Page 58 of His Curse

Cora removed the bullets successfully, had already begun to heal my Birdie, said she was out of the woods, and would easily make a full recovery.

All of which had me so fucking baffled, I didn't use any actual words for at least another hour.

I was so convinced I'd killed her, convinced I'd murdered my mate all those years ago that I couldn't wrap my head around her being here, at death’s door once again, covered in blood in front of me.

Little by little though, Lark's presence began filling in the gaps in my mind and I remembered what theotherdid to her, and for the first time ever I saw it clearly like I had when it happened.

He attacked Lark, hurt her severely, but stopped for some reason just before he would have killed her. Fuck if I knowwhy. I still don’t remember every single detail surrounding that night even if I can see those horrible moments clear as day. Not to mention theotherand I don’t exactly talk—we argue or don’t talk to each other at all. He does whatever the fuck he wants, and since I check out, there’s been even less communication over the years, just him running wild and ruining everything in his path before leaving me to deal with the repercussions. And when theotherdid that all those years ago, when he retreated to go find some other poor soul to play with, Birdie was still breathing but hanging on by a thread.

And that was fucking weird because theothernever gets bored, never leaves what he starts unfinished. He did that day, though, and while I'm grateful for it, I definitely don't understand it.

So, once I built up the courage, I went to her.

I sat in a chair by the bed all night, sat and whittled wood while staring at her with a million questions running through my mind.

Where did she come from?

What happened to her?

How did she find me?

Was she looking for me?

The list went on and on, but when she stirred in her sleep, when Lark turned to face me and my name was mumbled into the pillow, my fucking heart dropped.

That's when I saw her scars.

Scars obviously made by theotherbased on the way they look alone, but also because that has to be the reason she even has them.

Creatures like us, shifters and the like, only scar if the weapon used was full of magic—evil or otherwise—so the fact that she has them is definitely a result of what I did to her withmyfucking evil.

It broke my already tattered heart, broke it into a million tiny little pieces, and I felt so much guilt, so much remorse and self hate I almost left, but I couldn't.

No, even with that weighing on me I couldn't leave my mate, couldn't stomach the idea and my wolf sure as fuck put up a fight, so I stayed. I stayed right up until theother'svoice whispered in my head and then I bolted like my ass was on fire.

Which was exactly the reminder I needed to keep myself in check.

Just because my mate is alive and somehow found me does not mean we should be together.

It doesn't mean we have a second chance at a happy ending, especially considering what I did to her the first and only time we were together before now.

No, my Birdie doesn’t deserve that, she deserves so much better than a mate that very literally could lose control and kill her at any second, so I took off, went to the cave in the mountains I frequent when I feel theothercoming on and hunkered down to let it pass.

Weird thing about that?

Theothernever came.

I waited almost twenty-four hours and he never came, never made so much as another peep, and when I thought it was safe, I went home, but not without making a stupid fucking stop first.

Ronny texted me as soon as he knew Lark was awake, then kept sending me messages I couldn't even acknowledge let alone answer, but ones that caused me to do something far stupider than leaving her a meadowlark figurine by her bedside.

I went into town and fuckingshoppedfor her.

My dumbass hit every shop and boutique Ashland has to offer in order to find clothes and necessities for Lark, something I both regret and felt a responsibility—a serious need—to do. I felt fucking driven to provide for my mate when she so clearly needed more than just clothes from me, but I managed to stop at that.

Barely.

I bought her deodorant and shit, about a week’s worth of leggings and shorts, t-shirts, tank tops, and pajamas. I did not buy her any underwear because I couldn't bring myself to look, not with the thoughts of what the underwear would cover or how Lark would look in it racing through my head and straight down to my fucking dick.

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