. "I trusted you, Russt. I wanted to be yours, but you discarded me like trash."

I catch her wrist before she hits me again, unable to stand her pain, and engulf the back of her head with my hand. She gasps as I pull her face up to mine.

"I didn't discard you, Morwenna, and I never wanted to leave you. Your father lied to you. I never said those things," I growl, barely holding onto my control even with fatigue and pain weighing down every cell in my body. My mind rages at the injustices we've both suffered.

"Why would he lie to me?" she snarls through gritted teeth.

"To manipulate you. To break you down and make you easier to control. To hurt you. A wounded prisoner is easier to manage than one full of fire," I say.

Tears glisten in her eyes. She grinds her teeth, still not willing to believe me.

"He lied to you, little mouse."

She scoffs and jerks her wrist out of my grip before turning her face away.

"He lied to both of us," I insist.

"Of course, you'd say that. You lied to me when you promised to protect me, and you're lying to me now." I reach for her chin, but she swats me away. "Next, you'll say my father killed my mother, too," she snarls.

I drop my hand to her hip and don't respond.

The possibility always niggled at the back of my mind, but with her words hovering in the air, certainty flows through me. She stiffens and wraps her arms around herself as the silence stretches.

"My father would never hurt my mother. They were happy together," she says to the empty room.

"Were they, little mouse?"

I know I've hit a nerve when her attention swings to my face.

She curls her shoulders and freezes as she feels her bare breasts. With her eyes holding mine, she slowly reaches for her towel. I can't help but steal a glance at her rosy nipples and high, firm breasts before she covers them. I swallow and force my eyes back to hers. Despite the fear in her eyes, she meets my stare head on as I speak.

"Your mother came home with injuries all the time, and she always walked on eggshells around him, didn't she?"

She swallows. I resist the urge to pull her closer and kiss the wrinkles off her forehead, electing to run my hand through my wet hair instead. The sadness growing in her eyes is too much to bear. Mixed sensations flow through me as my cock pulses and my heart aches.

"I'm not lying to you, Morwenna, but you have every right not to believe me." Instead of dropping my hand to my thigh, I cup her hip through the towel, needing to touch and soothe her, but unable to trust myself. "I was wrong to believe anything that came out of your father's mouth. I'm sorry."

She pulls the towel tighter around herself and studies my face with skepticism, but the hint of hope sparking in her eyes reaches deep within me and firms my control.

"You don't have to forgive or believe me, but will you hear me out?" I flex my fingers into her hip before sliding my hand up to cup her elbow. "I listened to you and accepted your abuse." Alarm widens her eyes. I give in to temptation, weave my hand into her hair, and cup the side of her head. "I won't hurt you, little mouse, not on purpose. I'll never hit you. Never abuse you." I run my thumb over her damp cheek and tease the corner of her mouth. "Never force myself on you again." I shift my gaze from her lush lips to her eyes. "And I'll never lie to you. I never have and I never will."

Her breath hitches and she searches my eyes, but after a moment, she dampens the hope blooming within her and dons a leery expression.

"Let me tell you what happened. You don't have to believe me, just listen," I plead.

"Fine," she says.

Even though she fills her tone with reluctance, relief pours through me. I inhale her decadent pheromones and wonder how I survived even a single day without her.

Dread mutes my relief, but her acquiescence means she doesn't totally hate me. She hasn't given up on us yet.

I was wrong to believe anything her father said. We wasted so many years hurting each other from afar, and now I have so much work ahead of me to mend the wounds between us. It doesn't matter how long it takes, how hard it is, or how much of my pride I must sacrifice, I'll do whatever it takes to earn her trust again.

Which means flushing out the truth from over a decade ago. It'll hurt like hell, but we can't let our past fester between us anymore.

She's the bravest, most resilient, sweetest female on this godforsaken dystopian planet, and knowing I'll cause her more pain kills me, but this is for the better. I don't want to relive the worst day of my life, but for her, I'll suffer through it as many times as she needs to hear it.

This is the first step toward our happily ever after.

She's the only one I've ever wanted. She owns my heart.

I was an idiot to give her up, and I was an asshole for believing anything that came out of her father's mouth.

I'll never let her go again.

She's mine.