She was going to crawl into a hole and strangle on the pain. She watched his expression shift, become closed. She believed it was the worst rejection she had ever faced.
“You’re not officially making me your coya,” she stated hoarsely.
Sofia’s words haunted her now. That it wasn’t official. That Anya was living in a dreamworld, and somehow the other woman had known it.
“Anya, the ceremony doesn’t matter.” He pushed his fingers through his hair as he glared at her. “You’re my mate. That makes you my coya. Period. It can’t get any more official than the mating.”
She stared back at him, forcing herself not to cry, not to scream in rage and agony.
Finally she nodded slowly. “Thank you for sparing me the preparations for the celebration that comes later. I’ll answer Lupina Gunnar and Prima Lyons’s inquiries into that in the morning and let them know that they needn’t prepare for it.”
Humiliation sang through her bloodstream. She wasn’t going to cry, she promised herself. She was too tired to cry, too hurt to want to do anything but curl into a miserable ball of shame.
Hope and Merinus were already making plans. A spring ceremony, the white gown Anya had always dreamed of. A real wedding, just as their mates had given them. A ring. Every woman’s dream, but in the world she now lived within, it would have been even more. It would have been an affirmation, and it came with a certain security where other mates, where the hierarchy of the Breed society, was concerned.
“Anya, dammit,” he growled, his eyes flashing with an edge of anger. “What’s happened to you? You’re more logical than the pain I can sense coming from you. You’re killing me with it.”
She lifted her chin slowly and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Sorry. Hormones probably,” she finally whispered. “If you’ll excuse me, Del-Rey, I think I’m not feeling very well. I’m going to go to my office for a while. Good night.”
“The hell you are.” His fingers looped around her arm—not hard, his grip wasn’t tight, yet still, she flinched. It was almost painful, that touch, even through her clothing.
He released her just as quickly, staring at her as though confused.
“I hurt you.” He frowned, perplexed, watching her carefully. “What’s wrong? Is this why you went to Dr. Armani? Is my touch suddenly painful to you?”
Anya shook her head. It hadn’t been pain. It hadn’t hurt, not physically. Emotionally. The warmth she needed, the feel of him that she ached for physically, couldn’t overshadow the pain she felt inside.
“I’m fine,” she said again. “Please excuse me, Del-Rey. I just need to shower. Maybe eat.” She gave him a false smile and edged to the door of her office. “Good night.”
She opened the door, slipped inside the little room and nearly sank to the floor as her upper body spasmed with the need to sob. She was his mate, not his coya. Without the ceremony, she would never truly be his coya, his other half. She was just the woman he f**ked and nothing more.
Exhaustion filled her, and for the first time since Del-Rey had returned, the mating heat didn’t torment her. She lay down on the couch, pillowed her head on her arm and stared into the darkness until she slept.
She wasn’t aware of Del-Rey stepping into the room or of him crouching beside her. She didn’t know he reached out, touched the tear on her cheek and felt like sobbing himself.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “This way is best. For both of us.”
He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, feeling the silky, cool flesh as he felt a shiver work through her. She was cold, but she wasn’t aroused. He could smell the hurt radiating off her in waves, even in sleep.
Sighing at the brutality of what he’d done to her, aching with it to a depth of his being that he didn’t know existed, Del-Rey picked his fragile mate up in his arms and carried her to their bed.
Undressing her took a while. He moved slowly, carefully, unwilling to wake her from the exhausted slumber she seemed to have slipped into.
When he had left her that morning, she had been laughing, happy, teasing him. She had been making plans and he had known it. He had known it and hadn’t wanted to lose the warmth of her laughter until he had no other choice.
Now he had lost it, and it felt as though he had lost a part of himself.
He stripped and eased into the bed beside her, curled around her cold body and fought to bring back the warmth in her. He was cold himself. Cold to the marrow of his bones, and he couldn’t explain why. The chill had begun when she had walked from his office earlier. It had grown after she had left their bedroom for her office.
He had to protect her. Hope and Merinus lived with the threat of greater danger than Faith or the other Breed mates. More attempts were made on their lives than on the others’. Without the ceremony, the world would never know for certain if she was lover or true coya. Coyotes weren’t Wolves, he told himself again. They didn’t need a ceremony to make something like this official. And she would see in time that it would give her a greater security, and that was what mattered.
She was hurting now, but later, later she would understand, he promised himself. He would find the words to explain it. He’d find a way to make her understand. She had to understand, because her safety was more important to him than a misunderstanding.
He had seen with the first attempt on her life in the mountains that he was going to have to put his foot down. He had to be responsible for keeping her by his side, keeping her safe and well. Nothing else mattered.
Del-Rey awoke the next morning as Anya eased out of his arms and left the bed. He waited, listened, inhaled her scent and still detected no arousal, no need for his touch.
He restrained his concern. Coyotes were different, he told himself again. It could simply be a cycle of rest that the hormones were allowing her, nothing more.