Chapter 27

If anyone were to see me now, they would think I was sulking. But Rion No Middle Name Doe—I’m already prepared for our wedding—doesn’t sulk. He just broods in relative peace and contemplates stabbing anyone who stares at him for longer than a second. And Rion has a lot of sharp, pointy, orgasmic knives. He cuddles with them at night and asks them to run away with him.

And…

And apparently, he also talks in third person. Dammit. I mean, I talk in third person. At least it’s better than if I chose to talk in second person. Can you imagine how annoying that would be?

You step through the halls. You stab a ho. You smile manically. Surprise…you’re a deranged serial killer.

But back to the matter at hand.

I. Don’t. Brood.

But fuck, all I can see when I close my eyes is Nina’s pasty face mottled with hideous bruises and thick, never-ending blood. I still get sick to my fucking stomach at the thought. And then I murder any poor sap who gives me a funny face. What constitutes as a funny face? Any face that isn’t Nina’s.

Or Bitch Mage’s.

Because we have a bond.

It’s inseparable.

Dion for the win.

My good mood instantly evaporates as my thoughts drift back to Nina, as they always do. I know I’m being cold and aloof towards her, but I can’t help it. What good am I to my mate if I can’t protect her? Fuck, she was my responsibility that night, and I slept through an attack that could’ve taken her life. If Logan hadn’t gotten there when he did…

Self-loathing percolates in my gut, rushing up my throat and tasting vaguely of acid, but I try not to drown in that emotion. I don’t deserve to.

What I deserve is Nina to slap me in the face and tell me that I’m not man enough to be her mate. That I don’t deserve her. Then, I’ll turn into a cute little kitty and lick my paws while Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”blares in the background. Of course, I won’t leave Nina—it’s literally impossible and the mere thought makes me ill. But I won’t bother her. I’ll remain in the shadows, always stalking, always aware, always protecting. What happened before will never happen again. I’ll make damn sure of it, even if it costs me my life.

But alas, I’m weak, and I can’t go another minute without seeing with my own two eyes that Nina’s alive and well. It’s like an itch that I know I shouldn’t scratch but I can’t seem to stop myself. I still having fucking nightmares of that night, and I wouldn’t blame Nina if she never forgives me for letting her down when she needed me.

Hell, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.

The meeting with Logan has left me shaken in more ways than one. I don’t know if I want to kill the smug fucker or get down on my knees and kiss his shoes. He saved Nina, my mate, when I couldn’t, and that’s a metaphorical kick to my dick.

I know Nina is in the kitchen with Bronson on a date, so it’s there I head, skirting past a group of inmates heading in the opposite direction. I give them a narrowed-eyed, frosty glare, one Damien would be proud of.

Are they giving me funny looks? Do I need to kill them? Nah. I’m pretty sure that fucker is just constipated. Or he just had some serious anal, because his butt looks mighty tense.

Humming beneath my breath—a sad, despondent song because I’m still depressed as fuck—I head past the row of tables in the cafeteria and towards the little nook in the wall that serves as our kitchen. At least when the magic of the Labyrinth doesn’t automatically replenish our food supply.

I expect to hear Nina’s sweet giggles or Bronson’s grumbly voice, but only silence greets me.

Instantly, I’m on alert, my spine prickling with unease.

Did they leave?

I wouldn’t be surprised if Bronson took Nina back to his cell for a little…one on one time. You know, the apple dumpling surprise. The sausage highway. The puffin in the muffin. The polka-dot daydream.

You know—S. E. X.

As I hone in my senses, I become aware of two heartbeats. Soft. Subdued.

The shift takes over me before I can stop it, and where once a man stood now stands a beast. My tiger shakes out his furry head before stalking forward on silent paws, his mouth opened and his teeth bared.

Shit. I’m doing it again. Talking in third person.

Because fuck everyone. I am the tiger.

I prowl forward, using my head to open up the swinging door, and then I freeze, my fur bristling.

Directly in front of me is a runt of a man, his eyes wide and vacant and a bloody heart resting haphazardly on his chest. Not just any bloody heart. His bloody heart. In his hand is a gun—a gun that I recognize as belonging to a guard. How the fuck did he smuggle that in here? No doubt, he paid good money for it. I’ll have to find the guard involved and kill him. Painfully.

I twist my large head to see my beautiful, perfect mate resting unconscious a few feet away, the pool of blood around the guy having not quite reached her yet.

Panic thrums through me, just as prevalent as it was when she was attacked by the fucking siren, and I shift back to my real boy form, dropping to my knees at her side. I brush a shaky hand over her face, capturing a strand of her obsidian hair before resting my fingers on her pulse. Steady. She’s alive.

My eyes flicker from her serene face to the man missing a heart, and diminutive pieces begin to click together. I have no doubt that Nina raged out and killed him—something that will destroy her when she awakes. And I also know that she overworked herself and her powers. Using your powers is like using your muscles. You need to train them and build up an endurance.

“You’ll be fine, Buttercup,” I assure her sleepy form, planting my lips against her clammy forehead. She stirs in her sleep, almost as if she’s subconsciously reaching for me, but doesn’t wake. But that’s okay. She doesn’t need to wake up yet. I’ll watch over her until she does.

Though…

Though what caused her to rage out the way she did?

She didn’t do it when the siren attacked her, though I have no doubt she’s strong enough to have resisted his allure and killed him.

She only embraces her inner darkness, her beast, when one of us is in trouble.

My head snaps to the side, just as a pained groan echoes through the air. Bronson lies slightly behind one of the tall, metal tables, blood sticking his shirt to his chest.

Fuck!

I scramble towards him, ignoring the way my dick accidentally touches his hand—I totally shredded my clothes when I shifted the first time—and hover over the poor fucker.

“You better not die, Wolfie,” I say as I begin to fondle his bullet wound like some sort of sick pervert. I need to get the bullet out if he’s going to be able to heal himself. “I’m too fucking lazy to dig you a grave. Though…I don’t really know where we would put a grave for you. There’s not really a lot of dirt in the prison. Oh! Maybe I’ll shove you in a plant and staple flowers to your decaying corpse so you can be a pretty tree. Would you like that, Wolfie? Would you like to be a pretty tree?” As I talk, my searching fingers finally clasp the bullet. Bronson releases another anguished whine, but I don’t hesitate pulling it out and tossing it to the side.

There.

Hopefully, his wolf healing will kick in and close the damn wound.

Or else he’s a goddamn human tree. I refuse to take no for an answer.

Not that he could say no. He’d be fucking dead.

“Is he going to be okay?” a soft, breathy voice inquires from behind me. I turn to see Nina sitting up, her white eyes wide in her unnaturally pale face. She’s always been ashen—a product of years with little to no sunlight—but I’ve never seen her like this before. She looks…sickly. My girl doesn’t have enough meat on her bones.

“He’ll be fine.” I try to make my voice cheery and lighthearted, but it probably comes across like I’m taking a major shit and then quickly spraying Febreze so no one will smell it.

Not that that has happened to me before.

“Rion.” Her lower lip trembles as she turns her blind gaze in the general direction of the dead body. “I killed that man, didn’t I?”

Anger momentarily darkens my vision. I may be a dumb man, but I’m not a dumb man. I’m able to understand exactly what happened. This fucker, whoever he was, tried to kill Nina and Bronson. Bronson, of course, put himself in front of Nina and caught a bullet to his chest for the action. Nina freaked and attacked the fucker, ripping out his heart.

I’m so fucking proud of my girl, I could kiss her.

“You did what you had to do,” I state firmly, hoping that she hears the sincerity in my voice. I don’t ever want her to apologize for taking care of herself and our family. Ever. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and my lover will be on the fucking top of the food chain if I have my say in things. If it’s between her life and anyone else’s, she should always choose hers.

Always.

“I thought you were mad at me,” she finally chokes out, and the sheer emotion in her voice makes me feel like a piece of shit. Broken. It makes me feel fucking broken, like she stuck her hand in my own chest and pulled out my heart, instead of the heart of the assassin. “And then this assassin attacked me and Bron. And Bron got hurt. And I used my powers. And then I had a strange dream, and I think this one guy?—”

“Hey.” I crawl towards her on my hands and knees until I’m able to pull her in my lap. I try to ignore the way her ass feels against my cock, because now is not the fucking time to get a boner. “I was never, ever mad at you, Buttercup. Don’t even think that.”

“Then why have you been ignoring me?” She twists until her face is pressed against my neck, her tears burning my skin. I think the events of the last few days have finally begun to catch up with her. First, her attack. Then, my own shitty behavior. And finally, Bronson getting shot. I can feel how badly she’s itching to crawl towards him, but I refuse to let her go. Not yet. Not until she understands.

“I’ve been feeling…guilty,” I confess at last, swallowing heavily. I rub my hand up and down her back, attempting to soothe her. “Because of what happened. I felt…” I struggle to articulate my thoughts, but fuck. For the first time ever, I’m at a loss for words. “I felt as if I didn’t deserve to be your mate.”

She reels away from me as if I struck her. Confusion splays across her pretty, angelic face as her white eyes widen.

“W-what? W-why?” She sniffles. “Did I make you feel that way?”

“No!” I rush to assure her, bundling her in my arms once more and holding her against my chest. She’s still tense, her muscles taut, but she finally rests her head back on my shoulder. “It was my own fucking fault. I’m not used to feeling so many feelings, and you, my dear buttercup, make me feel them all. I was scared that I almost lost you. Angry that I didn’t protect you. And honestly? I was jealous that Logan was there to save you when I wasn’t. I’m so sorry?—”

“Don’t apologize.” Her voice is harsher than I ever remember hearing it. Certainly harsher than she’s ever talked to me before. I freeze automatically, and I’m pretty sure I gape at her like a fish out of water, flopping uselessly on land. “You have nothing to apologize for. Do you hear me, Rion? Nothing. At all. What happened was in no way your fault. I love you, you stupid…you stupid butthole!” She jabs a finger in my chest, and I don’t bother to contain my smile at her insult. Fuck, I love her. Especially when she’s feisty.

She crawls out of my lap, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think she’s leaving me. I quite literally panic and make a pathetic, desperate mewling noise that totally ruins all of the street cred I’ve managed to gain.

But she only crawls over to Bronson, as if it pains her to be apart from her injured mate for too long, and checks his pulse. The tension physically leaves her shoulders when she confirms that he’s alive and well, before she positions him so his head is in her lap and she’s stroking his blond hair.

Fucking hell. I almost want to get shot just to have her do that to me.

Is that fucked up?

Don’t answer that. Unless you’re going to say, “No, that’s not fucked up. That’s completely normal. Go shoot yourself in the chest, Rion, and ride that pony.”

I crawl towards both Nina and Bronson and claim her hand that isn’t stroking Bronson’s hair.

“Don’t shut me out,” Nina says softly, tiredly, her eyes looking as if they’ve aged fifty years in a span of minutes. I hate that I caused that reaction. Fucking loathe it. “I love you. I can’t bear to think…” She trails off with a choked sob, and I press a tender kiss to her shoulder, where her strap has slid down.

“Never again.”

If my buttercup wants me by her side, then I’ll get superglue myself.

Nothing and no one will tear us apart.