Page 31 of A Warrior's Fate

“You leave your family, become my luna, bound to my pack, to me forever. Is that what you want?”

What complete and utter bullshit.

None of this had been about what she wanted. None of this was about doing “right by her”. None of this was a rebellion against Fate for all the goddess had taken from him.

“There’s a lot of…darkness in the pasts of Deimos and Io. A lot of bad blood. It runs deep.”

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

Kai had to have known all along what was likely to occur if their bond came to fruition—a luna born of Io by his side at the head of his beloved Deimos. He knew how horribly it would be received, how much doubt it would cast on him. When he’d met her that night on the terrace, figured out who she was and where she hailed from, he’d laid out his plan, smooth-talked her right into the palm of his hand, and played her like a fiddle. She ate it all up—the chivalry, the notion that she had any say in what was going on, the delusion that he was different from any other alpha who took what they wanted without abandon and dispelled what they didn’t just as carelessly.

She almost wished she’d still been the girl she’d renounced years ago. The one who attended those sometimes overly pretentious and sometimes hideously sleazy events, clinging to hope in her heart that she’d find her mate. The one who almost settled for Callan. The one who’d say yes to anything, do everything—even things she wasn’t proud of—so she could feel valued, noticed. Who would’ve jumped at the chance for a change, to move on to a new life, even if it meant leaving her family and her pack behind.

Then it wouldn’t have been so easy for him. He’d have to reject her and go through hell.

“You’ve been in my life for a long time, Ezekiel.” At Kai’s voice, even Isla’s bandaged fingers managed to curl in her fury. “And I’ve left you as beta to aid me in this transition for that reason and out of respect for my father, but this is your last warning. Don’t go behind my back to go beyond my authority again.” There was the echo of footsteps and his voice darkened, becoming so quiet that Isla nearly couldn’t detect it. “And this is the last time you speak of her to me or anyone else, are we clear?”

His secret. She was to remain his dirty little secret.

Isla didn’t linger to hear if anything else was said, if the beta had agreed to negate her existence for the rest of time. She was out of that shadowy hall and down the stairwell before she even needed to gulp air in a gasp. Her mind was buzzing as she powered through the lower floor’s corridors with no qualms about who she crossed as she stormed her previous path.

“She’s nothing to me.”

Said with conviction. The words rattled in her brain, leveling her, taunting her with all she’d been blinded to.

“I’ve handled it.”

Handled.

She wasn’t something that needed to be “handled”, not some bother or nuisance in his life to be cast aside. She was supposed to be his mate, for the love of the Goddess, and even if she didn’t want him, he, at least, owed her the damn respect to let her know the whole truth about what was going on, how he really felt.

That son of a bitch.

A dull ache pervaded her body, her muscles, her bones, and was completely welcomed. The frustration was manifesting into a familiar burn in her belly, calling deep into one of its greatest releases. She needed to break out from the confines of these walls, the confines of her forsaken bond, the horrible images that still dwelled in the back of her subconscious. She needed power, certitude. The one thing, if nothing else, that she had complete knowledge and control over.

But as she called upon that piece of her, not wanting to fully shift, but to feel just a brush, a reassuring touch of her gifts, the only response was pain. Searing, consuming pain that took the air from her lungs and had her stumbling. The wall became her savior as she braced herself against it, breath grating along her throat as she tried to even it out.

That certainly wasn’t the splintering sensation of a shift that she’d grown accustomed to.

She crawled her hands up the cold structure until she was ramrod straight against it, then she remained there, clammy palms sticking to the plaster, clutching onto nothing until she found some relief. Her eyes darted around the hallway as if the answer lingered amongst its emptiness, but before she could reason it out, a figure appeared at the end of it.

“Isla?”

The voice rang in her fog, and she shook her head to jolt herself back to reality. As she blinked at the man who’d approached, the vaguest sense of who he was in her head, his eyebrows drew in concern.

“What?” It fell from her mouth in a breath.

“Are you…okay?”

She swallowed. Saying yes felt like a complete lie as it seemed there was no right answer. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so…off. Still, she nodded slowly and continued training her gaze over the man’s face. He was so familiar, yet her mind kept sputtering.

“Who are you?” she asked before wincing. “Sorry, that was rude.”

The man smiled, flashing crooked teeth with understanding in his eyes. “I get it—long week.” He reached a hand to her. “Declan of Rhea.”

Isla’s body was so tense that she was surprised she didn’t snap when she mirrored his action, stretching her arm to grasp his hand. But there was a stutter in her movement when he extended beyond her palm, instead, grabbing her forearm—a warrior’s greeting.

Finally, something clicked. His face had floated around the feast. It had been down the line that beheld the Gate.

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