You Are Mine (The Lycans 2)

And because we kept his mate from him, he was even more unstable.

“I doona feel right doing this,” Tadhg murmured.

“It does no’ matter how we feel about this. King Banner gave an order, and we follow,” I growled low, an alpha warning that Tadhg would do well to remember where his alliances stood. To our king.

He glanced at me and bared his canines, an involuntary instinct, his own alpha rising up. I took a step forward, knew my eyes glowed with my beast, and Tadhg backed down, forcing his animal back, knowing I was in charge. I was in control.

I was the alpha here.

His entire body was tight, but he did not challenge me again. He knew better. That was the problem with all of us. We were all alpha, each one of us handpicked by Banner because we were the most powerful, most aggressive in the clan.

It mattered not if we agreed or didn’t. We couldn’t go against our king. I would not allow it.

And if this were my mate in question?

I found myself growling low at the idea of someone—anyone—trying to keep me from my fate and future. And on that same token, I thought of the crazed look in Luca’s eyes. Although instinct would not allow him to ever hurt his mate willfully or purposely, that didn’t mean he had full control over his animal, especially if he’d been trapped in that limbo of being partially shifted for so long.

And by the sight and size of him... it was clear he’d been like that for years, if not decades.

I focused on Luca. The male was still pacing. Ever pacing, the restlessness in him growing stronger the longer we kept him away. My inner animal empathized with him, but it mattered not. I had to follow Banner’s rules. I had to protect Ainslee, and if that meant going against what a Lycan’s core purpose was—finding their mate and claiming her—I had to stay on course.

Luca roared again, the very ground shaking, quaking beneath our boots.

“The wall will no’ keep him out forever,” Odhran muttered, the rain now down to a drizzle.

I still focused past the wall, smelling the air and grass, the very Highlands themselves mixing with the rain.

But the strongest scent of all was the determination of a Lycan keen on getting to his mate.

“No’, I doona think it will.”

10

Ainslee

I sat at my vanity, the light low. I stared at my reflection; the woman staring back at me was not someone I recognized right now.

I’d been in my room for the past couple of hours, hoping the silence would help, but found my thoughts even more confused. Things were louder when I was alone.

Caelan had come in shortly after I’d gotten into my bedroom and dropped off a plate of food as well as a glass of blood. But I wasn’t hungry, my stomach cramping, rolling with uneasiness.

I looked over my shoulder and stared at the plate and glass that sat on the small table in front of the antique eighteenth century Italian giltwood settee. I stared at that settee, the light-blue velvet matching the silver and pale-blue hues of my bedroom.

I turned my focus to the blood that sat beside the plate, the glass still full. Untouched. I felt my expression pull in disgust, as that blood would be ice-cold, coagulating. I nearly gagged. I didn’t even know what was on the plate, but I smelled chicken and potatoes, and some kind of vegetables. But everything in me felt so discombobulated, my senses completely off if it didn’t concern Luca.

Facing my reflection again, I exhaled. My long blonde hair hung in waves around my shoulders, tumbling down my back to hit my waist. I thought about cutting it so many times… something different, something that would make me feel… just… different.

I glanced down at the makeup spread out across the vanity counter, tubes of lipstick, pallets of eyeshadow. Highlighter and blush, mascara and eyeliner. I’d always been a “girly girl,” loving pretty things, jewelry and makeup, gowns and anything else deemed feminine.

Some might’ve thought I’d gotten this way because my mother was like that. But they’d be wrong. My mother liked to dress up on occasion, but she was more down to earth, preferring to dig her hands in the dirt as she gardened, grit under her nails, mud along her cheek. I remembered watching her countless times as she returned to the gardens out back, as she stayed there for hours, even going as far as risking becoming weak as she slipped out before the sun had fully set.

She looked up into the sky and stared at the setting sun, knowing that even the smallest amount of light would drain her energy. But she still allowed herself just a moment or two, just a minute to enjoy that setting sun. And of course my father would always be by her side, ever the present mate, so loyal and attentive, a protective wolf to the highest degree.