The Hunger (The Lycans 3)

The Otherworld. Half of who and what I was.

His Linked Mate.

I swallowed as I thought back to that particular conversation. This man saw me as his and his alone. It was barbaric. Chauvinistic. He was insane to think I’d just fall in line with that thinking and way of life. Yet I couldn’t deny something felt awake after he revealed that.

And it scared the shit out of me.

My heart started thundering, and I felt sweat start to bead on my brow, because I knew what I had to do. And although running had this strange, almost uncomfortable sensation filling me, I didn’t let it consume me. And I prayed like hell it didn’t alter this man who wasn’t a man at all.

A Lycan, he’d called himself. Half of what I am.

I couldn’t let it freak me out… once again. So instead of focusing on those words, I slowly, stealthily even, pushed my upper body off the bed. I held my breath as I sat there for a moment, making sure he didn’t wake up, sure that he would. But all he did was continue to sleep deeply.

Maybe he was feigning sleep. Maybe he was waiting for me to step off the bed before he lunged at me and pulled me back. Maybe I’d risk really pissing him off.

But that was a risk I had to take. It was one I was willing to take.

He won’t hurt me.

I told that inner voice to fuck off.

I looked down at my chest and realized I was rubbing a slow circle around my heart, the sudden ache settling in that organ, the little voice inside my head still speaking loud and clear. Stay. Stay with him. Understand this new world.

Keeping up the same slow momentum, I made my way off the bed, once again freezing and staring at Caelan. He didn’t move, and I didn’t notice any tension in his body, as if he were waiting to pounce.

I started breathing harder, fear of getting caught and repercussions keeping me at a standstill. And although Caelan said being his Linked Mate meant he would never hurt me, could never harm me, and only wished to provide for and protect me, to make me happy in all things, he’d also told me he wouldn’t let me go.

He will find me anywhere I go.

That he’d forever follow me, even to the ends of the earth.

Did I think he’d catch me? Yeah. I sure did. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t run, couldn’t try. How much of a doormat would I be if I just accepted whatever this was?

I wasn’t only running from the situation; I was running from the attraction I felt toward him. Out of everything he’d told me, everything I’d experienced and seen so far, the one thing that terrified me the most out of all of this was the bone-deep arousal that grew every second I was in his presence.

I walked over to the door, still silently moving. And after taking off the splint he put around my ankle, I slipped my shoes on, continuously checking over my shoulder, holding my breath the entire time. I picked up my backpack, a few items inside clanging together. Although the sound was muffled, it seemed so loud when someone was trying to sneak out.

But thankfully he still slept. Maybe he’d sleep and give me enough time to really escape? Probably not.

As I stared at the partially open door, realizing when he’d come through, he clearly didn’t close it, I said a silent thank-you to fate. Because chances were if the door had been closed, when I tried to open it, the damn thing would’ve squeaked to high hell, giving away my escape plan.

Don’t leave.

Everything was silent, almost too quiet, so still and heavy that I knew we were the only ones in the house. I was all turned around, the darkness in the house so thick I couldn’t see much of anything, as if I were wading through muddy water.

I took a left, not knowing where else to go, and after a short walk down the hallway, it opened up to a massive kitchen that looked outdated. So old it was like something straight out of another century.

I quickly made my way through the kitchen, my one focus on finding an exit. I passed by a breakfast island and spied several items on the counter, the moonlight coming through the window illuminating jugs of water, a couple stacks of clothes, as well as other items such as flashlights and matches, blankets, and travel rations.

I didn’t give it much thought, although maybe I should’ve. Maybe I should’ve grabbed some of the rations before I ran out to the middle of nowhere. But my survival instincts—the ones not ruled by my libido—screamed one thing. Get out as fast as I can.