Page 1 of To Keep A Wolf
CHAPTER1
Alayer of cold sweat is all I’m wearing against my skin. Even as I think about the possibility of getting dressed, nausea rolls through me. Not because clothes disgust me but because of what I’ll have to do if I wear them. Leave this room. Perform the lie. Further betray my people. Thinking about it now, I’m forced to lean over the toilet as my stomach tries to empty itself. The problem is that it already has. Dozens of times. Now, all that’s left to purge is my own regret. I don’t see that leaving me anytime soon, though.
The world is darker today—because of me. Because of the deal I made. The deal I was forced into. Promising myself to a monster has consequences I didn’t fully understand. Not until I stood on the steps of the alpha house and watched Levi’s world crumble. But worse than watching Levi’s hope snuffed out is knowing I’ve condemned an entire pack to a future even darker than our past.
Remembering how Jadick betrayed me, condemning Romantics instead of freeing them, my stomach twists again, and I heave.
Nothing comes out.
I slump back down, my knees pressing painfully into the cold tile floor of my bathroom. My hair is a sweaty, matted mess. And my muscles have never felt weaker in my life. Struggling with the movements, I manage to pull a fresh shirt over my head. My shower, finished mere minutes ago, is already rendered pointless, thanks to the fresh wave of sweat and sickness that’s taken me down to the floor all over again.
I thought being poisoned with venom—three times, if we’re being technical—was bad. This is so much worse.
My vision swims. Partly from the tears I can’t seem to keep from spilling and partly because the sickness gripping me is a total bitch.
It’s the rejection.
All this time, I’d thought I’d felt the worst of it. The pain of Levi walking away from me was brutal, but this is something else entirely. My body hates me for what I’ve done. My wolf won’t even speak to me when I call on her.
Dying would be easier.
Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to watch as my stupid decisions bring about the destruction of an entire generation… Because if this is what it feels like to reject your fated mate, I have truly doomed us all.
There’s no strength in this.
Only pain and misery.
I deserve it.
A knock sounds at the bedroom door, eliciting a groan from my hoarse throat.
“Go away,” I croak, but the words are way too weak to be obeyed.
Sure enough, whoever it is pushes into my room. It’s easy enough considering Jadick had my lock reversed so that it only works from the outside. Still, visitors have been kept to a minimum since they stuck me here after the engagement was announced. Meals are brought up on a tray and brought in by security guards that I’m positive remain stationed just outside the door at all times. I’ve seen no one beyond them and my new fiancé. Even my mother has been absent, though I’m not sure whether that’s by Jadick’s order or her own decision. Last we spoke, I wasn’t exactly encouraging of future visits.
From where I sit now, I can just make out a masculine shoulder as the current visitor kicks the bedroom door shut behind him. His scent hits me first, and I feel a ripple of unease as I recognize it. He is not a welcome guest right now. In fact, I almost would have preferred Jadick himself.
Instead, it’s Tripp, my best friend—or maybe former best friend, especially now—who strides across my plush bedroom and stops to stare down at me. My stomach sinks at the disappointment and accusation reflected in his light brown eyes. “Mackenzie Marie Quinn.”
My full name. Damn.
His tone is sharp and just reproachful enough to hit me right in my heart. Tripp and I have always called each other on our bullshit, but I’m not sure I can handle that right now. I look away, hanging my head. Before I can formulate a response, my stomach revolts, and I’m forced to lean over the toilet again.
While I dry heave, Tripp comes closer, pulling my hair back out of my face.
The kindness of his gesture makes me feel even worse.
“Thanks,” I say, miserable, as I slump back against the wall, but Tripp’s sympathy dries up the moment I’m not preoccupied with the business of vomiting.
“What the hell, Mac,” Tripp growls.
I bring my face up and note the way his eyes are narrowed. But my senses are too strung out to read whether he’s pissedatme orforme. I’m going to assume the former, though.
“I know everyone’s pissed,” I begin but then stop again as a wave of dizziness takes over. I lean on the toilet seat for support and wait for it to pass.
Tripp hesitates like he wants to say one thing but, instead, decides on another. “What’s wrong with you?” he demands.
“The rejection,” I mumble and then press my hand to my mouth while I try to decide if my stomach has somehow found a scrap worth expelling.
