Page 7

7

REYES

T he righteous anger I knew was coming is already here.

It hasn’t even been a full day since I bit her, and I can feel her fury building, sharp and relentless, like tiny needles pressing into my skin. I’d hoped giving her time to bathe would help her settle, maybe distract her—but of course, she noticed the bite.

Of course, she’s pissed.

The connection between us makes it impossible to ignore her rage. It skates down my spine, hits my chest, and sits there like a stone, heavy and suffocating. I drop my pen, push the homily aside, and lean back in my chair. No point pretending I can focus.

Tilda’s coming, and she’s bringing the storm with her.

I hear it first—her footsteps echoing down the corridor, quick and angry. Then her voice cuts through, sharp as a whip, arguing with Peaches, who’s doing her best to keep the peace.

This is his room?” Tilda demands, her voice dripping with venom.

“Yes,” I call, my tone measured. “Come in.”

A second later, the door flies open, and there she is–dripping wet, still in her dirty clothes, and not even a little bit blindfolded. Peaches stands behind her, caught between an apology and a plea for help. Peaches also looks winded–clearly having struggled to keep up with the much taller Tilda.

Tilda tilts her head toward Peaches. “Get out,” she snaps, her voice low and dangerous.

Peaches doesn’t need to be told twice. She slips out, closing the door with a soft click, leaving the two of us alone.

Then it's just the two of us…and I'm trapped with a very angry woman.

“What. The. Fuck,” she says, each word sharper than the last.

I hold up my hands in surrender. “We need to talk,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “I should have told you.”

“Damn right you should’ve told me!” she snaps, pacing across the room like she’s looking for something to break. “What the—? I should kill you right now.”

“Didn’t work out so well for you last time,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snaps, spinning to face me. Her eyes are blazing, red-rimmed and wet with unshed tears. She takes a step closer, her movements stiff, like her body’s still protesting the injury. The flash of pain in her expression makes my chest tighten, but she’s too angry to care about my concern.

“You can feel me, can’t you?” she demands, her voice trembling with fury.

I shut my eyes and exhale slowly, trying to steady myself. “It’s…complicated.”

“Yeah? Well, now’s the time to uncomplicate it,” she says, throwing her arms wide. “You marked me like I’m a fucking cow?—”

“No,” I interrupt, my voice firm. “It’s not like that. It’s not like that at all.”

“Oh, really?” she spits, yanking up her shirt to reveal the bite. The sight of it, healing beautifully, sends an involuntary wave of satisfaction through me, but I shove it down. She’s staring at me, her green eyes daring me to look away. “Because it sure as hell feels like a brand.”

“I didn’t have any other choice,” I say, my voice tight with frustration. “I was watching you bleed out, and I couldn’t stop it. Our medic wasn’t fast enough. I didn’t…” I pause, struggling to find the words that could make this better. “I did what I had to do.”

“You should have let me die,” she hisses, her voice shaking with anger.

I blanche, narrowing my eyes as I step closer. “You’re only able to say that because you’re still here.”

“I would rather be dead than controlled.”

Her words sting. I feel the growl rising in my chest, but I bite it back. Instead, I let out a slow breath and aim for her heart.

“And what would your sister want?”

It’s a low blow, and I know it. The regret hits me the moment the words leave my mouth, but it’s too late. Tilda flinches like I’ve physically struck her, and steps back. Her fury flickers, giving way to something more raw.

And then, to my horror, she starts to cry.

The sight of her tears guts me. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who cries, not the kind who lets herself break in front of anyone. And now?

Now I’m the asshole who pushed her there.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. The apology feels clumsy, too little too late. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was selfish of me.”

I reach for her instinctively, wanting to comfort her, but she brushes me off with a sharp slap to my hand. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she snaps, her voice trembling with rage. “I get it now—why I’ve felt so safe here. It’s this wolf stuff you keep talking about, lulling me into a false sense of security.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “That’s part of it, yes,” I admit. There’s no point in lying now. “But you have no reason to feel unsafe here. No one will hurt you as long as you’re under my protection.”

She lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. “That does not make me feel as comfortable as you seem to think it does.”

I meet her gaze, steady but pleading. “I know what’s happened is strange, but I’m just a man, Tilda,” I say, my voice soft. “And before all this happened, I was a priest. I’m still a priest. I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I’ll show them that God put you here for a reason.”

“But you aren’t just a man,” she snaps, cutting me off. “You bit me. You left a mark on me, and now you can find me wherever I go. Don’t tell me that’s normal.”

Her words knock the air out of my lungs. I take an unconscious step back, the weight of her accusation pinning me in place. I don’t want to crowd her, to make her feel like I’m forcing myself into her space.

And yet…my wolf is screaming at me to close the distance, to pull her into my arms and never let go.

And she’s right.

If I touch her now, it won’t mean anything. If I tell her anything—hell, if I ask her to do something, even by accident—it won’t mean anything. Not the way it’s supposed to.

“The Alpha Prime’s power,” she continues, her voice shaking, “means that any connection between us is artificial.”

“I should have told you,” I murmur, the words barely audible. I glance at the floor, my throat tight. “Sometimes…I forget I’m not human anymore.”

It’s the closest I’ve come to admitting how much I hate what I am now. But it’s the truth. No matter how loudly my wolf rages, no matter how badly I want to claim her, I can’t give in. I can’t let myself be that man.

I have to be fallible. Human.

Tilda crosses her arms and bites her lip, clearly trying to calm herself down now that we’ve hashed out the immediate issues. The fury in her eyes has dimmed a little, but I can tell she’s still seething under the surface.

She’s still here. Still my prisoner.

The thought makes my stomach churn. Keeping her locked up isn’t fair—it’s not who I want to be—but she knows too much. She’s been in the den, seen our struggles, seen our kids. She knows exactly where we’re vulnerable. I’ve backed myself into a corner, and now there’s no way out of this that doesn’t feel wrong.

I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to make myself smaller. The effort seems to work; her stance relaxes just a little. She takes a slow, deep breath, her mouth a tight, grim line.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice low but steady. “You saved my life. I don’t… That doesn’t mean I’m grateful.”

“Understood,” I say, though my wolf is practically clawing at me, roaring its frustration at her rejection.

“I’d like it if you let me go,” she says, “but I know that’s not happening anytime soon. And as much as I hate this, I don’t want those kids to get sick because you can’t take care of them.”

A laugh escapes me, bitter and hoarse. I lean back against the wall, pulling at my beard in frustration. The full moon’s pull has just faded, but the scent of blackberries and leather still lingers in the air, teasing me. She’s close—too close—and she won’t stop pushing my buttons.

But I need to stay in control. I have to prove to her—and to myself—that I’m not the monster she thinks I am.

“So,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm, “you’ll help us establish a garden. And in return, I’ll help you get the medicine your sister needs. Since, you know, you can’t provide for her yourself.”

The words come out sharper than I intend, a petty jab I should’ve swallowed. Tilda’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I expect her to launch into another tirade.

She doesn’t.

“Our deal still stands,” she says, her tone clipped. “I help you grow your crops, you help me get insulin for Enid. After that…” She hesitates, squaring her shoulders and looking me dead in the eye. “After that, you decide what you’re going to do with me. I don’t care what happens to me as long as she gets what she needs.”

Her voice is steady, but her eyes betray her fear. She’s tough, but not invincible. Not indifferent. I stand, letting her see just how much bigger I am than her, a not-so-subtle reminder of who’s in charge here.

But even as I tower over her, she doesn’t flinch.

She doesn’t back down.

Instead, she steps closer, her chin lifted defiantly, her green eyes blazing with challenge. The air between us crackles with tension, and I know she feels it too—the pull, the primal urge that neither of us can fully ignore. My fists clench at my sides as I fight to keep my composure.

“You don’t scare me,” she says quietly, her voice low but fierce.

“Good,” I growl, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. “Then maybe you should stay in someone else’s room.”

Her mouth curves into a humorless smile. “Perfect. I didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

We’re standing so close now that I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, hear the quickened rhythm of her breath. My wolf snarls, desperate to close the distance, but I force it back. I can’t lose control. Not now.

Her hand darts out, grabbing my wrist. Her grip is firm, her skin cool and damp. My breath catches as her scent—berries and leather, pure Tilda —fills the space between us. She tilts her head, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“You didn’t just bite me out of the kindness of your heart, did you?”

My jaw tightens, and I force myself to meet her gaze. “No.”

“Then why?”

I lick my lips. “Because I wanted to.”

Her eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place—pain? Resignation? Anger?—before she lets go and steps back. The loss of her touch sends a pang through me that I wasn’t prepared for, and I hate it. Hate how much she’s getting under my skin.

“That’s all I needed to know,” she mutters.

I grunt, shaking my head as I stride toward the door. My hand pauses on the handle, and I glance back at her. “I’m setting a guard outside. Don’t try anything. If you do…”

“You’ll kill me,” she says flatly, cutting me off. “I know.”

But the look in her eyes says she doesn’t believe it for a second.

I step into the hallway, slamming the door harder than I mean to. Frankie is already there, leaning casually against the wall, her sharp eyes glinting with interest.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just kill her?” she asks, one eyebrow arching.

A growl rumbles out of me, low and dangerous, echoing down the corridor. It’s all the answer she’s going to get.

Now I just need to figure out where the hell to put Tilda.