threw things at me, screamed for me to be put down, that I was a traitor, a rabid bitch. They just let them… They always just let Burke…” My eyes find Tyran’s, spilling with pain and questions and anger.
In response, understanding and fury flash in his eyes. “Never again. I promise,” he declares to me, as though he alone holds the power to ensure that.
Tears once again well in my eyes against my will, and their presence does more to unsettle Tyran than anything I’ve ever seen.
“Never again?” I ask him quietly, distrust hammering through every word. “You dangle the pack in front of me like a carrot. Promise me I can find my place here, that this”—I gesture between the two of us—“is meant to be. You claim that I can have everything I’ve always wanted, and then you rip it all away from me when I don’t do what you want, when you want. What kind of life is that?” I demand, my voice pinched with hurt and fury as hot acidic tears spill down my cheeks, burning away the hope and safety I thought I could find here.
“I fucked up,” Tyran concedes, worry paling his face. “I made some bullshit assumptions, and I fucked up beyond belief. It will never happen again. You were right to take your time. I should’ve never pushed you. I’m so fucking sorry, Seneca.”
As much as I want his admissions and apologies to pierce the armor that now has a stranglehold on my heart, they don’t. I shake my head, and dismay filters through his features, his eyes begging mine not to give up, not to walk away just yet.
“Never again,” he repeats, still dipped down so that his face is even with mine. There’s no escaping the beseeching way he’s looking at me, his tawny brown eyes petitioning that I hear him out. “I won’t push you. I’ll let you lead, help you learn. No one will ever hurt you again...including me.”
Covered in the shadows of night with the fires behind me, I close my eyes against what he’s saying, wishing I wasn’t so desperate for all of that. Wishing I didn’t feel the pack’s attention still at my back.
“Can we talk?” he asks. “No bullshit, no games, just talk like we should have done from the beginning.”
I open my eyes and look at him, survey the appeal and apology swimming in his beautiful brown gaze. I observe the way he’s brought himself down to my level as though I’m finally someone important enough to reach and treat like an equal. His full lips are parted with anticipation, his body tight, waiting to see what I’ll say. As though he’s willing to fight for what he’s asking for—to fight for me.
“Fine,” I relent, taking a step back from him, needing more space between everything that just happened and the hurt still swimming in my veins. I try to dive back into the ever-present anger always just below my skin, to not feel the pain that’s wrapped itself like tentacles around my chest. But the anger is too far away, and I’m left tired and reeling in its absence.
It figures that the rage and fury would abandon me when I want their fiery protection to cocoon me. I can overreact and lose it over a smell on some asshole’s bed, but when I’m drowning in hopeless agony, I’m left to navigate it all on my own.
I start to walk toward the alpha house, Tyran at my back as though he’s both herding me and protecting me, and all I can think is...
Where’s the rabid bitch when you need her?
Chapter Seventeen
Tyran and I walk upstairs together.
My chest feels tight from all of the emotional cacophony that’s erupted, and I realize just how nervous I am.
Arguing, lashing out, that’s all easy. With my wolf’s rabid temper, it comes second nature. But it’s taken its toll. And now, talking, trying to connect emotionally, to deal with the truth of what’s simmering inside...that fucking scares me.
I follow Tyran’s steps as he leads me up the wooden stairs, but instead of turning toward the bedroom where I know I’m going to be surrounded by those countless females’ scents, he leads me in another direction.
“We aren’t going to your bedroom?” I ask with confusion as he moves through the house, aided by the light of the moon shining in through the windows.
He passes me a look of reluctance. “That wasn’t my bedroom. That was where...” he trails off