Chapter 46

I liked being Jess rather than Jessalyn.

My body felt light as air as Jorah and I walked up the laneway. It was only the rapid beating of my heart that seemed to keep me grounded. Almost as if in response, Jorah sidled closer and snaked his arm around my waist. At first, I stiffened. Jessalyn had been conditioned to never let a man take liberties, but instead of pulling away, I drew my focus back to my body to work out what Jess thought about it.

The sensation of his arm, the warm weight of it, the way our steps fell into sync was… comforting…? Yes. That was it. His thick, muscle-corded arm made me feel as tiny as a bird—and twice as delicate—but at the same time protected and not at all vulnerable. And that was such a welcome feeling that, with a smile, I looked up at Jorah to tell him only to find him staring down at me. As we regarded each other, I realised something.

Oh.

He was beautiful.

I hadn't really noticed it before. All of these wolf shifter men had faces constructed from such severe angles they appeared harsh, but Jorah's thick blond beard softened the sharp slope of his cheeks. I wondered if it was as silky as it looked, and my hand rose, as though of its own accord, to test the theory. I whipped it back before I made contact, and his lips twitched in amusement. I let out a little sigh, blinked, and then dropped my hand back down to my side.

"Thank you for walking me home, Master—"

"Just Jorah," he said. "Master makes me feel like you're talking to my dad, not me."

"Oh. Well, thank you, Jorah—"

"You make it sound like it's such a chore to escort a beautiful woman back to her cottage. His smile faded so slowly I couldn't tell at what point he grew serious. "When it's something else altogether."

"What?"

My response came without thought or good manners.

"An honour."

I wondered if this was what it would be like if I made a life here. Would beautiful men have me dancing and laughing and then walk me home with all the consideration of fine gentlemen? Would I find myself partial to one of them, and would he see something in me as I saw something in him, so that we set up house in one of these lovely little cottages we walked past? And would that male be Jorah? Jessalyn could never think such things, but Jess…

His eyes started to light up with an unearthly green fire, as if he could sense my train of thought. I knew that beast men's eyes glowed in the dark from the legends, but I'd never expected it to be so beautiful. I blinked and then smiled nervously as his focus dropped down.

Why the hell was I feeling skittish? Why was it that the way Jorah's eyes traced my lips felt ten times more intimate than when I'd had that bastard Arik's prick in my mouth only days past? I didn't know what to think nor how to respond—I swayed in his direction, then pulled back. But he took that as a sign of my interest and slid his hand across my jaw, gently cupping it before tilting my head as he moved his mouth to mine.

He kissed me.

Of course he did. As his lips touched mine, my mother's voice rang in my head—all her warnings shouldering forward, unbidden and unwanted—about what happened to girls who allowed themselves to walk around unchaperoned. I hated her then, hated my family, my entire culture, because instead of melting into this man's kiss, my whole body tensed—including my lips.

To my horror, our kiss became this awkward bounce of my mouth against his. All the good feelings of the night fled as my cheeks flushed bright red in embarrassment. I could not call myself a particularly experienced kisser, but even I knew this was terrible. Jorah stopped, lifted his head, and stared at me in incomprehension. I let out a hasty little laugh.

"Jorah, I'm so sorry."

Words rose in my head, a frantic avalanche of them tumbling all over themselves. I was ready to explain, to give context, to make clear it wasn't him, but then his thumb brushed against my cheek.

"Take a breath."

His deep voice rumbled all the way through me, and I forced my lungs to expand, despite wanting to ask why he told me to do it. His answer came quickly enough. When I exhaled, he bent his head again, pressing his mouth to mine.

It immediately became clear to me that by kissing me for the first time when I was out of my mind on roseblood, Arik and the others had robbed me of part of the experience. I hadn't been aware enough to know if any of them had drawn in a breath through their nose at the feel of my mouth on theirs. I didn't remember the prickle of their stubble or their beards against my skin, scoring me, marking me as their lips turned soft as butter. I hadn't felt like I was melting into them as I did while Jorah continued to kiss me so that I had to run my hands up his leather breastplate and hold on. My bones became mush, my flesh fire, as the kiss went on and on. It was only a rumbling growl that finally forced us apart. When I moved my head to where the noise had come from, my eyes widened.

The only time I'd ever seen a wolf was the one that had been stuffed and preserved by one of my ancestors many years ago. The poor moth-eaten thing still kept guard over one of the rarely used drawing rooms. The beast that stood growling at us seemed far, far larger than the worn old one at home. My feet moved of their own accord, responding to an instinct to get the hell away from it. Its lips were peeled back from its jaws, and its fangs flashed in the night air as Jorah shoved me behind him.

"Now, Creed…"

Creed? I twisted myself sideways to look past Jorah to look at the wolf far more closely. I saw no hint of the man in the beast, except for those eyes. The wolf stopped snarling the moment our gazes locked. A small whine escaped his chest and his paws shifted on the ground, his tail wagging once, twice. Then Jorah angled his head in my direction.

"Tell him you choose me." His words came out in a messy, hurried tumble as he spoke, not taking his eyes off Creed's wolf for a second. "Tell him I'm the one you want."

I knew I needed to. Creed's wolf had rallied and looked twice as angry as before. He took one ponderous step after another towards Jorah as he growled his intent. But as I looked back up at Jorah, I couldn't help but let my fingers brush my lips and the slightly bruised place in the middle of my bottom lip.

"I…"

Jorah's eyes flicked away from Creed for a moment to look in my direction. A furrow appeared between his brows as he watched me.

"So, he is your fated mate."

He seemed spectacularly surprised by this, especially when I simply stared at him. When his words sank in, though, I shook my head sharply.

"No." Jorah had already started to back away, but I took a step toward him. "No, Jorah, I can't stand him or his bloody pack."

That was when the wolf sat down abruptly, letting out a thin whine and drawing my attention back to him. Big, beautiful pale-yellow eyes stared at me mournfully. The wolf's paw rose, raking through the air, as if he was begging for attention. Gods damn it all, he looked like a big puppy, and I'd always wanted a dog. My fingers ached with the effort of holding myself back from patting Creed's wolf, but I pulled my focus back to Jorah.

"I don't want him. I can't stand any of them. I never wanted this title of being his fated mate. My very soul rejects the idea."

"Reject…" Something seemed to come to light in Jorah's eyes. "You intend to reject him?"

"Well, yes—"

"Do you know what that means?" I didn't, but it appeared I was making progress because Jorah was walking back towards me, only stopping because the wolf began to growl again. "If you reject the bond formally, you'll…" Jorah paused and frowned. "You'll never be able to be together ever again."

"Promise?"

I smiled, as much to mask a pang of emotion I didn't quite understand as to try and rebuild the fragile connection between us. However, as his words sank in, the cogs in my brain started whir.

"I swear," Jorah said. "If they've declared to the alphas that you're their fated mate, then you'll be forced to participate in the mating games." He was edging away from me again, but this time I made no attempt to stop him. His mouth was useful for the information he shared, not for kisses. "They'll be forced to try and persuade you to accept the bond. And, while it's true you are not required to, it's been a long, long time since a woman rejected her mates."

"And what is the process?" Creed's wolf trotted forward, coming to stand in the gap between Jorah and I, but I ignored him. "What do I need to do to reject them all?"

"Participate in the games," Jorah said, "then at the end, when it comes time to accept or reject them, you'll say the words."

He told me the exact phrasing I'd need to use, and I whispered the words to myself. I liked the feel of them in my mouth, the weight of them. There was a power in them, one I intended to wield.

"I cannot take things any further," Jorah told me. "No male will until you've decided one way or the other whether to accept Creed and his pack as your mates."

So I wasn't Jess after all. Jessalyn had no ability to make decisions in her day-to-day life. Jessalyn had circumstances forced upon her and had to try to deal with them with grace. I positioned on my face the perfectly polite smile my mother had urged me to master, the one that masked every single thing I felt.

"Of course, Master Jorah." I tilted my head. "I understand and bid you goodnight."

But I didn't understand, not really. All my heart knew was we'd been having fun—dancing and laughing—and kissing at the end of that had seemed like a natural conclusion. I was enjoying myself for once, and Creed had ripped it all away. I saw Jorah's reticence to leave in the tension in his body and a tiny flame of hope flickered.

Only to be snuffed out.

"A good night to you as well, Lady Jessalyn."

I flinched at that title, but Jorah didn't see it. He'd already turned and was striding off into the darkness. All the good humour and fun of tonight was driven out of me. No, worse, it was extinguished as if it never existed in the first place. When I'd told my story to Fern and her friends, it'd felt like I lanced something poisonous inside me. The wound was still aching, hot and sore, but I'd done something that went partway to healing me. Dancing with Fern, then Jorah, had allowed me to put all of it aside, and right as I was beginning to explore what it might be like to just have a good time, Creed came blundering in. I felt a sharp stab of anger, and I turned to the wolf.

"You…"

It was probably not wise, stabbing a finger in the direction of a predator. In Stormare, people talked about the beast men's savagery, painting them as little more than animals, but Creed's wolf just skittered back on four paws.

"Why did you do that?" I snapped, but I really needed to answer my own question. "Why did you have to come blundering in like that? I told you…" I started to pace, a weird kind of agitation setting in, and with it came a familiar ache inside my head. "I told you I didn't want this." My eyes shot sideways to lock with his. "I told you I didn't want you!"

My voice rang out through the laneway, making me flush with shame. People would be in their beds, trying to rest and I… But it wasn't concern for others that stained my cheeks red, it was this. White hot anger rose up out of somewhere— I hadn't realised I was keeping it stuffed down.

"That could've been you."

I stabbed my finger into the air, but the wolf didn't back up for a second. Instead, he moved closer to sit at my feet, as neatly as a well-trained hound. He was beautiful, but so was everyone here, so I didn't let my fingers trail through his thick fur, to rub those velvety ears. Rather, I was just angry with myself that I wanted to.

"You could've been the one to ask me to dance. I could've challenged you. It could've been you that kissed me standing in a lane, the night air chilling my skin. You say I'm your fated mate? Why wasn't it you that treated me with respect and affection? Why weren't you the one who treated me like a bloody woman, not just a thing?"

My breath was coming in too fast, and the cold air was making my lungs ache. The steady throb of my head let me know my heart rate was picking up, but none of it was a match for the pain inside my chest. The moment I'd seen that wedding dress, it'd been one disappointment after another. Reality had crushed dream after dream until all there was left was pain.

"But you didn't. You didn't." I jerked myself away from the wolf, and he followed until I bent down and grabbed a rock from the side of the road and brandished it. "You didn't treat me with the respect I deserved."

The wolf flinched back, as if I'd already tossed the stone, and an animal cringing away from me had the rock slipping from my fingers.

"You don't get a chance to do that again." My voice was as icy as my hands felt right now. "Not anymore. Don't come around here, snarling at men because they have the temerity to treat me better than you did." I straightened up. "Don't come by here at all."

If I was to be Jessalyn, then I would be as imperious, cool, and remote as a princess. I stared down my nose at the wolf and delivered my final blow.

"I'll go through these mating games and jump through the hoops, but don't hold out any hope of cooperation from me. I'll fight you the entire way, and…" He slowly got to his feet, the low continuous whine feeling like a knife blade scraping my nerves raw. "And I'll reject you." I nodded sharply. Part of me mourned the loss of all that pleasure I'd found with them, but the hard resolve I felt more than made up for it. "I'll reject each and every one of you, and then I'll be free."

I didn't bother to gauge his reaction to that. Instead, I spun on my heel and strode up the front footpath towards Mother Marian's cottage.