Page 81 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

The sun rises, cresting over the jagged mountaintops on the horizon, greeted by the chirping of birds throughout the expansive forest. Sarina sleeps soundly within the safety of my embrace.

She passed out not long after I wrapped my arms around her last night, falling into a deep and restful slumber as I held her all night.

At our feet is a snoring Cav, curled into a ball on top of the blanket. His lilac tutu swishes in the morning air, and his whiskers flutter with each of his heavy exhales.

Even though I didn’t sleep at all last night—I stayed awake in case Sarina had another nightmare—and even though the patio couch was extra crowded due to our sleepover guest, I’m the most rested I’ve been in a long time.

All because of her.

“What’s that goofy smile for?”

Sarina’s groggy voice draws my focus from the trees. She stretches on top of me, pulling the blanket tighter around herself against the chill in the spring morning air.

I adjust my body beneath her and smooth her hair away from her face as I gaze down at her. “Good morning, Little Rogue.”

She props her chin on my chest and rolls her eyes. “I don’t think you can call me that anymore. You know very well I am not and never have been a rogue.”

“Would you prefer something else? Perhaps…‘Little Princess’?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Please don’t.”

“Or maybe ‘Little Alpha’?”

She sighs and props herself up on her elbows. “‘Carino’ es perfecto, Sebastián. ”

She thinks “sweetheart” is perfect. But I have one more suggestion up my sleeve.

I nod and lick my lips before offering it. “How about ‘my queen’?”

Her head angles to the side, her lips twitch, and she traces the crown above the S on my T-shirt. “I suppose I could get used to that one.” She scoots so her face hovers an inch away from mine. “But only if I can call you ‘my king’.”

“Deal.”

She smiles and closes the distance between us, pressing her lips to mine.

My arm tightens on her waist, snaking around it until my fingers squeeze her hip bone.

She pours life into me with her kiss, her touch, and her love.

It’s the second kiss she’s initiated since I saved her, and hope blossoms within me.

There is no overnight miracle cure for her trauma.

Some of it may last her entire life. But these moments—the timid, sweet kisses and the glimpses of the fiery female she was before—are what I cling to.

They’re what give me hope. They’re my reminders that while she may never be exactly the same, while she may never fully heal, with my support and patience, we can get her close.

Close is better than not at all.

I weave my fingers into the strands at her nape and lift my head from the cushion behind me to deepen our kiss—not too hard, not too insistent, but passionate enough to show her that she is my everything. My anchor.

My queen.

Sarina’s palms flatten against my chest, but the kiss remains slow and relaxed until she lifts her lips from mine. She trails her fingers across my forehead, brushing a messy strand of hair away.

My lycan sits right at the edge of my mind, observing the tender interaction.

He doesn’t push or fight for control. His aura—our aura—leaks from us and wraps around Sarina.

He searches for her aura and her lycan, but that’s all he does.

His self-control and selflessness deserve a medal.

His focus, like mine, is on getting her healed and bringing her lycan back.

“While I love the new nickname”—she kisses me again—“you still haven’t told me what your goofy smile was for.”

“For you, of course.” That goofy smile returns to my face, my lips brushing hers with the motion. “Because I have you. Because you’re mine and I get to wake up with you in my arms every morning for the rest of my life.”

“That is cheesy.”

“You’re absolutely right. But I mean every word.”

“Cheesy,” she repeats with a sharp nod.

“Us Crescent Lake males become extra cheesy when we find our mates.”

“Is that so?”

“One hundred percent. None of us are ashamed to admit it.”

“I see.” She jerks her head towards our feet. “So, is a cheesy Crescent Lake male responsible for the half-wolf dog in the purple tutu?”

I glance at Cavalier, who lifts his chin from his paws and cocks his head to the side at my attention. “Yes. And that cheesy Crescent Lake male would be Wesley.”

“I should have known.”

“Cav—Cavalier—joined our pack last fall. Wesley adopted him, and Maya made the tutu out of leftover fabric from one of Haven’s old costumes. He’s technically Haven’s dog. But he adores Nolan and Cassandra, and he has a knack for knowing when someone needs a little extra love.”

Cav hops off the cushions and trots down the length of the couch to our faces. His tongue darts out, and he swipes it up Sarina’s cheek. She laughs and reaches out to pat his head and scratch his ears. A soft smile settles on her face as she runs her fingers through his fur.

I rub her side while she gives Cav her undivided attention. My fingers ripple over her ribcage, where the bones are more pronounced than they should be.

My protective, care-taking side awakens, amplified by the state of her well-being—both physical and emotional.

I sit up and set her on her feet on the deck in front of me.

The sweatshirt I gave her last night falls to her knees, swallowing her petite, malnourished body.

Her hands disappear inside the extra-long sleeves that barely reach my wrists, emphasizing the major difference in our height and stature.

Sarina is not weak. Far from it. The scars she bears, the torture she endured, are proof of that. But I bear scars too—of guilt, of regret, of the time stolen from us. Those scars—mine and hers—combined with our newly recognized mate bond bring out that dominant, possessive beast within me.

I rest my hands on her hips as I stand, step closer to her, and angle my head down slightly to stare into her worried and confused eyes.

“We should get some breakfast.” I kiss the furrowed spot between her brows.

Her tension eases, and the wrinkle disappears beneath my lips.

“You need fuel to heal, and I need fuel so I can protect you and take care of you.”

“What is there to eat?”

“Not much more than what I dished up for us yesterday morning,” I admit as I take her hand and lead her towards the house.

“Peter is a terrible cook, so we’ve mostly had all our meals at Wes and Haven’s.

Dominic and the others only come here to sleep.

” I open the back door and step aside so she can enter.

“We can go to Crescent Lake to eat, or I can ask my parents to—” My nose twitches, and I angle my head to the side as I shut the door behind me. “I guess someone is cooking already.”

“Oh, good. Breakfast is almost ready, and I was about to come out there and wake you up,” King Malachi says, poking his head around the archway into the kitchen area.

“What’s for breakfast?” I ask.

“Huevos rancheros with homemade salsa and tortillas, and beans.”

“ You made all that?” Sarina arches a brow in disbelief.

King Malachi laughs and shakes his head.

“Well, unless Mamá made it, I don’t want it.

” She spins to face me and walks backwards as we make our way to the kitchen, and her dad winks at me over the top of Sarina’s head.

“ Mi mamá makes the best homemade salsa and tortillas,” she explains.

“And the best tamales, the best chile rellenos… The best everything, actually. She learned the recipes from mi abuela —my grandmother. The three of us—and Micah—used to spend hours in the kitchen when Abuela would visit us from her pack in San Diego, and—”

“And Sarina would burn every other tortilla because she’d be too busy talking our ears off to pay attention to what she was doing.”

Sarina spins on the spot and stops in her tracks as she lays her eyes on a female who is her carbon copy. Or rather, Sarina is a younger version of the female standing at the stove in Peter’s kitchen.

“ Mamá ? ”

Sarina takes one step forward, then freezes again, glancing at me over her shoulder. She’s back to the submissive, unsure version of herself—the one who thinks she can’t make her own decisions, the one who’s been brainwashed to defer to me. To her owner.

I slide my hands into my pockets and back away from her before nodding.

I hate myself for it, but this is a marathon, not a sprint.

For every large step forward we take, there’s another obstacle sending us backwards.

But I’m in this for the long haul. That means recognizing when to push her to take control of her decisions and when I need to step up and be her strength.

At least she wants to go to her mom. At least she wants physical connection with someone other than me. Yesterday, she didn’t attempt to go to her dad when he arrived.

My nod is all the encouragement she needs, and she flies across the room to her mom. They hug, clinging to each other with near-identical teary smiles on their faces.

My heart swells as Sarina extends her hand and her eyes meet her dad’s. She beckons him to join them, and he doesn’t hesitate. In two long strides, he reaches them and wraps his arms around both of them.

Tears stream down Sarina’s cheeks as she basks in her parents’ loving embrace, and my eyes itch as I watch their emotional reunion.

“I’m so happy you’re safe now.” Queen Tatiana cups Sarina’s cheeks in her hands and scans every inch of her. The heartfelt smile in her eyes swaps to a frown as her gaze returns to Sarina’s face. “Your hair is much shorter than normal,” she remarks, pinching the raw edges between two fingers.

“Sebastian cut it for me,” Sarina says.

Queen Tatiana’s sharp eyes flick to me and then back to her daughter’s hair. “It’s uneven.”

I clear my throat and stand up straighter, refusing to cower under her criticism. “I didn’t have scissors, so I used a claw instead.”