Page 27 of Broken Forced Mate
“Bastian,” I whisper. “He was going to kill me.”
“What?”
The details pour out of me in a rush; the maps, the coordinates, the timeline. How my death would have looked natural, the result of some unknown poison that worked slowly through my system. How Bastian would have inherited my share of the Amanzite reserves and used the chaos of my funeral to cover a full-scale invasion.
Wyn listens without interrupting, and his face grows darker with each detail I reveal.
“The marriage would have been my death sentence,” I continue. “And once I was gone, Thornridge would have had everything they needed to destroy the pack.”
“How do you know all this? Visions don’t usually—”
“The marriage bond.” I flex my fingers, studying them like they belong to someone else. “Something changed when you touched me. My abilities are stronger now, clearer. I can see things I never could before.”
The psychic flashes I’ve experienced in the past were fleeting, vague impressions that faded quickly. This was different. It was detailed, specific, and impossible to dismiss as imagination.
“There were backup plans, too,” I tell him. “If the marriage didn’t work, they were prepared to take me by force. Use me as leverage against Oren.”
Understanding passes between us, cold and sobering. For the first time since he kidnapped me, I see why he felt he had no choice.
“You saved my life,” I say quietly.
Relief moves across his face. “You believe me now.”
“I believe the visions. That doesn’t mean I forgive your methods.”
The relief disappears. Good. He needs to understand the distinction.
“You could have trusted me with the truth,” I continue. “You could have explained the danger and let me make an informed decision about how to handle it.”
“The intelligence is classified—”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You found a way to justify kidnapping me, but you couldn’t find a way to justify telling me the truth? That’s not about security clearance, Wyn. That’s about control.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again before he nods. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. You made unilateral decisions about my life because you thought you knew better than I did. Because you thought I couldn’t handle the truth.”
We stare at each other across the space between us, years of history and hurt crackling in the desert heat. I can smell his wolf beneath the human exterior, and it makes my own wolf pace restlessly.
“Come on,” he finally prompts. “Let’s get you inside.”
I follow him into his house, taking in the sparse furnishings and masculine decor. Everything is practical, functional, devoid of personal touches that might reveal who he really is beneath the professional facade.
“It’s very…lonely,” I comment.
“I wasn’t expecting company.”
The house tour is brief—living room, kitchen, bathroom, his bedroom, and finally, the guest room where I’ll be staying.
“This is yours,” he tells me. “There are some clean clothes on top of the dresser. They’re mine, so they’ll be a bit big, but we can go grab some of your things tomorrow. You’ll have complete privacy. I won’t bother you unless there’s an emergency.”
I survey the space. Double bed, dresser, nightstand with reading lamp. Clean but impersonal, like a hotel room.
“What about my things? My classes, my research, my entire life that you’ve torn me away from?”
“We can arrange for everything to be shipped here. Your education can continue remotely.”
I snort and reply, “How generous of you to allow me to finish my degree.”
