Page 15 of Protector (Alpha Ties)
FIFTEEN
AX2
She instructs him to carry her up the stairs and into her bedroom, using an unnecessary command to force her will through. His entire being aches to wrap around her to soothe the pain still ghosting through their bond—she would only need to command him if she intended to risk further injury by walking while she’s clearly too weak to do so safely.
Having her in his arms is a curious experience. Every biological part of him is practically purring at the sensation of her—her weight against his torso, the soft press of her curves, her silent acknowledgement that caring for her is his duty. His right.
Meanwhile, every hard-won instinct gained from his time in her lab is burning to squeeze her frail little body until she stops breathing and the nightmare can finally end.
The memory of her throat in his grip makes him clutch her tighter. He had his chance, and he didn’t take it.
He deposits her onto the bed, allowing himself a brief glance over her body to calm the nagging sensation in his gut that she’s in danger. What haunts her gray eyes as she looks up at him isn’t a physical threat. Not anymore. He may have replaced her broken mate-bond, but the tatters of it are still there, wedged underneath his.
“You may leave. You can rest in any of the guest rooms.”
Leave?
“What?”
She juts out her chin, as if she knows how ridiculous the suggestion that he leave her side is even if she refuses to acknowledge it. “You seem to have forgotten that I do not enjoy being questioned, AX2. Tonight is not the night to test me.”
“I need to be by your side.” He manages to grit out the words rather than growl them. “You need me here, and if you weren’t so goddamn stubborn?—”
“That’s enough!” Her eyes flash, and for a moment, he sees her—the hard, unyielding woman who twisted him into a weapon and made him submit against his will. She’s still there, deep inside the broken girl he found in that bunker. He isn’t prepared for the rush of fury at her reappearance—nor the ache from his groin as his cock hardens in an instant—but before he can do more than bare his teeth at her, she holds up a hand and points at the door.
“Get out. Now! And close the door. I will deal with you in the morning.”
His chip sears the command through his skull, ripping a snarl from his chest. But he obeys—he has to.
He doesn’t go to one of the guest rooms as she instructed. It wasn’t part of the command that sent him out of her room, so he remains on the other side of her door. Hovering. Angry. Frustrated.
It’s too far. The bond is barbed wire in his chest, yanking at him to return to her. At least close enough that he can see she’s safe.
A ridiculous impulse. He knows it is, which only fuels his anger. The estate is well-guarded, and he did a thorough check of the property himself only moments ago.
He should be so lucky to have Russians burst through her window and murder her in the night.
Fuck! Just allowing that thought to enter his skull has his nerves screaming and his heart slamming into overdrive.
He paces, at first to calm his overworked systems, then to keep the restlessness at bay. He can go thirty days without sleep with no measurable impact on his performance levels, but it’s not enjoyable.
AX2 shoots her closed bedroom door a glare. He’s on his sixth night without rest, his newly awakened instincts ensuring his alertness while he watched over his vulnerable mate as she recuperated at the hospital. And now? She tells him to go rest in another room—as if she doesn’t realize how impossible that would be. But she does.
He knows she does—he hears her through the door, tossing in her bed. Feels her consciousness gnawing at him through their bond. She’s awake too, because she’s too fucking stubborn to concede to reality, grim as it is.
So he paces. And paces. And paces.
Eventually, some long hours later, she falls asleep.
AX2 stops in his tracks as the tension behind his ribs eases, giving way to an elusive whisper of… of peace.
He presses a hand to his chest, savoring the absence of pain and turmoil. The quiet hum of pleasure from his own biology that his mate is resting safely.
His mate. His mate, his mate, his fucking mate. He scrubs his free hand over his face and inhales shakily. This isn’t going to work. He can’t fight his biology, can’t pretend his alpha nature can be tamed and replaced by circuits and metal anymore.
Three years. He was a machine for three years, because of her, and now? There is no possible way he can go back to numb obedience, because he’s her alpha—the singular entity in this world responsible for her survival. No amount of wiring, no amount of pain will change that.
He steps up to her door, a half-baked plan fueled entirely by testosterone about to make him burst through and demand submission, before he manages to stop himself.
He’ll get his hand over her mouth before she can utter a command, and then what? Rape her until she obeys? His cock is hard, his body more than ready to follow through on every primal desire flowing on the intoxicating cocktail of hormones flooding his system, every animal instinct clamoring for him to claim his right. Assert his dominance.
Only… he will never forget what she looked like huddled on that mattress when he came to save her. Bruised and bleeding and broken. The thought of forcing her… No. Not even his seething hatred for her finds any pleasure in that prospect.
AX2 lets out a defeated sigh and sinks down beside her door. His only consolation is that when she gets around to punishing him in the morning, she’ll find out how unbearable pain can be when distributed through a mate-bond. Not that he expects that to stop her. She’s hardened enough, evil enough, that she’ll likely take any amount of agony in order to ensure he knows she’s in charge.
Something’s broken in her. He feels it, somewhere past the agony when she’s awake. Something buried deeper than the damage caused by the alpha who kidnapped her. She hasn’t always been like this. Once upon a time, she was a little girl who collected pretty trinkets and hid them away like a magpie.
He skims his fingers over the pocket containing her journal and wonders what she was like then. If she pulled legs off insects to watch them suffer, or if she was ever… kind. Soft.
The first entry is from two decades ago. She must have been around thirteen, he surmises. He runs a finger over the neat loops of her handwriting, the vague knowledge that he is violating her privacy only adding a grim satisfaction. She’s spent three years drilling into his DNA; forcing his way into her memories gives him no remorse.
I am bleeding. It’s a big deal, according to Mom.
I wish I wasn’t. What’s so great about being a woman? It hurts, it’s gross, and I have no intention of “finding myself a nice alpha boy to take care of me,” Yeah, thanks Dad, nice and progressive there.
She took me for chocolate cake and “the talk” at Alison’s in town. Bit late for that, lady. I’m in advanced biology. Getting straight As. I’m good on the gory details of human reproduction.
She also got me this journal. And instructions to write in it often, because “young ladies need somewhere safe to share their secrets.” I see straight through you, you know that, right? But I’ll be sure to dutifully write down if I start doing drugs, or get impregnated by a—gasp!—beta. Promise!
But for now, I’m going to curl up and wait for my uterus to stop attempting to escape. Being a woman sure is great! Woo!
AX2 chuffs a breath through his nose. Whatever glimpse of her personality he was expecting, a snarky teen somehow seems entirely appropriate. And more real than he was prepared for. He flicks the page, unexpectedly eager to learn more about this person hiding in his tormentor’s past, when agony rips through his chest.
“Help me!”