Page 19 of Broken Forced Mate
Now he’s here, in my private space, while I’m wearing nothing but a nightgown, acting like he has the right to make decisions for me.
“You rejected me,” I spit between attempts to break free from his hold. “You made it clear I meant nothing to you. So don’t pretend you care what happens to me now.”
My nails catch his cheek, drawing blood. The satisfaction of seeing red bloom across his skin gives me savage pleasure. He curses and grabs my wrists, and his strength easily overpowers mine despite the solid hits I’ve managed to land.
The size difference between us becomes obvious as he restrains me. I’m barely five-foot-five. He’s at least six feet tall and built like someone who spends his days training for combat. This isn’t a fair fight, and we both know it.
But I don’t care about fair.
I care about making him pay for three years of sleepless nights, three years of wondering what was so wrong with me that even my mate would reject me.
I reach for my wolf, trying to force the change that would give me claws and fangs. The transformation starts, and my bones begin to lengthen, but Wyn does something to the pressure points on my wrists that sends shooting pain up my arms. The agony breaks my concentration, and my wolf retreats with a whimper of distress.
“Listen to me,” he says through gritted teeth. “Your fiancé is working for a hostile pack called Thornridge. They’ve been scouting our territory for weeks, planning some kind of attack. He’s been using you to get close to our pack leadership.”
“You’re insane!” I try to wrench free from his grip. “Bastian isn’t working for anyone. He’s a student!”
“Thornridge has been recruiting displaced pack members, turning them into operatives,” Wyn presses. “Six months at Llewelyn, just long enough to identify you as a target. The perfect cover story, the convenient interest in interpack relations. Does any of that seem like a coincidence to you?”
I don’t want to think about it. Don’t want to consider that the man I agreed to marry might be exactly what Wyn is describing. But pieces of today’s confrontation start clicking together in my mind. The way everyone looked at Bastian when we walked in. The level of scrutiny he faced. The undercurrent of suspicion had nothing to do with typical family protectiveness.
The smooth way he answered every question, like he’d rehearsed the responses. How perfectly his background story fits together, without any of the messy contradictions that make real lives complicated.
His proposal itself, I realize with growing horror.
“Even if that were true,” I snap, “what gives you the right to break into my room? To decide what’s best for me without my consent?”
“Because I—” He stops himself, then adds, “Because someone has to protect you from making the worst mistake of your life.”
“Like you protected me three years ago?” The words tear out of my throat, raw and bitter. “When you told me my feelings were a fantasy? When you made it clear I meant nothing to you?”
“That was different.”
“Was it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you only want me when someone else has me.”
He flinches like I’ve struck him. Good. I want him to hurt the way he hurt me.
Instead of releasing me, he spins me around and pins my arms behind my back. “Raegan, please. I know how this looks, but—”
“It looks like you’re kidnapping me!” I throw my head back, trying to catch him in the nose, but he anticipates the move and keeps his face out of range.
The position forces me against his chest, and I can feel his heart racing beneath my shoulder blade. He’s not as calm as he’s pretending to be.
His body heat seeps through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and I hate that some treacherous part of me finds comfort in his solid presence. Even now, even while he’s restraining me against my will, my wolf recognizes him as pack, as protector.
As a mate.
The thought makes me struggle harder.
Pounding erupts from the door to my room. “Raegan? Are you okay in there?” Bastian’s voice, concerned and urgent.
“Help me!” I scream toward the door. “Wyn’s in here! He’s—”
A cloth covers my nose and mouth before I can finish. The chemical smell makes my eyes water, and I hold my breath instinctively. Chloroform. The bastard actually came prepared to drug me unconscious.
“I’m sorry,” Wyn whispers against my ear. “I’m so damn sorry.”
The apology doesn’t make this better. Nothing could make this better. I bite down hard on the cloth, tasting chemicals and cotton. My teeth find the soft flesh of his hand beneath the fabric, and I clamp down with everything I have.
