Page 16 of Betrayed Bullied Mate

“I can see you.”

I jolt, immediately moving and climbing back under the covers. My heart is pounding. Aris just saw me without my pants, braless in this zippered jacket. The room feels stuffy, and I try to inconspicuously take a breath of air. When I shift to squeeze my legs together, I hear Aris get up from the couch quickly.

For a terrifying, exciting moment, I think he’s coming over to the bed, and to my horror, I feel my nipples perk up, my core heating. My body loves the idea, but I clutch the blanket higher under my chin, preparing to kick him if he gets too close.

But a moment later, the resounding thud of the door closing echoes throughout the cabin, and Aris is gone.

Chapter 9 - Aris

I relieve Ado of his watch and tell him to go get some rest, taking up the job of covering the perimeter. I stalk around the cabins, breathing in the fresh night air and checking for the scent of any nearby rogues.

Right after I’d left home for college, I used to lie awake at night, or when I did finally fall asleep, I’d dream about this land. I went to college in the inner-city, which made it difficult to get out and shift to stretch my muscles. But here, at home, I always had plenty of space to roam and hunt, pushing myself in my wolf form, always striving to get better.

My father trained me to understand both bodies better than most humans understand the one—when you change from standing on two feet to running on four, there’s some getting used to the feeling. I first shifted when I was fourteen, but it’s tradition to present yourself at sixteen. My dad emphasized the importance of showing off the wolf, honing it to be just as strong and capable as your human body. So every night, I had shifted and come out here, presenting my wolf to the pack at sixteen like I was naturally that strong and fast.

Since moving to D.C., Bigby and I purchased a parcel of land away from the city where we go to train and roam in our wolf forms, but it’s not the same. Nothing is the same as being on the land where you grew up—land that’s belonged to my family for millennia.

A cloud moves over the moon and shrouds the woods in darkness, and I find my thoughts returning to the darkness of the cabin, lying there on the sofa, hands on my face, willing my body to find some peace so I could finally fall asleep.

But it was practically impossible with Linnea so damn close to me.

No matter what I try to think about, the image of Linnea standing in the cabin, taking off her leggings, her nipples perked through that thin jacket, keeps coming back to my mind. I growl low in my throat and keep moving, trying to keep myself from lingering on the thought.

I could have said something the second I realized what she was doing, but it was like I was paralyzed, watching her. At first, I was baffled that she was choosing to undress when I was right there, face turned toward her, eyes wide.

When she kept going, despite my open look, I realized that because she couldn’t see me in the dark, she assumed I also couldn’t see her. My father would have been horrified that I didn’t say something—it was proper to maintain a woman’s modesty. But that woman was also my wife, and I couldn’t look away if I tried, my entire body urging me to go to her. The best I could do was stay completely still as I watched her peel her pants off, kicking them away.

I shudder, thinking about how she had reached up to unclasp her bra and the way her breasts had pushed heavy against the thin material of her shirt, her nipples perked and visible in the moonlight. Was she as turned on as me? Was she thinking about me on the couch, fantasizing about coming over, lowering herself onto my lap—

My dick responded, and I knew I had to get out of there, or I was going to do something I regretted. I needed Linnea to feel safe with me in the cabin with her, and coming to her bed would only prove to her that I didn’t truly have her safety in mind. My brain was constantly at war with my body.

I swallow through the lump in my throat, pacing further and further out into the woods, needing space from her. No matter how far I go, I can still feel her—awake, lying in bed in the cabin, and it’s like she’s waiting for me.

My mind races through possibilities, showing me the ways I could have her. Pictures materialize of her bent over the bed, me behind her, hands on her hips. I picture her knees buried in the mattress, her on all fours, my fist closed around her hair. I see her arching beneath me, her tits bouncing, and my arms braced on either side of her head. I pull her to the edge of the bed, spread her legs, tasting her like I’d dreamed about all those years ago, back when we were teenagers. I dreamed about Linnea back then more than I would ever admit.

After standing up, back in the cabin, I could smell her arousal, and I knew that if I went to her, she wouldn’t say no. But was it her, or was it the mating bond? And did it matter if she was spreading her legs for me—

I cut the thought off again. Thoughts of Linnea are spiraling in my head nonstop, and I know I won’t be at peace until I have her. It’s my fault. I felt the connection on prom night, and I still went through with the blood-bond. There’s no escaping how our bodies are drawn toward one another, and sooner or later, one of us is going to cave.

I slow to a stop and put my hand against a tree, panting. I didn’t realize how hard I’d been pushing myself to run. After a moment, I sense a faint pounding and realize I can feel Linnea’s heart skipping along like a bass in a faraway room.

Putting my hands in my hair and tipping my head to the sky, I force myself to breathe.

I can still feel her lips against mine on prom night, saying, “You’re my mate.”

At that moment, I’d thought of my father’s disapproving stare and the pressure to stay in Rosecreek, to take over his spot, constantly facing his appraisal.

Of course, I felt it, too. But there was no way I was letting anything get in the way of my escape plan. So I’d lied to and belittled her, leaving her crying there in the hallway, though I still wanted to beat whoever had put her there in the first place.

My body aches, begs for me to go back, climb into bed with her, take her lips in mine, and finally, finally, run my hands down her sides, cup her breasts—

“Fuck,” I swear out loud, realizing that not only am I fully hard now, but I’m also walking back in the direction of the cabin.

It’s a textbook mating bond development. A brief period of total infatuation that many believe is specifically designed to help with breeding. Yearning for physical closeness, intense protectiveness, emotional bonding, and then, finally, an ultra-personal private line between you and your mate.

When it develops, it’ll be stronger and clearer than anything I share with my team. Linnea could be on the other side of the world and still reach me clearly as if she were standing right next to me. Though the brief period of infatuation is physically painful and all-consuming if you ignore it, it’s typical for mates to require a certain level of intimacy for the rest of their lives to avoid discomfort, which means, if you can help it, you try not to have your mate too far away.

But Linnea clearly isn’t interested in me after everything I put her through. I wonder if there’s any way to stop the mating bond from developing, and a ripping pain shoots through my head, my body punishing me for the traitorous thought.

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