Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Agnar

Agnar was exhausted, aching, heartsick, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a pervasive sense of hopelessness about where his pack was heading.

Even if he wasn't supposed to feel a thing.

He shut the door firmly behind him, sliding the bar across it. Deadbolts and locks were flimsy. He'd devised something medieval inspired to afford his family that extra layer of protection, should they ever need it. They'd almost had last night. His boys wouldn't show a second of weakness, especially not to him, because they wanted so badly to make him proud. But he'd smelled their fear that morning when they were bandaging him up. He was all that stood between them and a possibly grisly ending. They knew this. They lived with it.

Why should an eight- and a ten-year-old have to bear the weight of that burden in addition to the grave losses they'd already suffered? His choice to become alpha, to make the pack a better place for them, put them at risk.

He'd spent the morning trying to restore the very thin thread of order that existed, his thoughts spinning in circles. His head pounded to the point of blinding him. He craved nothing more than a hot shower, but he couldn't throw himself in there again without undoing all the work the boys had put together to bandage him up. Same went for shifting. He was in no fit state for the gym or any kind of training. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep for a minute without an outlet for all the shit slamming through his brain.

The last thing he wanted was a confrontation about the wretched night and his meeting that morning, but it was obvious from the bright glint of worry in Prairie Rose's eyes as she walked in from the hallway at the sound of the door and the equally stubborn set of her jaw, that that was exactly what he was going to get.

The boys scuttled in behind her. They stood dignified, one at each side like miniature guard dogs. It seemed that she'd done the unthinkable and won over Blake and Levi within a matter of hours.

The conversation was inevitable. It couldn't wait a few hours until his headache was gone. To be fair, Prairie Rose must have been in agony since she woke up. He'd promised her family that he'd keep her safe, and in a single night he'd almost been killed, and there was no doubt if he had been, she would have shared his fate.

"Boys, please go to your rooms."

Levi couldn't believe they were being dismissed. "Dad, I—"

"Or room," he amended. "I need to talk to Prairie Rose alone for a while."

"We already know everything," Blake reasoned, like an adult. "We want to know what happened at the meeting. Are you okay? Are we? What about the pack?"

"We have waffles for you," Levi announced shyly. "In the kitchen. We made them ourselves."

Waffles? Prairie Rose had taken the boys and cooked with them while he was debating life and death at a pack meeting? That's how she won them over?

He scratched his jaw, feeling too late the deep bite his fingers broke open. They came away red, but he wiped them on his fatigues before the boys could see. He nodded, not trusting himself not to say anything damaging.

He sat at the table and Levi came up to him with the kit. He'd noticed the blood and had a length of gauze and bandages ready.

Blake took over as Prairie Rose froze by the counter, her hand hovering at her throat. "Where else are you bleeding? We can re-bandage it."

He tugged his shirt over his head, none too gently, and let the boys see. Honestly, he wasn't quite sure. It all just felt like ten levels of hell. He'd tuned it out all morning, but now the pain was taking over, shoving out what he'd planned on saying, emptying his brain until there was nothing but the steady throb of all his wounds pulsing through his mind.

He heard the sharp gasp across the kitchen, but Prairie Rose pulled it together. "Do you want coffee?" she choked out.

He didn't respond, but a mug was set in from of him anyway. Black and strong, already brewed. He spotted the half-empty pot on the counter. The boys went to work replacing bandages and he helped them with the worst of it. When they were done and Blake was packing the supplies back into the first aid kit, a stack of waffles appeared in front of him.

They were buttered, with whipped cream and hot strawberry syrup. She'd found the pantry and used the preserves for topping. The boys stared at him eagerly, frozen by the table. Prairie Rose stepped back, looking at Blake and Levi instead of him. Not because she was a coward, but because you didn't look an injured wolf in the eye without getting your head taken off.

He inhaled the sweet, sugary strawberries, the fresh cream, the scent of cooked dough. This was a luxury he'd never allowed the kids or himself. Food was there to nourish, to fill voids. To provide much needed calories to keep the body running. It didn't have to be enjoyed.

He was doubly aware of the jet of saliva that filled his mouth. His stomach had been roiling with nausea at the pain, but now it twisted with hunger.

He cut a section off with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. Trying to chew without tasting the divine wonder that Prairie Rose and the boys created was like trying to survive without breathing.

"What happened at the meeting?" Blake asked again, and this time, it was a useful distraction.

"I restored order," he said gruffly between bites. He wasn't going to go slow and savor it. That would admit that he liked things like strawberries and whipped cream and fucking dough more than he should. "Banished Alexander, but he was long gone. The blow didn't kill him. Hopefully we'll never hear from him again, but I suspect a scorned wolf like him will be on the path for vengeance."

Prairie Rose snorted, then whipped her hand over her mouth. "Are you serious? What right does he have to seek vengeance for trying to betray and kill his own alpha? That is the disgusting behavior of an unhinged, dangerous man."

He slammed back a long pull of the scalding coffee. At least that was strong and bitter. "I made him beta because of those qualities. Wanted to keep him close. It would have been better had you killed him. It would have been best had you done nothing at all."

She whirled like those words were a blow of their own. She caught herself on the counter again and raised her head, stricken. "I should just have let you die?"

"It would have been better than weakening my status as alpha in front of the entire pack." If that was true, he had put to rest any questions about his ability to lead that morning.

He'd survived the kind of challenge that was unheard of. Beaten off five warriors, six if Alexander's treachery was included. The killing blow from his former beta aimed at his back was viewed by the pack with utter contempt and disgust. It was cowardly and it was out of the bounds of a formal challenge. No warrior acted that way. There were those at the meeting, both male and female, who voiced their approval of Prairie Rose as a mate.

She might not have been a part of them before, but that didn't mean she wasn't courageous and dangerous in her own right. She'd saved his life, as any mate would do for another. She'd picked up a warrior's axe and hefted it, even drugged to the point of oblivion. She'd wounded a very dangerous man all on her own. He couldn't let her know that, however, because he'd never be able to do what he had to do otherwise.

"That's just ridiculous," she sputtered.

"I told you not to get involved, not to unman me in front of the pack."

"Dad!" Blake yelped, rising to the defense of a woman he'd only just met. Even he knew that his father's cruelty, biting words, and lack of gratitude were all wrong.

Levi shuffled next to his brother, openly uncertain about the animosity he was throwing off.

"So, I should have just let you die? The boys told me what could have happened to them if you weren't here. We might all be…" She gulped and looked like she wanted to run straight to his sons and sweep them into her arms. She shook her head, getting control of herself.

"You're not a true mate. That's known."

She was beyond stunning.

Unfortunately, his body recalled every single thing she'd done during the night. She might have been drugged, but he'd felt the heat of her as she parted her legs, trying to fuck herself on his thigh, the sweet wetness that soaked through her leggings onto him.

He was a bastard and he hated that he had no control over his own body as his cock kicked to life, hardening like a steel rod in his black fatigues under the table.

She looked ready to cleave him in half right there. Ready for battle. Fierce without being a warrior. Something in his chest tightened and his heartrate spiked.

"Boys, to your rooms, now."

They didn't dare defy him a second time. They scuttled away without looking over their shoulders. That wasn't fair, but they didn't have a say in what he needed to do. Looking at their faces, so like his own and so like their mother's, would only haunt him when he delivered the killing blow.

A blow that would cut out his own heart. He'd finally, well and truly, be the dead man that he saw in half the eyes of those in the pack. Those who had lost families and loved ones. Those who had nothing left to live for.

"Mate or not," he said in a tone so cold and emotionless that it chilled even him, "you're leaving. You're not cut out for being here."

Prairie Rose stumbled back. The naked hurt in her eyes bit at him far more savagely than anything he'd suffered the night before. "You're rejecting me?"

"No. You'll be my mate and I'll be yours, to keep the peace, but you're going back to your pack. You're going to take my sons with you as an added assurance that I will keep my word. They'll remain as hostages with your pack until they're grown."

Understanding immediately dawned. He'd hoped that it wouldn't and now he knew, as he'd spread his chest and cracked his heart clean in half, that she saw him do it. She knew. She was like some kind of seer of old who saw through this world into the next, into the realms of the dead and the gods.

"Agnar, you can't." She clearly had no self-respect. She fell to her knees and clasped her hands, begging him so easily and readily. It should have disgusted him, but all it did was press that blade deeper in against his throat. "You can't send your sons away. I know that you want to keep them safe, and after last night and what could have happened, you have every right to be afraid for them, but—"

"I'm not afraid," he roared, then felt immediately stupid because that kind of denial was little more than an affirmation.

"Yes, you are. You're afraid because they're your sons and any parent fears for their children. They worry over them, and they love them, and they'll do anything to keep them safe, but this isn't the way. You can't separate yourself from them." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, which made them look double their size. "It can't truly be this bad. You had so much hope for this place and for your pack, I know you did. That's why you became alpha. You've worked tirelessly to hold on to this peace. I know you'd sacrifice anything for that too, as any alpha would, but not your sons. That would do nothing but destroy you, and you're not the kind of man who should walk around with no soul. You need to live. Your pack needs you. Please don't give up on them."

He shoved the plate away, nearly turning the mug onto its side. The coffee splashed, but the mug didn't tip over. The urge to rest his head there on that dark wood surface was so great he nearly gave in.

"You're tired. You're in pain in every possible way. You were attacked last night by your own pack, betrayed by your own beta. You've sweated and bled and given everything for people who seem ungrateful, who can't share in your vision. I know it's hard, but I also can see how much you love your pack. Being alpha isn't about power for you or you would have taken what you wanted by force by now. You would have continued the warring."

She crawled towards him. Fucking crawled. It wasn't the way he would have liked to see a woman like her do it, but it still stirred something primal in his gut and made his already hard cock throb violently.

"Agnar." One small palm pressed down on his knee. Wet, night sky eyes stared up at him, the fires of those distant specks shining bright against the backdrop of her diamond tears. "You can do whatever you think is best. Send us back to my pack and I will ensure your sons are loved and that they thrive there and that they'll always know what you sacrificed for them. Come visit them. Show them that you love them more than anything. You'll always be welcome. Or let us stay. Renew your faith your pack when you've had some time to heal and rest and let the disappointments and betrayals fade from your mind and heart. Your body is battered, but so is your spirit. Just take a few days to decide. I am your true mate, even if we don't love each other yet, and I can't bear to see you hurting like this."

He tried to be mocking, but it came out all wrong. Strained. Near breaking. "You can't bear it?"

"We're connected. Through our own choices or something bigger than ourselves, or both. So, yes. I can't bear to see you in pain."

"You're wrong. I'm not hurting. There is nothing that can break a warrior, but a man's greatest asset isn't his strength. It's his brain. A good alpha knows when to make tough choices, and last night has proven to me how dangerous it is here, despite my best efforts. My sons will not be collateral damage. That's my decision. I don't feel anything else. I can't. I told you that I will never love you and I meant it. You might have saved my life, but that will never make me care for you past the promise I made to keep you alive. Get off your knees. You're making yourself pathetic, and that's something I can't stand."

He had to resort to cold cruelty. That hardness was the only thing that had kept him going and kept him alive in the past. There was no room in his life for sentimentality or tenderness. He'd learned that long ago, and he had to stand by what worked. The tear in his chest only confused and tangled him up, and he needed to be clear headed.

She scrambled up sharply, but she surged forward, and for once, he was caught off guard. He was too slow after the night of tortures and a morning that made him sick at heart, a morning that nearly brought him to his knees despite any of his avowals to be hard and strong and unmovable. He was shaken, that was the straight up fucking truth.

Prairie Rose grasped his shoulders, digging her nails into his bare skin, pressing down on the bite marks and claws marks and injuries there. He didn't make a sound, just weathered her fury. She wasn't finished. She came at him like a tempest breaking over him, and she was one hell of a storm, her own fury half unleashed.

Her soft, honey dipped, rose petal lips crushed against his with a violence he was unprepared to find in so small a woman. She bit down hard, drawing blood like any wolf in a rage. Her tongue didn't ease the sting away. She didn't have time, had it been her intention. He collared her and shoved her back, holding her practically against the table, his thick fingers pressing against the pale column of her throat. The woman turned her neck up and closed her eyes, offering her throat to him.

His fingers never closed in, never so much as cut off her breath. He'd never hurt anyone who wasn't an enemy, in the heat of battle, and he certainly wouldn't hurt someone weaker and smaller, any female, any child, even any male from his pack who hadn't challenged him. He'd never harmed anyone in training. Ever. He'd end himself if he ever harmed his own mate.

A dribble of bright red glistened on her bottom lip. His blood.

He let her go and she stepped back with dignity. She didn't lick the blood away. She left it there, glaring at him like a slap that turned the rest of his blood into a molten current in his veins. Only sheer control kept him from panting. From grasping her. From setting her down on that table and tearing her dress off and burying his tongue and fingers and cock inside her sweet, tight cunt as she begged and begged and begged him to do it.

"Let me know your decision tomorrow morning," she had the nerve to whisper before she walked out of the kitchen. Her head was bent over, hands clasped in front of her waist, but it might as well have been held as high and regal as any queen's.