CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

Adam

Helping Cynthia into my apartment is the furthest thing from easy.

Her arousal is intoxicating, and it’s taking every ounce of my self-control to not give in. My wolf is both angry and desperate for a taste, and I rein it back, trying to steady myself. My head is already reeling from all this information she’s thrown at me, from the memories her words have jogged, and I have a hard time trying to get my own feet on the ground.

Aphrodisiac has a way of loosening the tongue as well. As I set her down on the sofa and go to fetch a glass of cold water for her, my thoughts are flying all over the place. Would she have told me any of this if she hadn’t been drugged?

My hands tighten on the glass, that childhood memory playing over and over again in my head. I can’t get the screams out of my head. Wolf shifters cherish their offspring. So for my father to harm a child from our pack deliberately is something unfathomable. And then, on top of everything, he brought that child into our home under the guise of sponsoring her.

The glass shatters in my hand, the shards piercing my skin.

What could any child do that warranted such a cruel and vicious punishment?

I pluck out the shards one by one, running my hand under the tap water to clean the wound.

My father was a greedy man, but I never remembered him to be a sadist.

How long?

Since the day I got there.

She was abused by my father and my brother, financially controlled, and cut off from the rest of the pack. If she had attended any pack events or any bonding events, I would have seen her and been able to distinguish her scent when I met her at that bar. Or I would have been able to figure out we were fated mates and started off with courtship rather than…

This explains her naivety from our first meeting. It also explains why she didn’t seem to realize we were fated mates. Things that were taught to us as children, she was deprived of that knowledge. That must have made it easier for my father to control her. Keeping her isolated from the pack would have been an ideal way to keep her dependent on him. Lydia had mentioned to me that she could sense how weak the bond was between Cynthia and her wolf. At this age, it wasn’t normal. Our human side completely blends with our animal once we reach puberty, especially more so after our first shift. For her to have such a weak bond with her own wolf either means that she’s been suppressing it her whole life or she has trouble shifting. I would bet on the former. Considering everything else Father has done to her, preventing her from shifting wouldn’t be so hard. And such emotional trauma from a young age would cause even more difficulties for her to connect with her animal.

I grab another glass and fill it with water before heading over to where Cynthia is sitting. I can see her struggling to control herself, her claws digging into her thighs through her pants.

"Drink this." I give her the water.

She grabs it, but her hands are shaking as she looks at me, her gaze desperate as she silently asks for something else. I look back at her, feeling frustrated. It would be the easiest thing in the world to give in. She’s mine. But everything in Cynthia’s life has been decided for her, even down to the autonomy of her own body. Suddenly, her reaction when my father brought her to my office dressed in tiny clothes makes more sense. And it enrages me.

All these years my father has abused and tormented her. Why?

There has to be a reason behind it.

No wonder he never stopped Norman from hurting her. A lot of pieces of the puzzle are starting to fit, and the picture they’re starting to create is making me sick to the stomach. And more questions are being raised now. Why didn’t her parents ever check up on her? It’s mostly childless couples who sponsor children from the slums to both improve the socioeconomic status of the pack and have a child around them. My father wouldn’t be the first to sponsor a child, but the parents are always involved, and I’ve never heard of a sponsored child living with their sponsor’s family full time. It’s usually a few days of the week.

"Adam," Cynthia moans now, and I lean by her side, taking one of her hands.

"You’ve been drugged, Cynthia. You don’t know what you’re asking for."

"I do," she insists, her voice husky. The glass slips from her hands, tumbling onto the carpet, the spilled water soaking into it as she grabs the collar of my shirt, trying to pull me to her. "Please."

I’m reluctant. I don’t want her to think I took advantage of her helplessness too.

"Cynth––"

She half-rises off the seat to kiss me, and when she does, I feel my control slip a little. I kiss her back fiercely, tasting her, my hands digging into her lower back as I grip her. Her kiss is clumsy and soft, and she seems to be trying to find her way. Her innocence makes my blood heat even more. I push her back onto her seat, towering over her as I grab her jaw, exploring her mouth with my tongue. It’s a wet kiss as I taste her thoroughly, my animal growing wild inside me.

Her whines are soft and needy, and they reach past the fog in my head. But when I try to break free, to move back, she grabs my free hand and puts it on her chest on her soft flesh. My cock hardens almost instantly.

She moves her mouth along my jaw, pleading, begging, and I finally feel the last bit of my self-control crumble to the ground.

I end up pushing down her blouse, gathering it around her middle, securing her arms behind her back as a result. One flick of the claw has her bra snapping in two, and my mouth descends with a vicious hunger. Seizing the hard nub in my mouth, I lavish it with attention while my hands reach for her pants. I pull down her zipper, and it takes me a few seconds to have her gasping under me as my fingers tease her clit and rub her juices along her slit.

Cynthia writhes under my touch, and when she orgasms without even a finger inside her, I know it’s the effect of the aphrodisiac.

I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, carrying her to the bedroom. Once there, I make quick work of her pants and blouse, discarding my own as well. This is all about her, about relieving the desire inside her, which is rising to painful levels. Ignoring my own needs, I pull her legs toward me, lapping at her wet slit. Her juices tingle on my tongue, and to me, she tastes delicious. I could eat her forever. I insert my tongue inside, moving it in gentle circles.

Cynthia cries out, her hands reaching to grab my hair.

I groan at her grip, but the way she holds onto me gets me even more excited. I move my tongue inside her, and her moans and screams incite me even more. When she orgasms, I keep slurping her juices before piercing her with my tongue again and again. She’s exhausted after four climaxes but is still needy, the effects of the drug in her system still running strong.

Her pussy is wet and twitching when I thrust in three fingers. A quiet groan leaves my lips at how tight her hole is.

"Adam!" Cynthia’s voice breaks, desire and greed in it. My eyes meet her hazy ones, and hearing that greed in her voice makes me want to fuck her so hard that she can’t walk. She’s greedy for me. She wants me. There is no restraint right now, no shyness. She just wants me.

I use my fingers, pushing her to the edge. Her madness is beginning to affect me. Hearing my name on her lips as she begs me for release just drives me on. She knows exactly whose fingers are inside her. I have her clawing at the sheets as I use everything but my cock on her. It’s only when she’s panting and gasping that I flip her over on her stomach. Pulling up her hips, I thrust inside.

She lets out a silent scream, and I begin jackhammering inside her pussy without a break. I move swiftly, determined to take more from her, to exhaust her down to her bones. She climaxes three times before I finally let go. Slumping beside her, my own body tired, I gather a limp Cynthia in my arms and look down at her.

She’s unconscious.

I sigh, pulling her closer.

Our scents are intermixed, and while there is a lot to worry about, I let that one fact soothe me into sleep, Cynthia’s soft form pressed against me.

For a while, I can at least pretend all is well in my world.

****

When I wake up, it’s to a cold bed.

In fact, the entire room is cold. I look up and see the balcony doors wide open, the sheer curtains billowing with the cold November wind. I get out of bed and look for a shirt. Unable to find it, I tug on my pajamas, which are folded on a chair, and head outside.

Cynthia’s back is to me as she sits on the tear-shaped porch swing that I had gotten on impulse. My shirt is dwarfing her as she sits on it, her bare legs tucked underneath her, her eyes on the glittering city lights. Her hair is open and wet.

She must have taken a shower.

She doesn’t acknowledge my existence when I approach her, and I lift a strand of her hair. "You cut it."

"There was no way to get the gum out," Cynthia murmurs.

"It looks pretty."

"Does it?" She sounds tired.

But the exhaustion sounds bone-deep.

I look down at her. "How’re you feeling?"

"Everything feels raw," she replies bluntly. "My lower body hurts."

"Sorry about that." I drag over one of the patio chairs.

"Not your fault," she says quietly, still not looking at me. "I pushed you into this. I did the one thing Jonathon wanted me to––"

"No," I cut her off. "What goes on between us has nothing to do with Jonathon. You’re my fated mate. Jonathon has just given us an opportunity to be close to one another."

"Is that a fact?" Cynthia sounds lost, and it frightens me.

A heavy silence falls between us as I try to figure out what to say next.

"You should have let me kill him," Cynthia suddenly says, her voice harsh.

"I stabbed him in the stomach for you, if it helps," I offer, knowing she’s talking about Norman.

"I would have disemboweled him."

I raise a brow at the vicious nature of her comment.

"Maybe next time."

Cynthia stews on her words and then says, tightly, "I’m supposed to drop everything and go to Jonathan when he calls me. Norman knows that. Now that your father has forbidden us from interacting, he’s just trying to find ways to get me to see him. I don’t know why I’m surprised that he drugged me. He’s been demanding sexual favors from me for years."

My lips press into a thin line as a surge of jealousy overtakes me. "How long has this been going on?"

She shoots me an angry look, "Years, like I just said. The only reason he’s not managed to corner me is because your father is firmly against it. This is the first time Norman has gone out of his way to drug me."

It’s hard to push aside my burning jealousy, but it helps knowing Cynthia loathes my younger brother.

"Despite all of this," I look at her, "after everything you have been put through, why are you still loyal to my father?"

When Cynthia looks at me, her eyes hold an agony I can’t explain. It tears at me when I see the helplessness and the fury in them. Her words are soft and slow. "I can’t tell you."

She stumbles to her feet, each word carefully spoken, an ache buried in each one. "I’ve never had anybody on my side. I’ve never had anybody who has tried to protect me. You say all the right things, Adam. And you do all the right things to make me lean towards you. But the fact is, you could turn around one day and stab me in the back. I’m going to keep waiting for that day because I don’t know how to trust people. Not anymore. I don’t even know if that word exists in my vocabulary."

I immediately get to my feet. "We are––"

"I know we’re fated mates. I get it." Cynthia steps back from me, her arms wrapped around her middle, a miserable look in her eyes. "You’re probably kind to me because of this bond between us. You don’t see me. You see the fated mate. Nobody sees me. And…" Her breathing is shallow. "The fact is, all that aside, because you have been so kind to me since you met me, I don’t want to hurt you." She looks up to meet my gaze, her voice heavy. "Jonathon wouldn’t have sent me to you without a reason. I am the most dangerous person in your life right now, Adam. The closer you pull me, the more dangerous I become. I cannot be loyal to anyone but Jonathon."

Her lashes are wet with tears. "I’m sorry. I can’t tell you why, but I have no choice. It would be better for you to hate me. I know you can choose another mate. Do that. You will never be able to give me the mating mark. The day you do, your fate is sealed."

She steps away from me as I watch her, my body heavy.

I want to stop her, but the sight of her tears makes me feel weak.

This woman has become my weakness.

As she leaves the balcony, I don’t go after her, my feet frozen. A few minutes later, I hear the front door of my apartment shut.

I knew Cynthia would become a dangerous weakness, but I never imagined it would be because she was able to make my heart ache because of her tears. I don’t know when I finally move, but I head back inside.

The bed is tangled and I can still smell Cynthia on it. Sitting down heavily onto it, I pick up my wallet and take out a carefully folded hundred-dollar bill. I study it for a long while, the gears in my head working.

Finally, I murmur, "Weakness or not, you are still mine, Cynthia. But I can be incredibly patient."

There is a banging on the front door. I know it’s not Cynthia coming back, especially when I hear the door unlock.

"Robert." I walk into the living room and my friend immediately scrunches up his nose.

"This place reeks of se––"

"What do you want?" I ask pointedly.

"Is your lady friend in there?" He waggles his brows.

"No," I say, "and give me my keys back."

"My apartment is no longer safe." Robert grabs a beer from the refrigerator. "Somebody was in there."

I turn to look at him, my brows knitting. "What do you mean?"

He tosses a glove at me, and I pick it up. "This looks familiar."

"It should." Robert grimaces. "Remember those assassins that went after your healer?"

I stiffen. "You encountered them?"

"They killed the woman I hired to clean my apartment on the weekends. They must have thought I would be in the apartment and they came across her. I’ve spent the entire day dealing with this mess. Poor woman was raising her grandkids all by herself. I spent the afternoon looking into an adoptive family for them and the rest of the afternoon talking to my lawyer to make sure they would at least be financially looked after. It’s the least I could do."

The bitterness in his voice makes me sigh. "You’re a good man. Many would just consider those children collateral damage."

"Yeah." Robert takes a swig of his drink. “I used to be collateral damage.”

I give him a long look. “How about pizza and beer?”

“I’d feel better.” Robert grins at me.

As I get around to ordering the pizza, he glances at me. “So, I did some digging into that girl of yours.”

I immediately frown at him. “I didn’t tell you to do that.”

“Well, I’m a nosy bastard.” Robert smiles at me. “Want to know what I found?”

I lower my phone from my ear, giving him a quizzical look.

“Turns out, her parents were murdered around three years ago. Men in dark clothes came, slit their throats, and left. A neighbor girl witnessed the attack from her bedroom window. Get this. The men had their hands and faces covered. The husband struggled and managed to rip the mask off one of the men. Want to know what the girl saw under the mask?"

My gut clenches. "Scarring?"

"The kind that made her throw up. The whole face was burnt, even around the eyes."

"The same as the men who went after Lydia," I murmur, my voice hard.

"I had my men ask around about the children." Robert sets his beer down on his thigh, watching me. "Apparently, there were two kids. A son who was fifteen years older. He ran off with a girl from an affluent family. A month later, they gave the girl away to be sponsored by a rich family, which I guess was your family. The son would come around every now and then. He came for the funeral and sold all the house belongings and left."

"But the daughter never came."

Robert picks up his bottle and swirls the liquid around, "They lived in that house until they were killed. They had the same neighbors all these years. The girl never returned after she left, and the parents pretended she never existed. The day she left the house, they sold off everything she owned. Her room was stripped bare, and they began renting it out."

"So they erased her from their lives," I say softly, my hand curling into a fist. I meet my friend’s gaze. "That doesn’t sound like any sponsorship to me."

Robert doesn’t have to reply for me to know that he agrees with me.

Something else is going on.

And these assassins. Who do they work for? Why kill Cynthia’s parents?

All I’m left with are more questions.