Page 50 of The Wolf Lord's Mate

I've got you, little one," Nathaniel whispered into the top of my head, pressing a kiss into my hair, "It's alright. I'm here with you, my love, and I promise that everything is going to be okay. We can take as much time as you need, darling, shhh..."

Every word he said only made me cry harder, so at war with myself that I couldn't keep my thoughts straight. On one hand, I felt as though I needed to get up and run, to separate myself from Nathaniel and the bond as soon as possible before I gave in to it anymore.

On the other hand, I wanted him to never stop touching me, to never have to spend another minute of my life without him by my side. But the feeling that ruled over everything was one of intense guilt.

Guilt at ruining the moment.

Guilt at letting it happen in the first place.

Guilt that regardless of what I did or did not want with Nathaniel, that he was still giving me comfort and care and patience when I was sure that I did not deserve it.

I did not deserve him. Nathaniel should have been mated to someone who was ready to give every ounce of their being to him, to offer him the loyalty and love that he had so readily offered to me.

A Wolf mate would have felt the bond implicitly and grown up expecting it to appear, rather than a human mate like myself who had only ever known to dread and fear it. If Nathaniel had only been mated to someone better for him than me, then I could have avoided all of this pain and confusion, both for myself and for him.

The bond didn't let me keep that thought long, and the mere suggestion of Nathaniel mated to someone else made my chest ache, a sharp pain tugging around my heart.

Nathaniel didn't say anything else, he just held me close to him, humming gently every time I began to cry harder as my thoughts spun over and over into an endless cycle of worry.

Nathaniel stroked my hair gently, brushing it back out of my face as I sobbed into his chest. At some point it slowed, my body so exhausted from everything that had happened that afternoon, and before I knew it, everything went dark as I fell asleep.

I dreamt of Nathaniel. He had featured in many of my dreams before, but never like this. I was sitting in his study in the manor, the walls of the room blurred and indistinct, but Nathaniel was clear as day.

He was standing by the door, saying something in a garbled voice and I couldn't quite make out the words. He was upset, I knew that well enough, but when I tried to stand up to go to him, I found that I could not move nor could I make any sound. I was rooted to my seat, trapped in place and only able to watch as Nathaniel's features grew tighter; his brows drawn and his gaze sad, jaw cocked as he continued to speak words that I could not understand.

It was devastating, and every nerve in my body pleaded to be near him so that I could offer him comfort, but there was nothing I could do. I was helpless to do anything for him, anything other than try to get him to look at me, to see in my eyes the care that lived there—the care that I did not know how to show in any other way.

******

The next time I woke up, I was alone.

My eyelids were still sticky with sleep, sore and heavy from the tears. Nathaniel's side of the bed was empty, but I could hear someone moving around downstairs and I knew, in the odd way that only the bond let me know, that it was him.

I could feel more of him now than I could before, likely a result of feeding the bond, and the ease of his emotions sent a wave of calm into me; however, the more I felt his emotions, the more I could pick out the intricacies of what he was feeling. There was a layer of stress hiding beneath the peacefulness—a gentle kind of worry, and I knew that it was my fault.

I slipped out of bed and crept to the door, floorboards creaking under me that would have signaled to Nathaniel that I were awake if he was not already aware. Again though, some part of me was sure that he already knew, whether from our connection or from his enhanced sense of hearing. I followed the slow wafting scent of spiced meat down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with the butt of my palm.

I found Nathaniel in the kitchen, a knife paused on the countertop over a small pile of half-chopped carrots. He offered me a gentle smile, but his eyes held a thousand questions I knew that he was desperate to ask me. But Nathaniel had always been patient with me, and he knew not to press me for answers that I did not have.

I did not fully understand why I had gotten so emotional after we were intimate, nor did I know if it would happen again the next time we were intimate. And I did want a next time despite it all. He was addictive and he was mine, and if I had to endure this absurd struggle then the least I could get out of it was a bit of pleasure.