Dark Wolf (Spirit Wild) - By Kate Douglas Page 0,83

you’ve already aligned yourself with the pack. You put yourself in danger to protect the pack. That takes courage. I admire courage. It’s a rare quality in this day and age. Besides, for all you know, we’re your people, too.”

“What am I, Alex? Am I Chanku? Am I one of you, or just a half-baked mage who’s at risk of being seduced by dark magic? Believe me, the lure of dark power is strong. I see my father do things, and I absolutely lust for that kind of power. What if I can’t fight it? What if it takes me?”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

Alex smiled and put his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders. “Because Lily and I won’t let it. We’ve got your back, Sebastian. I think you’re one of us. Even if you’re not, you’re definitely worth saving.”

His throat clogged with tears, and it was hard to catch his breath. “How can you say that?”

Alex grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pressed his palm against his own chest, just over his heart. Sebastian’s fingers spread out over Alex’s hot skin, absorbing the feel of him, the solid beat of his heart and the soft tickle from the dusting of dark hair sliding between his fingers.

He didn’t breathe. He wasn’t even certain he could, but Alex held his hand there, tight up against warm, male flesh, and he gazed steadily into Sebastian’s eyes. “Because I feel you here, Sebastian. Inside, where it counts. Because Lily loves you, and she could never love any man less than her father. Just keep taking the capsules. Trust me. The man I see in you is every bit Anton Cheval’s equal.”

13

The night was perfectly still, the air cool but not yet cold. Not a breath of air, not a sound. No owls or frogs, bats, or even the ever present coyotes. Even the crickets seemed to have toned down their clamor—either that, or he was so totally caught up in the spell that was Alex Aragat, nothing else registered.

Sebastian curled his fingers against Alex’s chest and struggled for control, but there was none to be found. He struggled to breathe, and it felt as if huge, jagged splinters tore at his lungs. Something clogged his throat and burned his sinuses, and unexpected tears rolled silently from beneath closed eyelids. The first ragged sob tore out of his chest, a sound so alien to him, he wasn’t certain at first what it was.

It was followed by another, and yet another, and then Alex pulled Sebastian close and wrapped strong, loving arms around him. That offer of comfort, that freely given masculine strength was all it took. Sebastian gave in to the overwhelming rush of pain and grief, to the demons battering at his soul.

He’d not cried for as long as he could remember. Not when his mother died, not even on the dark day he’d buried her in that small cemetery on the outskirts of Hannibal, Missouri, but he cried now as a lifetime of grief overfilled his heart and soul.

He cried, and it was ugly and embarrassing because he had no control over these foreign emotions. How did a guy deal with something he didn’t understand? But he remembered standing there at his mother’s grave, realizing he was totally alone, knowing he would search for the father his mother had risked everything to be free of. Determination had kept his tears away.

She hadn’t understood how much he’d hoped to find family, a place where he might finally belong. He should have listened to her. Should never have gone looking for a man without a soul.

Without an aura.

Now Alex’s words, Anton Cheval’s acceptance, Lily’s love. This was the family he’d always wanted. This was what called to him, what he’d yearned for.

What he wanted more than anything he’d ever wanted before. Wanted, but couldn’t have. He wasn’t worthy and he didn’t deserve it. He was the son of a killer. His father’s blood ran in his veins. His father’s magic was his magic. He could never be what Lily needed, what Anton wanted. What Alex thought he was. His failure poured out of him, bathing him in horrible, unendurable grief. There was no end to it and he couldn’t stop himself.

Then Alex whispered something. Words of comfort, soft, meaningless words that somehow did it for him. Comforted him, helped him find the balance and the strength to slowly pull himself together without feeling like a fool.

He was almost forty years old—a man grown, and yet his emotions had